The Roaming Sea - 13. Vanguard, Pt. 1

Countless days passed as Callum and Rym hiked westward toward the sea. Only the procession of the slow-travelling moon gave them any clue how long they’d travelled. Not that it mattered. With no scheduled date to reach their destination, there was no need to push themselves beyond their limits. The rising sun didn’t dictate when to break camp each morning. Instead, the day’s journey commenced at their leisure. In the afternoon, if they encountered an agreeable spot to set up camp, they’d stop there rather than push on.

That extra time wasn’t wasted, though. Callum demonstrated his newfound trapping skills to Rym, and the pactrid contributed additional insight to bolster Callum’s methods. While they waited for snares to catch their supper, Callum practised with his bow—hanging up simple targets from low branches to shoot at. Rym watched on with curiosity, providing words of encouragement when Callum missed, or delight when a target was hit. On rare occasions when their snares were ineffective, they still had rations to fall back upon.

Rym restated his allure to Callum’s dexterous form, declaring pactrids were unable to use a bow due to their large, clumsy fingers. Wanting to prove Rym wrong, Callum recounted his observations of how nimble Rym’s fingers appeared, despite their size. More than once, he suggested the pactrid try his hand at shooting, but each time he was rebuffed.

Having always relied on transporters to travel long distances, Callum found walking day after day without respite quite onerous. Each night, his weary legs ached. After grousing about it once, Rym took it upon himself to massage Callum’s legs with his warm, powerful hands. Perhaps it was a clever excuse to touch him, but Callum certainly didn’t mind. Rym stated travelling was seasoning his legs, and that each day, his endurance would improve. Given the imposed time limit upon crossing the seabed, having the fortitude to travel longer would be to everyone’s benefit.

As they neared their destination, Callum became increasingly fascinated by Rym's talent for spotting unassuming landmarks—a babbling stream; a subtle depression in the path; a uniquely shaped tree. How he recalled such simple details and use them to pinpoint their location left Callum dumbfounded. Scoutmaster indeed. If he intends to teach me the craft, I have so much to learn.

Having never travelled this way, Callum couldn’t remark on specific landmarks, but one change he did observe was a shift in the variety of trees growing in the region. Distinctive leaves—smaller in size—sprouted from differently structured limbs. Mentioning this brought an elated smile to Rym’s face.

“I’m proud of you for noticing, pup. These species are hardier, able to withstand the salty sea air and vicious winds.”

“So we’re close to the sea?”

Rym stopped him and gestured ahead. “Listen carefully. What do you hear?”

Callum cocked his head, analysing the sounds of the forest. Birdsong; the subtle creak and groan of trees swaying in the wind; the rustle of leaves. Beyond that, he heard a distant roar, nearly imperceptible had he not been focusing. It was the crash of water upon rock.

He bolted in that direction. “Come on, Rym!”

For the second time in his life, Callum was being chased by a pactrid, only this time, he was laughing. As before, it took little time for Rym to close the gap between them. Callum dumped his burdensome rucksack and redoubled his efforts in order to gain speed, but it made little difference. Rym’s hulking stride caught up to him, and for a moment, Callum reckoned he’d be knocked down. Instead, strong hands scooped him into the air and thrust him against Rym’s chest, holding him safely as the pactrid barrelled toward a clearing beyond the forest.

Upon breaking through, Callum raised a hand to his face, shielding his eyes against the bright sunlight. Huffing from the exertion, Rym dropped to a knee, then held Callum to stand and balance atop it. Callum squinted in the light, allowing his eyes to adjust so he could take in the sight before him. Beyond a meadow of long grass sat a modest pactrid settlement. The unadorned wooden buildings were hastily built, constructed for purpose rather than aesthetics. Sea birds circled above in the blue sky, their distinct call wrenching Callum’s heart at the memory of Anbera.

The crash and roar of the sea was much louder than he’d ever experienced back home. But even from his high vantage point, it was only heard, not seen. Pulled by the sea’s dynamic anthem, Callum leapt from Rym’s knee and headed along the path that cut through the swaying grass. They ignored the settlement, instead stepping toward a sheer stone cliff overlooking the sea, akin to Anbera. The water, however, was frighteningly closer than his view at home. Instead of a vertigo-inducing descent from the cliff’s edge, it was a mere ten metres to the ferocious waters.

