The Roaming Sea - 10. Brookside, Pt. 1

Ettor proved to be a harsh and unforgiving travel companion. They pushed hard, stopping only to gather fresh water from a stream. Despite the trooper’s malcontent, he imparted a portion of his rations to Callum upon discovering he had nothing to eat. Callum bashfully accepted it, feeling foolish for so poorly planning his escape from Anbera. With everything that had transpired in the past twenty-four hours, packing food hadn’t crossed his mind.

“We’ll stop here for the night,” Ettor announced as sundown approached, pointing at a small clearing off the path they were travelling.

Callum looked up at the pactrid in surprise. Ettor had remained nearly mute the entire day—only speaking a handful of words after leaving his squad that morning. Though they had marched for over twelve hours, the pactrid had given no impression he was tired. If it’d been safe enough, he might’ve continued all night. In contrast, Callum was soaked in sweat. He doffed his rucksack and slumped to the ground, rubbing his sore shoulders. His respite was short-lived, however. Ettor gestured abruptly for Callum to stand up.

“I’m not your servant. Help me gather wood for a fire.”

Callum let out a curt breath. With a pained grunt, he rose to his feet to oblige his taskmaster. This brought a smirk to Ettor’s face, but his eyes spoke differently. It seemed Ettor was testing him, yet despite Callum’s fatigue, perhaps he was meeting the pactrid’s expectations. Between the two of them, they garnered a bounty of sticks, dead branches, and more than enough dry underbrush to use as kindling.

“You rest,” Ettor said while he built a fire.

Callum nearly collapsed, leaning against his rucksack. “Thank you, Ettor.”

The pactrid huffed through his trunk in reply. Callum wanted to apologise again, but he’d learnt in their brief time together that angered Ettor rather than appeased him. He casually studied his escort while he worked. Like the soldiers at the outpost, Ettor was young compared to Rym. His stamina alone endorsed that fact, but his physique attested to his age as well. Muscles bulged as he snapped thick branches in two—enormous arms restrained by tight shirt sleeves. Feeling Callum’s eyes upon him, Ettor glanced over from his work with a furrowed brow. Callum averted his gaze stiffly, but was unable to hide his warming cheeks.

“What’s your name, human?”

He couldn’t bring himself to look up. “Callum.”

“Cal . . . oom.”

Callum chuckled, in spite of his attempt to stifle it.

“Why do you laugh?”

“Rym can’t pronounce my name, either.”

Ettor tried again but couldn’t enunciate it properly. This irritated him.

“It’s nothing to be angry about,” Callum said. “Your language doesn’t use that kind of sound. Call me Cal’oom. It's close enough.”

“But I don’t understand why I can’t move my mouth that way.”

“I appreciate you trying, but it’s not important.”

While Ettor finished building the fire and lit it, he continued his attempts at repeating Callum’s name, but ended up no closer to perfecting the pronunciation. He growled in annoyance.

“You speak our language well, Cal’oom. How did you learn?”

Callum cringed inwardly. That question again. “I was taught by instructors, but how they gained that knowledge? I don’t know.” At least he wasn’t lying.

Ettor gave a venerate nod. “You honour us. I wish more humans were like you.”

“I do, too,” Callum replied, nudging himself closer to the fire. “I only just discovered the truth of the war.”

“What truth?”

Callum took a deep breath. “We’ve always believed pactrids have been invading our land, and that we need to fight back in order to keep it.”

Ettor stared back in disbelief, his eyes wide. “But the opposite is true.”

“Yes. I know that now.”

“But how can your kind believe this? Who spreads these lies?”

Callum cast his gaze down in shame, shaking his head. “I told someone high in our ranks and he didn’t believe me. Perhaps he knew and hid it well. But now, I wonder if this story has been repeated so many times—and for so long—that it’s become the truth.”

The pactrid stared into the fire, its flames reflecting in his eyes. “I hate humans,” he muttered.

