The Roaming Sea - 8. Truth's Hardship, Pt. 1

Without a view of the sun or moon, the passing of time was impossible to determine. Callum had fitfully dozed off, only to realise the corridor lamp—his only source of light—had guttered out. Another distant flicker continued to burn beyond his line of sight, however, revealing a confusing sight. Something was sitting near the bottom of his cell door. The shape moved, tapping softly against the metal bars. He recoiled in shock, banging his head against the wall.

“Hidaro,” the shape whispered. It was a woman’s voice.

“Yes?” he replied with a nervous inflexion.

“I’m getting you outta here,” she stated, fiddling with the lock.

“Who are you?”

With a turn and a pull, the cell door sprung open. “Call me Eleanor. Now, mouth shut. Put this on.”

A thrown sack landed at his feet. It held trousers, a long-sleeved shirt, soft-soled shoes, leather gloves, and a hood that hung low to cover his face and neck. Even in the gloom, it was easy to see every article of clothing was black.

“Quick. Time’s short,” she whispered.

While she kept watch in the corridor, he shimmied out of his baggy overalls and donned the new clothing. It fit him surprisingly well—its material thin yet resilient—tailored in a way to contour his body without restricting movement. A little tight in the crotch, perhaps, but he wasn’t about to voice a complaint. She gestured for him to exit the cell, and then locked the gate shut with her tools.

Eleanor’s own attire closely matched his own. Black fabric wrapped around her head and face, leaving only a tiny slit open for her eyes. She looked deadly, and Callum was glad to know she was on his side. But why was she helping him? He knew he’d have to wait to learn her motives.

Using hand signals, she told him to stick close to her, and then proceeded toward the other oil lamp at the end of the corridor. She doused it, sinking them into complete darkness. Callum felt a hand reach out and he took it, allowing her to guide him blindly along a branching corridor. Rounding a corner, flickering light emanated from the far end of a passageway. This was where he’d been admitted. The exit was near. Unsure what to expect, he apprehensively padded toward the light.

Reaching the admittance area, they found it deserted. Where were the guards? Even in the middle of the night—even if he was the only prisoner—there had to be someone keeping watch. As they crossed the space toward the stairwell leading up, something caught his ear. Reverberant chatter of two men came from the exit, followed by lighthearted chuckling. Eleanor grabbed his arm and pulled him into an unlit side room—storage space for prison garb, manacles, battered cups and plates. Footsteps scratched down the steps and crossed the admittance area. A chair shifted, then creaked under the weight of someone sitting. A bored yawn.

Despite Eleanor’s hidden face, her eyes spoke volumes—annoyance at their unwanted guest. She peeked around the corner to appraise the gaoler. A brief moment passed, then she beckoned Callum to look. The man was sitting at a desk, slightly turned away from them, idly whittling at a piece of wood. Eleanor slipped her fingers into a hidden pocket and pulled free a small throwing knife. Before Callum could consider her next action, the knife was away—not aimed at the gaoler, but down the corridor they’d come from. It clattered, catching the man’s attention. Eleanor and Callum fell back into hiding, hoping the bait would work.

“What was that?” the gaoler mumbled to himself.

He stood and grabbed the oil lamp sitting on his desk. Footsteps crunched on the stone floor, echoing as he explored deeper along the corridor. Eleanor risked a peek, and judging it safe, signalled for Callum to follow. The shoes he wore made it easy to sneak up the stairs silently, and they were soon outside.

The moon overhead shone brightly, and Eleanor kept them to the shadows. In their black garb, Callum felt invisible—bringing a sense of invigorating freedom. As ordered, he kept his mouth shut, but he couldn’t envision their escape plan from here. The precinct was completely walled off from the rest of the city, with only two exits. Regardless of the time of day, he knew they were heavily guarded. Eleanor might be capable of a stealthy escape, but Callum didn’t share her surefooted nature, feeling clumsy in comparison.

She led him between two large buildings to a disused, forgotten alleyway. Reaching the far end, a rope ladder hung from the stone wall.

“Wait ’til I reach the top,” she whispered in his ear.

Without waiting for a reply, she climbed gracefully with no wasted movement. Upon cresting the wall, she gestured for Callum to join her. Placing his foot on the bottom rung, he tested his weight before committing. It bounced unnervingly. He clambered up, pulling himself close when it felt like the wobbling ladder was going to twist. She made it look so easy.