Powerful waves crashed and swirled relentlessly—an endless fight for supremacy that was won and lost moment to moment. Rym had warned they’d be lost to the sea if they didn’t reach land in time. Only now could Callum truly appreciate what he meant. Anyone—human or pactrid—caught in those waves would be torn apart, not drowned.

“Ho!”

A husky voice to their left broke the spell that held Callum entranced by the mesmerising sea.

“Greetings,” Rym replied, raising a hand in acknowledgement to an approaching pactrid.

“Hello,” Callum said, hoping that speaking their language would soften any resistance to having an Anberan visit their settlement.

The pactrid—stocky, with a firm yet large belly fighting against his tunic—regarded Callum with eager excitement in his eyes. Despite his shorter height, he still towered over Callum. After what felt like too long a moment, the pactrid tore his gaze away to look up at Rym. “My name is Cior. Are you to be part of our vanguard?”

“I hope so. I’m scoutmaster Tepin.” Rym then gestured toward Callum. “This is my companion, Cal’oom. We will be travelling together as one.”

It was difficult for Callum to distinguish Cior’s age, but he guessed the pactrid was older than the troops he encountered before, but certainly younger than Rym. His demeanour was certainly milder than the young troopers he’d met in the past.

Cior bestowed a cordial nod to both of them. “We would be honoured to have you travel with us. Cal’oom, I will admit allowing a human to be part of a vanguard is quite rare, but as scoutmaster Tepin’s companion, you are more than welcome.”

“The honour is mine,” Callum said with a bow of the head. “Are you a scout as well?”

Seemingly impressed by Callum’s guess, Cior let out a hearty chuckle, his belly jiggling in time with his laughter. “I am. You speak our language well, human.”

“He was an interpreter for his kind,” Rym said, “as well as a medic.”

Cior’s eyes lit up. “A medic? Our current roster is missing such an important role. It’s fortuitous you’ve arrived when you did.”

A part of Callum was relieved he wouldn’t be regarded as dead weight on this journey. Concern rose, however, realising he’d never treated a wounded pactrid before. He supposed their biology didn’t differ that much from humans—at least, he hoped so.

Rym laid a comforting hand on Callum’s shoulder. Perhaps he could sense Callum’s unease. “Could you show us where we’ll be staying while we wait for the sea to pass?”

“Of course,” Cior replied, turning to lead them inland—southeast—to one of the long, nondescript buildings. “We still have two positions open in the current vanguard roster—well, one position now that you’ve arrived. Normally, we travel in troops of twelve, however, I believe including a human as a thirteenth traveller will be acceptable.” He gazed skyward to the moon, barely visible in the daylight. “We have four days before we begin our journey, so you will have time to recuperate.”

Cior entered the building and held the door open for them to follow. The building’s rock foundation was nearly a metre high. Despite a flat stone acting as a stair up to the doorway’s threshold, it made for an awkward step, even for Rym. Callum had to climb up.

“I apologise,” Cior said, imparting a bashful glance at Callum. “When this settlement was built, humans were never considered. This area tends to suffer from flooding during the rainy season. The stone footing protects us from this.”

Callum smiled and nodded in understanding. “It’s no trouble.”

Rows of bunk beds lined the opposing walls. By Callum’s count, the barracks could sleep forty-eight pactrids, but with only a few windows to let sunlight in, it was hard to be sure. Rugged footlockers pulled double duty as a boost to reach the upper bunks. There was no way Callum would sleep up there. He’d take a lower bunk. And while he’d prefer to sleep snuggled to Rym—as they had every night during their journey here—he surmised that would be deemed inappropriate here.

Cior led them farther into the building, passing by bunks already claimed. Personal effects lay strewn on some beds, and clothing hung from hooks on the wall. On one bed, a journal lay open with a quill and stoppered inkpot atop it. Perhaps a vanguard member was chronicling their journey. For a barracks, it was surprisingly chaotic and unkempt, yet this didn’t displease Callum. It had the opposite effect—the place felt welcoming and cosy, despite the fact everything towered over him. Had a barracks back home ever fallen to such disarray, he could only imagine what kind of disciplinary actions their superiors would’ve inflicted upon them.

Seven rows deep, Cior gestured to a bunk. “You two can share this one.”

“Thank you,” Rym said, tugging at the strap of his heavy rucksack to doff it.

At that moment, Callum uttered a sigh, realising his belongings had been left forgotten on the forest path. “I, uh—”

Rym glanced over, then comprehending the problem, gave him a mirthful grin.

“You rest here. I’ll be back,” Callum said.