Despite being taken aback by the brash statement, Callum couldn’t blame Ettor. The more he learnt, the more he agreed with him. It seemed like everything he’d been told was a lie, or a disfigurement of the truth—twisted and pulled to benefit those in power. For the first time, he was glad Anbera was behind him now—preferring the company of this surly trooper who made no attempt to hide anything.

Their travel together lasted another three gruelling days. During that time, Ettor’s prickly manner had abated. Although Callum couldn’t be sure, he assumed travelling with a human had been an eye-opening experience for the pactrid. Ettor’s hate was based on generalisations, and being in close contact with a human showed that in some ways, they weren’t all that different.

On the last day, rather than stop before dusk, Ettor laid a weighty hand on Callum’s arm—ostensibly trying to share his strength.

“The village is close. If we hurry, we’ll arrive before the light is gone.”

Stinking from days of sweat, Callum had long fallen past the point of exhaustion. His shoulders were bruised from the straps of his heavy rucksack, and his feet ached terribly. These felt like minor complaints, though. During their trek, Ettor frequently expressed concern for his squadmates. He belonged with them, to fight alongside and protect them. To Callum, his pain was inconsequential compared to Ettor’s worry.

The pactrid’s expeditious course of action was to deliver Callum today, rest for the night, then return to his squad at first light. At this point, whatever damage to Callum’s body was already done.

He wore a weary smile. “Lead on, my tireless friend.”

The pactrid exclaimed his appreciation with a brief trumpeting from his trunk. Callum flinched at the sound, but then let out his own fatigued whoop in solidarity.

While Ettor’s demeanour toward Callum had grown affable over the course of their journey, the pactrid never apologised for his harsh statement that first night. A part of Callum didn’t want to hear it, though. That Ettor appeared to enjoy his company told Callum not to take it personally. Twice now, Callum had managed to befriend what many could consider his enemy. Was that a personal victory worth celebrating, or did it show pactrids weren’t permanently blinded by hate? Callum decided the latter was more important. Anberans could learn so much from them.

The sun had fallen below the skyline when the forest gave way to a humble village. Two rows of houses faced each other with a proud longhouse in between. The height of the buildings proclaimed who lived there—Anberans. Flickering lamplight glowed invitingly in many of the windows. A granary stood in the distance, and beyond were plots of farmland. Drawn in by the welcoming atmosphere, Callum advanced into the village proper, but then realised Ettor wasn’t following. Instead, the pactrid regarded the settlement from afar with apprehension.

“What’s wrong?” Callum asked, closing the space between them.

Ettor gazed down at him, his lips tight. He wanted to say something.

“Tell me, Ettor. What’s wrong?”

“Humans, Cal’oom.”

“But I’m human.”

Ettor shook his head, his trunk weaving back and forth. “They’re not you.”

“Yes, these humans are like me,” Callum said, gesturing to the village. “They passed the gotachi test. They don’t have hate in their heart. They know the truth.”

Ettor crouched down to one knee and held a hand to Callum’s chest. “I hope you fare well here with your fellow humans, Cal’oom.”

This mimicked Rym’s conduct when they’d parted ways. Perhaps this is how pactrids said goodbye. Callum followed by example—his hand dwarfed against the pactrid’s chest.

“Thank you, Ettor. I know this was a hardship for you, but please understand, I greatly appreciate what you’ve done for me.”

The pactrid smiled.

“I hope you and your squadmates stay safe,” Callum added.

“As safe as we can be.”

“Your kind are terrifying on the battlefield, a force to be reckoned with. I’m glad to be your ally and not your enemy.”

Ettor’s smile widened. “Yes, you wouldn’t last a moment in combat with me.”

Callum scoffed at the idea. “You’re right. I’d be running for my life.”

The pactrid let out a hearty laugh.

“But please, don’t leave yet,” Callum said. “Maybe they have some food they can share.”

“No. I wish to return to my squad.”

“You’re not going to rest the night?”

Ettor stood, breaking the connection of their hands on their chests. “Perhaps later, if I tire.”

“Then journey safe, Ettor.”

