The Roaming Sea - 16. The Sea, Pt. 2

Heavy, grey fog blanketed the vanguard the next morning. As they set forth on the day’s journey, ragged shapes revealed themselves from the bedrock scar—emerging from the mist like giant hands greeting them. The group’s muted voices echoed strangely against the stone, bouncing once before disappearing into the thick haze. The rising sun helped to melt the disconcerting fog away, and within a few hours, they were met again by bright, blue skies.

They travelled north along the scar’s edge for most of the day. Rym and Callum made a point to keep clear of Eudald’s vicinity, however Callum managed to catch a glimpse of the soldier. Dark purple bruises overwhelmed his grey skin, and one eye was nearly swollen shut. Remorse bubbled to the surface at the sight of it. Callum tried to tamp it down, but found himself unwilling and unable.

Ahead, the scar ended abruptly, revealing layers of eroded hills streaked with iridescent seams. They glimmered in the evening light. Once again, such a drastic change in the landscape had the vanguard express their excitement with shouts and laughter. The topography would also allow them to travel the preferred northwestern route, heartening the group all the more. Despite the thrill of viewing such a rare sight, Callum found the bare terrain cold and uninviting. He longed to hear the rush of wind through the trees—to take in the warm and welcoming green. Such sights and sounds were still far away, though. The vanguard had reached the end of the fifth day of travel, and there was still a long trek ahead of them. At least we’re halfway there.

The following day, the gentle curve of the hills invited the travellers to approach. Traversing those stony rises, however, killed any enthusiasm held by the vanguard. They were much more steep than they appeared from afar. Cior tried his best to lead them toward clefts for more gentle inclinations, but often, he was fooled by illusions caused by shadow and light.

Cresting each hill revealed a seemingly unending landscape of mounds. Into the seventh day, Cior kept referring to his simple map with growing concern, then spoke in hoarse whispers to Katock. Having caught this, Rym drew near to discuss the issue privately. The other members quickly caught on, and Cior turned to address them.

“My friends, it pains me to tell you—we may be lost.”

An uproar surged from the crowd.

“Quiet!” Katock’s booming voice commanded. “There is nothing to gain by losing discipline.”

Cior nodded to the leader before continuing. “According to the map, we should have reached the other side of these hills by now. Either we’ve travelled too far west or north. There’s no way to be sure—only a narrow stretch of land has been charted.”

“You can’t be serious!” one labourer cried.

“You knew the risks, Qarrj,” Katock said. “We’re called a vanguard for a reason. Now, don’t lose hope. I’ve read the reports from previous groups. We’re not the first to fall off course yet still reach land safely. Cior, please explain the issue.”

The scout approached the group to show everyone the map. “Our problem now is that the land we’re aiming for is narrow. If we travel too far north, we could miss it entirely. The same is true if we travel too far west. This is why we’ve always been aiming northwest. It’s the most direct route and gives us the best chance to stay on course.” Cior let out a deep sigh. “But at the moment, I can’t be certain if we should continue our northwestern direction. By doing so, it’s possible we’ll overshoot our destination.”

An unsettled murmur grew from the members as they inspected the map.

Cior looked to Rym and Tulenk, a junior scout. “I would appreciate your input.”

Rym surveyed the landscape, turning in a circle for any indication of where they could be in relation to the map, then shook his head. “The area is too broad with no distinguishing waymarks. Our expertise is of no use here.”

Tulenk nodded sullenly in agreement, then glanced at Katock. “Perhaps we should vote as a group?”

The leader grimaced at the suggestion. “You are all my responsibility. My job is to lead you safely to land. I shouldn’t have to defer such an important decision to you, but I also don’t want you to feel like I’m dragging you to your death.” He turned to Cior. “Give us our options.”

Cior regarded the map again with uncertainty. “Either we continue northwest or we go straight north. I feel going directly west would be a death sentence. Once we clear these hills, I hope to find flat bedrock. After that, sand—that means land is near.”

“Very well,” Katock said. “Give me a show of hands to continue northwest.”

The majority of hands went up, including Callum and Rym. Callum wasn’t about to call himself an expert map reader, but judging by what he saw, continuing northwest made sense.

“You all made it easy to decide, then,” the leader said. “We’re wasting light, team. Let’s move.”

As much as everyone hoped to escape the hills that afternoon, the undulating seabed still continued unabated by day’s end. A bleak cloud of despair hung over the camp—each member aloof and untalkative. Callum slept fitfully. Nightmares of drowning overwhelmed him, causing him to bolt awake, gasping for air.