Before Cior could enquire what the problem was, Callum darted for the exit and jumped down from the threshold. The rush of the sea heartened him—a warm ball in his belly that rose to his chest. After being away from it for so long, he realised now how much he’d missed it.

He jogged the short distance east through the grassy meadow and back into the forest. Rounding a shallow corner, instead of expecting to find his rucksack, he spotted a pactrid wearing leather armour, likely a soldier. Callum stumbled at the sight, his boot knocking against a root crossing the path. The pactrid, crouched to inspect the fallen rucksack, shot his gaze toward Callum. A scar along the cheek marred his grizzled face, and his right ear was torn from an old injury. He stood and immediately pulled a sword free from his scabbard.

It all happened so fast, Callum found himself frozen in shock. His mind refused to issue a command, a suggestion—anything to aid him in this moment.

The pactrid lumbered toward him with teeth bared. “Pass,” he said in Callum’s native language, albeit with a thick accent.

Callum blinked, trying to find his voice.

“Pass!” the pactrid bellowed, swiftly closing the space between them with his sword raised.

At last, Callum broke free of his stupor, finally understanding what the soldier wanted. “Yes, I have a pass,” he replied in the pactrid’s language, jamming his hands in his pockets, trying to find the token proving he was allowed to travel their land—but only with an escort, damn it!

The pactrid was nearly upon him when he finally found the pass in a jacket pocket. With a shaky hand, Callum held it up high. The soldier ripped it from his grasp, glaring at him before inspecting it.

“I’m with Scoutmaster Tepin,” Callum managed to say after swallowing hard. Hopefully mentioning Rym would cut him some slack.

The soldier regarded him with an inquisitive stare—a look Callum was growing familiar with whenever he spoke the pactrid language. “I don’t know who you speak of. Why are you alone? Where is this scoutmaster?”

“He’s at the settlement, not far from here.” Callum gestured at his rucksack on the path. “I was retrieving that. It’s mine.”

A moment of relief crossed the pactrid’s face. “The settlement is near? I’ve been travelling many days.”

Callum nodded. After handing back the pass, the pactrid gestured toward the rucksack.

“Get your bag. But no tricks, human.”

Callum nodded again and scurried toward his goal. Sword still drawn, the pactrid followed close behind, heavy footfalls threatening to crush Callum if he didn’t move fast enough. Upon donning his rucksack, Callum guardedly looked up, asking for direction. He hated this, but couldn’t fault the pactrid for being angry. After all, he’d broken the rules.

The soldier gestured with his sword, pointing to the path leading to the settlement. “You lead, human. I want you in my sight.”

“I don’t mean you any harm,” Callum said, aiming to garner some leniency, but a bitter scoff told him he was wasting his time.

Once they’d reached the forest’s edge, Callum craned his neck in a failed attempt to see over the long grass. He wanted to call out to Rym, but didn’t want to risk antagonising the soldier at his heels. Once clear of the grass, Callum caught sight of Rym leaning against the wall of the barracks, chatting with Cior.

“Whose human is this?” the soldier bellowed.

Rym turned at the voice, and upon assessing the situation, ran toward them with intent. Callum fought against his need to run toward Rym, but the fear of being cut down held him in place.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Rym demanded.

“Scoutmaster Tepin? Your human was roaming free without a minder. Explain yourself.”

Before Rym could reply, Cior reached the group with his hands gently raised. “Stand down. There’s no need for that weapon. We’re all friends, here.”

“Friends?” The soldier’s tone was indignant. “This asafari is no friend of ours.”

This was the second time Callum had been called this name. Even with no clue to its meaning, the malicious insinuation was clear. Rym positioned himself to allow Callum to sidle near his leg. While the soldier’s sword was still drawn, it was held down in a less threatening manner.

“He is one of the rare humans,” Cior said, then lowered his gaze to Callum. “You do have a pass, yes?” He stumbled over his words uneasily, realising he should’ve requested it during their initial meeting.

“Yes, of course,” Callum said, revealing it for all to see. “I showed it to him already.”

“There,” Cior said with a nod of reassurance. “Now, if you’d kindly put away your weapon, we can introduce ourselves properly.”

Irritably sheathing his sword, the soldier mumbled, “I’m Eudald.”

“I assume you’ll be a member of our protection detail?”

Eudald grunted in affirmation.

“Very good. Your fiery temperament will be appreciated when we need it most. I’m Cior, scout.”