It took him an embarrassingly long time, but he eventually made it to the top. While he crouched for balance on the narrow capstones, she pulled up the ladder, secured by two grappling hooks anchored into the fortification. The opposite side of the wall ended in a sheer cliff. They wouldn’t be able to descend here. Once the ladder was bundled up and tucked underarm, she stepped lightly atop the wall. Callum gaped at the sight. Did she really expect him to follow her? A wave of vertigo hit as he glanced down. If he fell, he’d break his neck.

Seeing Callum on his knees, nervously gripping the stone block, she returned and crouched in front of him. “Don’t look down,” she whispered. “Just keep your eyes ahead. It seems narrow, but it’s not.”

“Easy for you to say,” he replied with a scoff.

“Give me your hand. Keep your eyes on me.” He did so, and she urged him to stand, never breaking eye contact. “Now, keep your eyes on the back of my head.”

She gently let go of his hand and he immediately felt unsteady. But then, holding his gaze forward, he took a tentative step. Then another. He seized that momentum and tried to keep his mind empty. If he thought too hard about what he was doing, he was sure to fall.

Eleanor watched his progress, making sure not to leave him behind. The wall jogged to the left and right as they forged ahead, forcing Callum to reposition himself without losing balance. Just as he was considering the risk of asking how much further to go, they reached another grappling hook. This one, however, led to freedom. Instead of a ladder, it was a length of rope with knots at regular intervals—its tail leading to a shed’s roof.

She motioned for Callum to descend. He couldn’t help a nervous chuckle escape his lips, but managed to edge his way down the rope with a bit of coaxing. He was thankful for the gloves. Without them, his hands would’ve been rope-burnt rappelling the wall. As soon as his feet touched the roof, she followed suit. Once again, she made it look easy. With no way to free the grappling hook, they abandoned it. They jumped the short distance to the ground, and Eleanor motioned for him to follow close.

The city’s empty streets were eerily quiet. That didn’t stop Eleanor from keeping to the shadows. She led him toward a residential quarter, employing lonely footpaths hidden by overgrown brush and neglected alleyways to take them there. They approached a nondescript residence, and after a rapid sweep to make sure no one was around, she unlocked the door and nudged him inside.

The space was dark. Not wanting to bump into anything, he stuck close to the entrance while she locked the door.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

She stepped past him and fumbled in the dark. Brief flashes of light—flint and steel—gave Callum a fleeting glimpse of the space. She soon had a flame going, using it to light a few candles. They were standing in a small kitchen.

“You don’t need to whisper now. And I told you, it’s Eleanor.”

“Sorry. What I meant was, why did you risk yourself in helping me escape?”

Unwrapping the tight fabric from her head revealed shoulder-length flowing hair and a mischievous smile. “Because we’re a rare breed, you and me.”

The word rare reminded Callum of the gotachi, Neva. She said Callum was rare, too. “What makes us so special?”

“Word spread fast you were spared by the pactrids. That can only mean one thing: you don’t approve of the war.”

Callum pulled off his gloves and the hood, finding it stifling. “You don’t either?”

Eleanor twisted her face in disdain. “Of course not. The war is only an excuse to harvest lumber.”

Callum’s conversation with the colonel echoed in his mind. Was attaining lumber worth all this death? “But how did you know I was locked up?”

“You don’t listen, do you. I told you word spreads fast. We have people everywhere.”

“So, there’s more people like us?”

She laughed in a way that made him feel decidedly stupid. “Of course there are.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know?”

“Aw, I’m just teasin’ you. The rebel network is well hidden—it’s gotta be.”

“Rebels?”

She nodded. “And you’re our newest member.”

Callum held up his hands. “Whoa, hold on. I didn’t agree to anything.”

“You don’t have a choice, Hidaro. Your allegiances to the pactrids are known—”

“Allegiance? What are you talking about?”

“Listen. Either you’re with the humans or the pactrids. There’s no middle ground. This is a war, after all.”

“But I don’t want to fight anyone.”

She let out a sigh of concession. “None of us do, but these are things out of our control. All we can do is help the pactrids. They didn’t start this war. They’re the victims—not us.”

More echoed words, this time in Rym’s voice, but Callum was curious to hear her version of the past. “How do you know that?”