The pactrid gave him a bow of the head, then left without another word. Callum watched him lumber away, disappearing into the darkened forest. More than ever, he longed for Rym. Ettor’s touch had rekindled a yearning deep inside, and to have it pulled away so hastily bolstered the loneliness dwelling within.

Callum turned to face the village again. Despite the night still being young, it was quiet—nothing like Anbera’s rambunctious nature most evenings. Is this place really my new home? Being dropped off rather unceremoniously—without any clue of whom to speak to—left him feeling timid. There were so many possibilities, so many uncertainties in his life now. But instead of fear, he felt strangely invigorated by the challenges to come.

His first choice would’ve been to visit the longhouse, but it lay dormant. With no other ideas, he stepped up to the nearest house. Lit windows and hushed conversation—punctuated by the laughter of children—told him somebody was home. He knocked on the door and took a few steps back. A man answered, perhaps a few years older than him. The smile on his face, however, melted away upon seeing Callum. In its place, there was a mix of confusion and suspicion.

“Hello,” the man said hesitantly.

Callum raised a nervous hand in greeting. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to startle you. My name’s Callum. A pactrid just dropped me off here. I’ve no idea who to speak to.”

The man’s eyes softened. “Oh, a new arrival?”

Callum nodded.

“The person you want is Delores. She handles newcomers. Let me get my boots and cloak, and I’ll introduce you.”

“I appreciate that. Thanks so much, um . . .”

The man held out a hand and Callum shook it. “I’m Arnold, but everyone calls me Arn.”

Arn led him deeper into the village. Beyond the longhouse lay a wide, grassy avenue, flanked by more houses—over a dozen on each side. The open space was likely used for gatherings or celebrations. A roofed stone well stood in the centre. Larger buildings—perhaps storehouses and workshops—sat far in the distance, hugged by tall, looming trees.

“Regardless of what Delores might say, she’s our village chief. She hates the title, but more than qualifies to fill the position. People look up to her, and rightly so. She played a big part in the founding of our village.”

They approached an unassuming house, and Arn knocked on the door. A stocky woman answered. She had long hair—greying in places—tied into a ponytail. Arn introduced them, repeating what Callum had told him.

Delores smiled warmly in greeting. “Where’s your escort?”

“Oh, umm”—Callum didn’t know how to politely explain that the pactrid didn’t trust them—“he left already. He’s a soldier and wanted to get back to his squad. Honestly, my escape was kind of a mess. I’d been caught crossing the front line, and our soldiers were chasing me into the forest.”

“Escape is rarely easy,” Delores said, “but that’s behind you now. Welcome to Brookside.”

Callum nodded his thanks to Delores and Arn. “I’ll admit, I don’t know how any of this works.”

“Were you not counselled?” Delores asked with a frown. “Normally there’s an orientation period to bring new arrivals up to speed.”

Callum told of his return to Anbera, his meeting with the colonel, and his short incarceration before being freed by Eleanor. As the story unfolded, Arn regarded him with wide eyes—captivated. In hindsight, the events did sound astonishing.

“You must be tired,” Arn said after Callum completed his story.

Callum chuckled. “You have no idea.”

Delores gestured for him to enter her home. “I have a spare room meant for new arrivals. Come. Let’s get you settled and into bed.”

Arn used that as a signal to take his leave. “Goodnight, Callum. Perhaps you can tell me another adventure tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid that’s my only story worth telling. Thanks again, Arn. Goodnight.”

Callum entered the cosy home, finding a common area furnished with beautifully carved wooden chairs and a table. Dried flowers and herbs—fashioned into wreaths—hung from the wall. A low fire glowed in the stove, warding off the growing chill of the evening. Two doors led to bedrooms.

“Delores, could I trouble you for a washbasin and cloth? I’ve been on the march for three days and desperately need to get this grime off me.”

She smiled. “I can do you one better. This village is called Brookside for a reason.”

With a lantern and towel in hand, Delores led him beyond the backyard of her home into the forest. A well-kept path brought them to a wide brook, its water gently rolling over round stones.