Callum felt the scout was risking another outburst by such a statement, but Eudald appeared to appreciate the comment.

“This is scoutmaster Rymolnd, and his companion, medic Cal’oom,” Cior said.

Eudald turned his attention to Rym. “This human is part of the vanguard?”

Rym glowered back, almost inviting a fight. “Yes, he is.”

Jabbing a finger in Callum’s direction, Eudald said, “We’re losing our home because of these animals. What gives this human the right to be here?”

Cior lay a gentle hand on Eudald’s shoulder, but the soldier flinched it away. “Because he’s a victim as much as we are. You must know the human refugees will take part in the exodus.”

“Yes, but I was looking forward to be free of them for a time—at least a few cycles.”

Again, Cior tried to comfort Eudald with a friendly touch. This time, the soldier accepted it. “I think we all need to settle down. Come with me, and I’ll show you to your bunk.”

Eudald nodded begrudgingly and fell in line behind Cior, who led him into the barracks. Once they were out of sight, Rym crouched to a knee before Callum.

“Are you hurt?”

A vile mix of anger and regret burnt Callum’s throat. Anger at Eudald for how he treated him, and regret that the soldier was so filled with hate. Callum couldn’t blame Eudald for that hate, though, and that only added to the churning fire within him. “No, but I’m worried my being here is going to cause problems. We’ve not met the others yet. What if they hate me, too?”

“Eudald doesn’t hate you—”

“I’d say that’s a perfect example of hate,” Callum replied with a fierce stare.

Rym nodded, unable to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry, pup.”

“So am I.”

● ● ●

Rym and Callum wandered north, away from the settlement, giving time for Cior to hopefully calm Eudald down. On Callum’s urging, they returned to the cliff’s edge to bask in the western setting sun. Soon, Callum’s hand found Rym’s, and they sat to watch the churning sea in silence. The wind whipped up at times, bringing with it a refreshing light spray of seawater. A smile grew on Callum’s face. The sea had a special way of relieving him of unwelcome emotions—its power to do so never faltering. Of course, having a protective friend by my side helps, too.

As though sensing this, Rym said, “The sea can work wonders.”

Callum laughed, hugging the pactrid’s bulky arm. “We think alike.”

He caught sight of Cior approaching them prudently, stopping at a fair distance, not wanting to intrude. Still wearing a smile, Callum gestured for the scout to join them, and Cior’s timidity melted away as he lumbered toward them with a wave.

“Thank you for your diplomatic talents,” Rym said.

“Yes,” Callum added, “and I’m sorry to have caused such trouble.”

Cior stared at Callum with disbelief. “The fault falls upon Eudald, not you.”

Callum wanted to argue that Eudald’s hate—while misplaced—was justified, but decided to keep that to himself. “You say you’re a scout, but you have the qualities of a leader.”

Cior waved away his remark with a flustered chuckle. “Katock is the leader of our group, although he has given me station as second-in-command. A benefit to being long-time friends, I suppose.”

“Friend or not, I’d say Katock’s decision is warranted,” Rym said.

“You embarrass me.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You handled that confrontation admirably.” Rym stood up and discreetly gestured for Callum to follow suit. “Could you introduce us to the rest of the group?” he asked Cior.

“Yes, yes. That’s why I came to find you. Supper will be ready soon. Everyone will be together to meet you, Cal’oom, and Eudald.”

They stopped by the barracks, allowing Callum to finally drop off his rucksack. Opening a side pouch, he retrieved the cutlery set Delores gave him. He silently thanked her for catching such an oversight, then slipped them into his trouser pocket.

The scout led them deeper into the rustic settlement, comprising five buildings of varying shapes and sizes. Each held a purpose—the barracks, of course, as well as a mess hall, warehouse, and two multipurpose workspaces. No one was meant to live here permanently. It was only a base of operations to accept arrivals and prepare them for travel across the sea. The settlement would likely need to expand once the exodus began in earnest, but at the moment, there was no point in developing beyond their immediate needs. After all, they were abandoning this land. Why waste time and resources?

“How do we reach the shore once the sea recedes?” Callum asked.

Cior pointed south. Beyond the space cleared to build the settlement, the forest reigned. “The cliffs break away, making for a smoother path leading to the water’s edge.”

Reaching the mess hall, a waft of savoury cooking pulled Callum closer. His mouth watered. Although he and Rym had trapped wild game during their travels, cooking over a campfire never resulted in a sumptuous meal. It was often charred to ensure the meat was properly cooked through. While it did the job to keep them fed, the taste was mediocre at best.