Leaden skies echoed the vanguard’s mood on the morning of the eighth day. They trudged onward, but with each passing hour, what dwindling hope that remained was all but snuffed out. They had roughly two days left to reach landfall. The moon would emerge from the northern skyline on the tenth day, near sunset. Its dawning would herald their demise. Callum scoffed inwardly. The rise of the moon was often an exciting event for him, and the arrival of the Roaming Sea never failed to bring a smile to his face. If they managed to escape this predicament, he would regard the moon and the sea with a differing form of appreciation—one of humbling respect.

“Ho!” Cior cried, breaking an hours-long period of silence. He levelled his arm northward. “I see a break in the hills.”

Following the scout’s pointed finger, everyone’s gaze shifted toward the horizon. The rolling hills were indeed diminishing. The team exclaimed in relief and continued their way with rejuvenated strength. That exhilaration was short-lived, however. What lay beyond the hills wasn’t bedrock plains. It was flat, but instead of pure black stone, it was riddled with mysterious light grey patches. From their distant vantage point, it was difficult to comprehend what they were seeing. Regardless, Katock ordered the team to continue north. At this point, anything was better than the tiring hills.

Once they’d reached the final rise, the cause of the strange patches became clear. They were pools of trapped water—countless, undefined forms that continued beyond the horizon—reflecting perfectly against the grey sky. While Katock and the members marched on, Cior pulled his map free from his inner jacket pocket, then sagged in dismay.

“We’re still off course,” he said to Callum and Rym as they approached. “These waters were never mapped.”

“Maybe the trenches are shallow and water doesn’t always collect there,” Callum replied, however even he wasn’t convinced by his suggestion.

Cior’s head fell limp, and he shut his eyes. “I’ve failed my duty.”

“You haven’t failed yet, scout,” Rym said. “This territory is vast, and any vanguard is bound to lose their way sometimes. Let’s keep moving.”

The bodies of water varied in size, from ponds to minuscule lakes. No matter the proportions, their surface remained unsettlingly crystal clear. Not even a tiny ripple marred their veneer. Callum touched the surface to confirm that, yes, it was water. Due to the black bedrock, their depth remained unknown, but peering through the reflective glass felt like staring into an unfathomable abyss. Narrow tracts between the basins forced the vanguard to travel in pairs. Divining the best way forward wasn’t a simple task, either. Sometimes the labyrinthine path doubled back on itself, wasting precious time.

Breaking clouds to the west allowed the setting sun to make its first appearance of the day. Fiery reds and golds illuminated the underside of the clouds, mesmerising the vanguard as they set up camp for the night. The water mirrored those same resplendent colours. It should have been beautiful, but for Callum, he found the innumerable pools somehow distressing.

When he voiced his concern to Rym, the pactrid softly replied, “We are all feeling on edge, pup. Morale is low. Your nervousness is justified.” He then looked down, unable to hold his gaze upon Callum. “Don’t worry. We’ll make it.”

For the first time, Callum felt sure Rym was lying to him. It wasn’t malicious, surely, but it still left a sour taste in his mouth. He didn’t want platitudes, he wanted Rym’s honest thoughts—even if they were dire. Maybe he just wants to believe it.

In the middle of the night, Callum was abruptly awakened. Something had woken him. A curious sound—perhaps lapping water. He rose, trying to distinguish anything amidst the shroud of darkness engulfing the vanguard. The sky, now free of cloud cover, shimmered with winking stars. Innumerable exquisite tiny gems reflected in the still pools around the sleeping vanguard. Ears perked, he waited patiently to catch the sound again. Aside from gentle snoring, he heard nothing. Maybe it was a dream?

He lay down and closed his eyes again, willing himself back to sleep. However, moments before sinking back to slumber, lapping water brought him back. He leapt up, swinging his head left and right, trying to pinpoint the source. In one pool, the stars wavered.

He nudged Rym, whispering, “Wake up.”

The pactrid let out a muffled grunt as he roused from sleep. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, but there’s movement in the water.”

“The wind?”

The air was still. “It’s only in one pool,” he replied, pointing.

Lifting himself up on one arm, Rym looked toward Callum’s concern. The ripples were gone—the surface smooth.

“Go to sleep, pup.”

A giant shape broke from the surface, flying into the air and landing atop one of the sleeping pactrids. Water followed in its wake, splashing those nearby, and a foul, sulphurous reek wafted out.