“It’s deep enough to sit and bathe in. We also use it for laundry.” She set the lantern and towel on a nearby rock. “Take your time. When you’re done, let yourself in. I’ll have your bed prepared.”

A place to bathe and a bed to sleep on should’ve felt like basic necessities, but at this moment, Callum’s heart was filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Delores. You can’t understand what this means to me.”

“Perhaps I can,” she said with a wink, and then left to give him privacy.

In Anbera, a trip to the bathhouse took well over fifteen minutes. It felt like a luxury to have a bathing spot nearby. Once undressed, Callum tentatively dipped a throbbing foot into the water. He sucked in air through his teeth. The water was frigid. One benefit of the bathhouse, I guess.

Before he could regret it, he dived into the water. Initially, it was agonising, but as his body adjusted to the temperature, it soothed his aching muscles. He lay back, staring at the black canopy above. The moon had completed its tenday journey across the sky, allowing twinkling stars to greet him through gaps in the boughs. This place felt like a dream. Almost too good to be true. The hubbub of the city replaced by the rush of water over stone and a chorus of night insects. Without experiencing it until now, he had no idea how special it was.

Water sluiced over him, stripping the sweat and road dust from his skin. The brook’s current was surprisingly strong. Without his feet braced against the stones, he would’ve easily floated away. A part of him wanted to let go, to discover where it’d take him. But no, beyond the village was unfamiliar territory. Perhaps it led to dangerous rapids. Regardless, this land brought on a growing wanderlust he’d never possessed before. Excitement for the unexplored.

Rym was a scout—a scoutmaster, as revealed by the squad leader. Callum wondered what that entailed. Perhaps Rym could teach him to be a scout, and they could explore the unknown together.

● ● ●

The soothing patter of rain—unobtrusive in its manner—gently pulled Callum from his slumber. Soft, grey light edged its way between a gap in the curtains, lighting the sparse bedroom. Unlike Delores’ front room, the walls here were unadorned, and aside from a small table by the bed and set of drawers, the space was empty. She’d mentioned these were temporary quarters for new arrivals. Perhaps she considered it best not to personalise the room.

Rising from bed with a groan—his legs ached furiously—Callum peeked out the window. Beads of rainwater marred the glass, warping his view of the neighbouring house. Leaning over to peer at the grassy avenue, he saw no one. Perhaps it was still early, or more likely, the rain was keeping people indoors.

He dressed, then opened the door to the front room. A newly-lit fire crackled in the stove, working wonders to dispel the damp air. Delores sat at the table, sipping from a steaming mug. She glanced over and offered Callum a warm smile.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

Callum nodded. “The bed was a nice change. I’m not accustomed to sleeping outdoors, nor long marches. The soldier who escorted me here was—shall we say—efficient. He didn’t leave any time for recuperation.”

She gestured for Callum to join her. “I’m guessing you’re not infantry?” she asked with a sly smile.

“What gave you that idea?” he asked, chuckling at her sarcasm while sitting at the table. “You’re right. I’m a medic, but I also briefly acted as an interpreter.”

Her eyes lit up. “You speak the pactrid language? Why was your tenure so short?”

He broke his gaze from Delores, trying to keep the images burnt in his mind at bay. “I didn’t appreciate what being an interpreter entailed. I knew about the violence—thought I had the stomach for it.” He looked back into her eyes. “I learnt a lot about myself that day.”

She gave a sympathetic nod. “Are you still fluent?”

“Yeah.”

“So, an interpreter and a medic? You’ll be a great boon to Brookside.”

Callum felt his cheeks redden. “I don’t know about that.”

“Visiting pactrid traders don’t speak our language particularly well. Broken sentences at best, making it difficult to barter sometimes.”

“Oh, well, I’d be happy to translate.”

“We have a doctor—his name is Gerald. I’m sure he’d appreciate a medic to help him.”

“Of course. I’m happy to do whatever. I’ll admit, while travelling here, I couldn’t envision what I would do, or even how to make a living amongst the pactrids.”