The mess hall was, no surprise, a simple affair. Two rows of long tables with bench seating. Stout candles—their base ensconced with layers of melted wax—sat in the centre of the tables at regular intervals. At the opposite end was a food preparation and cooking area, currently manned by a pactrid tending to hot coals below the grill.

“That’s Fyrne, our cook,” Cior said, then pointed to four pactrids—two male and two female—sitting and chatting at the table. “Those are our labourers, Oulaan, Qarrj, Gaode, and Huash.”

Reminded of his arrival at Brookside, Callum grimaced inwardly. So many new people to remember, and the foreign nature of these pactrid names didn’t help matters.

“I’ll introduce you to the others later on,” Cior said, gesturing for them to sit. In Callum’s case, he needed to stand in order to see over the table, but that was fine. He was tall enough to comfortably lay his hands out and eat when the time came.

Fyrne’s delicious cooking meant no supper bell was required. Mere minutes later, more pactrids streamed in and seated themselves. It didn’t take long for Callum’s presence to become known. Curious glances and furtive whispers broke out. A nervous ball lodged itself in Callum’s gut, and he looked up to Rym in concern.

The pactrid placed his big hand atop Callum’s. “Don’t fret, pup,” he said in a low voice.

Eudald entered and immediately locked eyes with Callum. The raw hatred from before was gone. Now, simmering contempt stained his features. He sat at the far end of the other table, away from the others. Hopefully, he’d keep his distance from Callum, too.

Another pactrid arrived, and Cior waved to catch his attention. The pactrid approached, his eyes shifting distractedly between Callum and Cior. The low rumble of conversation fell to silence as he stood before them.

Cior raised his voice for all to hear. “Katock, I would like to introduce Rymolnd and Cal’oom.”

Rym stood and accepted the leader’s hand in greeting. “Scoutmaster Rymolnd Tepin, but please, Rym is fine.” He gestured to Callum, still standing on the bench. “This is my companion, Cal’oom.”

At least with the height advantage, Callum didn’t have to look up so high. His eyeline was closer to the leader’s chest rather than his crotch.

“He’ll be our medic,” Cior chimed in.

Katock regarded Callum with a scrutinising eye. “A human medic as part of our vanguard?”

“I hope you’ll accept me,” he replied, holding out his hand in a welcoming manner.

Once again, hearing an Anberan speak their language brought on murmurs of surprise and astoundment. A smile broke across Katock’s face, and he accepted Callum’s greeting—his hand dwarfing Callum’s. The squeeze was firm yet gentle.

“It cheers my heart to know not all humans are alike. I know of the refugees who live on our lands, but I’ve yet to meet one in person—until now. We must band together, pactrid and human, to build a better home.”

“You honour me,” Callum said, then spoke up to make sure the crowd could hear clearly. “You all honour me. I only recently learnt the truth about what humans have done to the pactrids and your land. What surprised me more is that you would accept those of us who don’t hate your kind.” He made a point of looking at Eudald. The soldier caught his gaze and returned it, his lips a grim line. “Regardless, I have much to prove to you. All I ask is you give me that chance.”

Group members exchanged glances with their neighbours. Judging by their expression, the general mood they conveyed was one of reluctant acceptance. That’s all Callum could hope for at this point.

“We will certainly give you that opportunity, Cal’oom,” Katock said.

“And we’ve had one more arrival today,” Cior said, nodding to Eudald.

The soldier, still clad in leather armour, rose from his seat and approached Katock. “I’m Eudald, soldier and protector.”

“Well met, trooper,” Katock said, holding out a hand.

Eudald accepted the greeting with a firm grip, then gave Callum a sidelong glance. “Unlike some who would speak it carelessly, the word ‘honour’ has profound meaning to me. I’m honoured to aid in escorting this vanguard safely across the sea, and protecting you all from danger once we reach our destination. My life is yours.”

“We accept it willingly, but we will not squander it, either.” Katock addressed the crowd. “Ignasi?”

“Yes, leader?” a female pactrid replied with a raised hand.

“You and Eudald will be our protection detail.”

Eudald turned toward Ignasi, giving her a respectful bow of the head. She returned it in kind.

Katock returned his attention to the soldier. “Will we have a problem?” he asked discreetly while glancing at Callum.

“The human?” Eudald asked.

Katock nodded.

“No, leader.”

“Good.” Katock then addressed the group. “Let us eat.”