Rym was immediately on his feet. “Awake, everyone. We’re being attacked!”

Confusion and chaos overcame the group. Starlight did little to reveal what had leapt out of the water. The black shape—its skin wet and slick—writhed atop the ambushed pactrid, who was screaming in panic. Without hesitation, Callum scurried to his rucksack to retrieve his bow. It was unstrung, of course, and his lack of skill to prime it became quickly apparent.

The two soldiers, Eudald and Ignasi, pulled their swords free and fell upon the unknown assailant. A lantern was hastily lit, followed by another, allowing the members to stare in horror as the soldiers hacked and slashed. The stark lamplight didn’t yield a clue what the shape was. Their blades only grazed the surface of its dark, greasy skin. Others tried to pull the pactrid free of its grip, but to no avail.

“It’s got my leg!” the pactrid cried. Hearing his voice, Callum recognised it as Tulenk, the junior scout.

Callum continued to fumble with his bow, trying to bend the supple wood far enough to string it, but it kept slipping from his grip. Undeniably, the terror unfolding before him was no help.

Tulenk’s screams rose in urgency. “It’s biting my leg! Help!”

Eudald and Ignasi redoubled their efforts, resorting to recklessly hacking at the blob. Slimy tendrils—perhaps its blood—drew forth, covering their blades in a viscous sludge. Eudald tried to wipe his sword clean, but the slime clung on earnestly like thick wax, blunting the sharp edge of his blade.

At last, Callum secured the bowstring, then snatched his quiver of arrows. During practise, he only used a few arrows, knowing if he ever needed to shoot an actual target, he wanted sharp arrowheads and solid shafts. In the near dark, however, it was impossible to know which were virgin arrows.

“Stand back,” he shouted.

It only took a moment for all eyes to fall to him. Immediately understanding Callum’s request, Katock bellowed the order to fall back. Everyone stepped away, reluctantly leaving Tulenk prone on the ground, reaching out with both hands. His cries, near hysterical, tore deep into Callum’s being. With a deep breath, Callum pulled the bowstring taut, as far as his strength allowed, then released. The arrow flew the short distance and hit the blob square and true, sinking deep into its foetid and murky flesh. Finally, it reacted—flattening and spreading out, akin to flexing a muscle in an attempt to dislodge the arrow.

The two soldiers used this new insight to their advantage, abandoning their swords for daggers. They plunged their blades deep, stabbing viciously in hopes the blob would free the scout from its tenacious grip. It didn’t take long for its blood to cover their daggers, however, and their once keen edge ineffectually slipped against the monster’s skin. Rym, Katock, and two others pulled their own daggers to take their place, and Callum shot another arrow between them.

Their concerted efforts forced the black shape to shift and slide off Tulenk. As soon as the scout’s leg was free, he clambered away on his belly as quickly as he could. Two labourers helped him up, and with arms over shoulders, carried him away from the immediate threat.

“Don’t let it escape,” Katock ordered as the blob slithered toward the safety of the pool it had emerged from.

Members surrounded it, attempting to kick it away from the water. Eudald scrambled to recover his dropped sword, then slipped it under the shape. Using the blade as leverage, he flipped the shape onto its back, revealing a terrible, gaping maw. The terrible reek multiplied, causing a few to gag. Callum had another arrow nocked, and used that moment to loose it into the shape’s mouth. A wet, guttural moan—harrowing yet mournful—expelled from its lips. Then it shuddered and fell still.

Each member watched with nervous energy, readying themselves to resume the attack, but the only sound now was Tulenk’s strained gasps of pain. Callum glanced over to the fallen scout. His trouser leg was shredded and bloodied. The labourers had him lying down, trying their best to comfort him. Dropping his bow and quiver, Callum dug through the contents of his rucksack to fetch his medical bag of supplies.

“I need more light,” Callum said as he approached the injured scout.

The second lantern was brought over by Katock, allowing Callum to better inspect the damage. He gently pulled away the torn fabric of Tulenk’s trousers to reveal his calf pockmarked with deep punctures and gashes. While the shape hadn’t exposed any teeth during its death rattle, there must’ve been something sharp down its gullet. Callum was relieved to see no major blood vessels were hit, however. The blood still oozing from the scout’s wounds would halt with treatment.

“I need clean water,” Callum said.

In moments, a large waterskin was thrust at him, and he accepted it with thanks. He poured water gently over the wounds, but made no effort to ration it. What pain this caused Tulenk appeared manageable. He grimaced and groaned, but otherwise held still. Callum wiped the calf clean, then prepared another cloth for the next step. His vial of disinfectant was nearly full, but he had no doubt it would be empty once he’d finished. The scout’s meaty calf was huge, and there were many wounds to treat.