Eleanor thumbed at a chair, offering him to sit. “It’s a long story, but you deserve to know it.” She recounted the history between human and pactrid, and how the war began. It matched exactly what Rym had told him. Anberans travelled south, crossed a range of mountains, and harvested the trees. Pactrid emissaries came to stop them, explaining they were trespassing on their land. Instead of heeding their request, the Anberans killed them and declared war. Since then, Anberans advanced further south, pushing back the pactrid troops and harvesting trees in the process.

“These mountains,” Callum said, “has anyone seen them?”

Eleanor nodded. “Around thirty years ago, a squad of rebels made the pilgrimage south. They took maps with them, and what they found didn’t match at all. Apparently, the mountains are huge and create an impasse east and west all the way to the sea.”

Having seen the mountains through Rym’s eyes, he could confirm their majestic grandeur. “So we’ve been told lies all this time.” It wasn’t a question, but Callum felt the need to speak it aloud.

“Yeah.” Her voice was hushed, sombre. “And now, you need to get out of Anbera.”

“But what about my life here? My mum?”

Eleanor shook her head. “I’m sorry. Unlike other rebels in the city, your cover is blown. If you stay here, it’s only a matter of time ’til the higher-ups catch you.”

Callum’s thoughts returned to Rym. Would the pactrid still take him in? This might be his only option now, but it felt like he’d be intruding on Rym’s life. What would living with Rym even entail?

“Any chance you have a pass?” Eleanor asked.

“You’re talking about a silver token? Yeah, I was given one when they let me go.”

Her eyes lit up. “Those are valuable.” Then she swore under her breath. “Please don’t say it was confiscated when you were gaoled.”

Callum shook his head. “I hid it in my apartment.”

“That’s a good thing, Hidaro. That’s your ticket to the rebel villages in pactrid territory.”

“What? They mentioned villages for refugees, not rebels.”

She stifled a laugh. “Refugees? Hardly. Maybe it’s a bad translation thing. No, rebels live in those villages. They help the pactrids—mostly growing food crops, but there are armourers and weaponsmiths, too.”

Callum’s eyes grew wide. “Anberans are arming pactrids to fight the war?”

“Pretty wild, yeah? Anyway, having that pass will make things easier for you.”

“But how can I get there? Do I have to walk? How far is that?”

“Don’t worry. We’ve got a contact at a farming village nearby. I’ll take you to him. He’s a transporter—old guy, retired. He can get you close to the front lines, but you’ll have to sneak past the camps and reach the safety of the forest. From there, you’re bound to cross paths with a pactrid squad. Just make sure you have that pass in hand, visible. Rebel or not, lots of those brutes hate us.”

Callum’s gaze fell. “Can you blame them?” He considered mentioning his time with Rym, and how the pactrid’s judgement of Callum had changed over the course of their time together. But that could pique her curiosity, and he didn’t want to deal with the embarrassment trying to explain their strange connection—a connection he still couldn’t properly comprehend.

“I never thanked you for getting me out of there,” he said. “I’ve got coin stashed away I could give you.”

She shrugged. “You wouldn’t be able to use those where you’re headed, so I won’t say no, but I don’t do this for the money. I’ll give your coin to the network instead. If you want to repay me, do it by standing on the side of what’s right. Don’t play into the hands of those who would control us with fear. Fight for happiness. Fight for joy. Fight for love. Fight for something worth living.”

Her words sounded like a mantra, akin to so many he’d repeated during his time in the army. Despite repeating those rallying calls countless times—hateful words describing the demise of their enemy—he never believed them in his heart. But what Eleanor spoke felt authentic, more in line with his own beliefs. He swallowed hard. “I’ll try my best.”

“We should get going,” she said, proceeding to wrap up her head in the dark fabric again. “You gotta be out of the city before sunup.”

Following her example, Callum donned his leather gloves and hood. “But I need to get that pass, and at least gather some clothes for the trip.”

“You can lead, then.”

“Wait,” Callum said with a start. “I don’t have the key to my apartment. The gaoler took it with the rest of my belongings.”

Eleanor tapped a long and narrow pouch hanging from her belt. “No sweat, Hidaro. I’ll pick it open.”

She blew out the candles and then poked her head outside to make sure the streets were still deserted. Upon receiving a thumbs up, Callum stepped outside and led her toward his apartment. Reprising Eleanor’s earlier actions, he kept out of the bright moonlight, hugging the walls and keeping to the shadows. He didn’t know any shortcuts like she did, but they reached his home unseen.

Approaching his door, he found it broken open. Splintered wood gave the impression someone had taken an axe to it.