“It’s similar to how we did things in Anbera. Sometimes we barter in trade, other times in coin. We use the pactrid’s currency with traders and between ourselves in the village. Everyone plays a role to better the lives of our neighbours. Our community is small enough to make it work.”

“And you have room for me?”

Delores smiled. “Yes. We juggle people around to make it work. Some houses hold a single family with children. In the case of single folk, they share a house—two or three at the most. Of course, relationships between our neighbours occur. If they wish to live together, we figure out a solution. No one house belongs to anyone. They belong to everyone.”

Callum found this concept a little strange, though his concern could be a moot point. It was possible he wouldn’t be staying.

“I’m sorry—I’m a terrible host,” she said. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

Callum nodded. “Both. And no, you’ve been a wonderful host. Taking me in. Answering my questions. I feel incredibly welcome here.”

“It’s my pleasure. Would you like tea? And I have warm biscuits with butter.”

Callum’s belly rumbled. “Oh, that sounds really good right now.”

She offered another comforting smile, then swiftly laid out his breakfast. Mouth watering, Callum prepared one biscuit and took a bite. Crunchy on the outside, soft within. It practically melted in his mouth. He let out a moan of approval, which brought a laugh to Delores’ lips.

After finishing the biscuit and enjoying a sip of hot tea, he said, “I have a message I need sent out. I was told emissaries visit human villages.”

“Yes, they do. What message?”

Callum’s cheeks flushed again. “The pactrid scout I mentioned yesterday? He said to seek him out if I ever returned. We . . . um, became friends.” He left it vague and hoped she wouldn’t pry.

“I suppose when you can speak their language, it’s easier to befriend them.”

A nervous laugh escaped his lips.

“Emissary visits are irregular,” she said, “but I’ll make sure you’re told when they arrive so you can deliver this message.”

“And what about travelling beyond the village? I was told we always need a pactrid escort. Are we . . . trapped here?”

She made a face, telling him he wasn’t entirely wrong. “The alliance we have with the pactrids is tenuous. They don’t all agree Anberans should be living on their land.”

“I’ll admit, given everything I’ve learnt, I’m surprised they allow us on their land at all.”

She nodded. “The impartial way they view their aggressors is quite foreign compared to how we were brought up. Away from the front line fighting, most don’t immediately befall prejudiced thoughts. Instead, they discover the merits of each Anberan and treat them accordingly.”

“You’re talking about the gotachi?”

“Yes. Their ability to see a person’s motives—hidden or not—is fascinating. And that’s why there are no walls surrounding our village, no pactrid guards keeping us in. They trust us. In turn, they ask us to follow their rules. That we can’t travel without an escort is partially for our own protection as well. As I said, they know some pactrids distrust humans, even if we’ve proven themselves to be allies.”

“I’ll admit, once I learnt the truth, I felt ashamed.”

“I think it’d be fair to say we all did.”

“But Eleanor said we help supply the pactrids—arm them—essentially helping them fight our own kind. That feels . . . wrong, traitorous.”

“The simple fact is that Anberans are the enemy. They’re the oppressors. I understand it’s hard to come to terms with. You’ve been told the opposite your entire life.”

“But—”

“Callum, if our kind had respected the pactrids and their land, this war would’ve never started. That they—despite everything—accept people like us to live here shows they’d be friends to all Anberans had we never stolen from them. The idea of humans and pactrids living together in harmony cheers my heart, but that’ll never happen until the truth is told. Not just told, but believed by the citizens of Anbera.”

Callum’s thoughts returned to his mother, who refused to believe what he’d told her. If she couldn’t believe her own son, who could possibly change her mind? “So, how do we get them to believe us?”

Delores stared back, her eyes creased in sorrow. “If we knew the answer, we’d have done it.” She stood and nudged a curtain aside to peek outside. “All we can do is be thankful for the pactrids—who allow us to live amongst them, away from all the lies and hate of Anbera.” She turned back to him, a smile winning against a frown. “The rain’s stopped. Finish your tea, and I’ll introduce you to some of your new neighbours.”