“I guess you didn’t need a key after all,” Eleanor whispered, then held out a hand to stop him from advancing. “Stay put.”

Using a foot, she nudged the door wider. It was black inside. Slipping a hand into her pocket, she pulled out another throwing knife, although this time, she held it defensively. Gesturing again for Callum to hold his position, she disappeared inside.

He held his breath, perking his ears for any hint of an intruder lying in wait. It felt like an eternity, and his patience was swiftly unravelling. Just as he was about to take a step forward, Eleanor emerged from the gloom.

“It’s clear,” she whispered. “Get your stuff and make it quick. I’ll stand watch. If you hear a whistle, it means you’re out of time.”

He nodded and squeezed past her, eager to know what had become of his apartment. His foot immediately bumped something, and in an attempt to step aside, he hit something else. How Eleanor searched the place without making a noise was a mystery. Callum allowed a moment for his eyes to adjust. A narrow shaft of moonlight streaked across the wall, imparting enough illumination to distinguish the mess before him. He found dresser drawers pulled out, their contents spilling out onto the floor. Table and chairs overturned. The bed pulled away from the wall. Books and keepsakes on shelves jostled and knocked down.

Careful to step over his possessions strewn at his feet, he reached the floor moulding containing his hidden stash. It was still held in place. Prying it open, he found everything intact—his savings, the pactrid pass, and perhaps most importantly for him, Rym’s written message. Without that, Callum doubted he’d ever see Rym again. Glancing about, he found his trusty rucksack. It was tall, capable of holding a lot, but this would be the first time he’d test the limits of its capacity. He stowed the pass and parchment at the bottom, covered them with as much clothing he could stuff in, then topped it with an empty canteen. He’d have to fill it with water later. His knife found a home in a side pocket. A spare pair of boots were tied to a sturdy eyelet using their laces. He’d need them—his other pair had been left in the cell. Then, reaching back into the wall’s hidden cavity, he retrieved the leather coinpurse and secured it in another pocket. Upon hefting the laden rucksack onto his shoulders, he staggered forward, surprised by the weight. It would take time to grow accustomed to the heavy load. He crept his way back to the exit, but then glanced back to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything else.

Dad’s compass.

Scurrying to where his bedside table once was, he fell to his knees, blindly scraping his hands against the floor. His fingers brushed against the familiar form and he clutched the compass gratefully. Slipping the chain over his head and tucking the compass inside his shirt, he stood dumbfounded at the realisation he’d nearly left it behind. There was so much more he wanted to take, but circumstance had forced his hand. They were just things, after all. Anything important was on his person now, but he couldn’t help acknowledging the fact he was leaving his world behind.

He returned to find Eleanor keeping an eye out toward the street.

“Did you get the pass?” she asked.

Forlorn emotions were hitting Callum hard, and not wanting to test his voice, he only nodded in reply. She took the lead, once again guiding him through shortcuts and deserted passageways. They headed south toward the city walls, and Callum pondered how they’d pass through the portcullises, which would be closed this time of night. However, rather than heading toward the gates, she stole her way along the towering walls in the opposite direction. The path descended and a trench along the wall emerged.

“Where are we going?” Callum whispered.

Eleanor pointed ahead to an unexpected gap in the wall. “Rainfall gathers here. Rather than risk flooding, they’ve created a tunnel for water to escape.”

Crouching down to peer into the gap, the moonlit countryside on the other side beckoned them. There was only one problem. Their way was restricted by thick iron bars. When he pointed that out, Eleanor reached in and gave the bars a hard jostle. A hidden catch dislodged, and they swung out.

Callum looked on incredulously. “How?”

“It wasn’t always like that,” she said with a laugh. “We had a metalworker create a replacement that appeared identical to the original bars. It’s been there for years. We didn’t expect it to last this long, but no one’s ever discovered it.”

He suppressed a chuckle. “Amazing.”

“Isn’t it?” She gestured toward the exit. “After you.”

The tunnel was a tight fit, and he had to wriggle on his belly while pushing his bulging rucksack on ahead. Once she made her own way through, she closed the gate, followed by a good kick to latch it shut.

Callum glanced up at the looming city walls. Maybe one day he could return, but that felt like a delusion. The reality of his situation meant this would likely be the last time he’d step foot in Anbera. The bitter farewell to his mother would be his last, and without a doubt, that would haunt him forever.