He regarded the scout with a grim eye. “I’m sorry, Tulenk, but this is going to hurt. I’ll try to finish quickly, but there’s a lot of damage here.”

With knitted brows and bared teeth, Tulenk nodded. “Do it.”

Callum fell to task, trying to ignore the anguished cries and grunts his work was causing. The labourers held Tulenk tightly, offering sympathetic words of encouragement. Katock held the lantern close, angling it as needed while Callum treated his patient.

Long minutes passed uncounted. Tulenk continued to bear the pain as best he could. In fact, by the time Callum was almost complete, the scout had calmed considerably. Fresh sweat still beaded upon Tulenk’s brow, but his ragged breathing had eased. And all the while, the labourers provided all the compassionate support they could muster.

“The worst is done,” Callum said. “I only need to bandage it now.”

Tulenk visibly sagged, letting out a long sigh, and one labourer gave the scout a hearty clap on the shoulder. Callum dressed the leg tightly with gauze, having just enough to complete the job.

“Thank you, everyone, for your help,” Callum said while stowing what paltry supplies he had left back into his medical bag.

A scoff from Katock had Callum glance up in surprise. All eyes were set on him, and he craned his neck to discover none of the twelve pactrids were smiling. Each face bore down on him, and had he not known better, would’ve assumed he’d done something terribly wrong.

No.

They regarded him with profound expressions of recognition and acceptance. Even Eudald, with a sidelong glance from his bruised face, regarded Callum with a look of begrudging respect. The focus of the twelve, strong as it was, only compounded how serious they were. Callum had fallen under Rym’s similar gaze many times before, but at this moment, he felt overwhelmed by the deference given by the vanguard surrounding him.

Finally, Katock spoke. “We are the ones who should thank you, medic Cal’oom. You are a credit to your kind. It is their great loss and our benefit that you are here, amongst us.”

“But . . .” Chagrined, Callum regarded each member around him in confusion. “I was only doing my part. Why would you treat me differently?”

“Because you are a rare human. You’ve shown attributes few of us have ever seen. Compassion, honour, gallantry.”

“The other humans—you call them refugees—they’re like me. I’m not special at all.”

“That may be so, but it doesn’t change our opinion of you, Cal’oom. Your actions this night solidify my words spoken when Eudald attacked you.” Katock glared at the soldier. “Now do you see? Do you understand?”

Eudald, his expression dismal, nodded once. “You’ve given me much to think upon, leader.”

“We all understand your pain, Eudald, but you must not let it take control.”

Katock knelt before Callum and placed a heavy hand on his head.

“Yaqawi, Cal’oom.”

Each member in turn followed the leader’s example, repeating the same word. Even Eudald took part, albeit with some reluctance, but Callum was still heartened by the gesture. He knew it couldn’t have been easy for the soldier.

“Thank you,” he said softly, attempting to make eye contact.

Eudald, his lips pouted, refused to look back—instead staring over Callum’s head. But then, while stepping away, he offered a meagre nod. It was the best acknowledgement Callum could’ve hoped for.

Tulenk hobbled to approach Callum. Unlike the others, the scout wore a broad smile, placing both hands atop Callum’s head. “Yaqawi, my friend. Thank you.”

Wanting to strengthen that connection, Callum reached up to touch Tulenk’s hands. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt worse.”

The final member, Rym, knelt before him. His silver eyes sparkled in the dim lamplight, gazing deeply, then he placed a hand onto Callum’s head.

“Yaqawi, Cal’oom.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Rym pondered a moment, then gave a peculiar smile. “There’s no other word to describe it. Just know I’m proud of you, pup. We all are. And despite everything, know that we will make it safely away from this place.”

This time, Callum knew Rym spoke the truth in his heart.

● ● ●

The prospect of returning to sleep was hastily abandoned. Even if someone kept watch while the others slept, the pandemonium had left everyone on edge. Instead, it was decided they would travel by lamplight, though Cior voiced his concern in following this plan. Heavy gloom lay beyond the delicate circles of light, making it impossible to distinguish which winding path would lead them away from the pools. Katock remained firm in his decision, however, stating any movement was better than nothing.

What progress they made remained ponderous, though given Tulenk’s injury, the slow pace was ideal. Even with the lamplight, the black bedrock made it difficult to determine where it was safe to walk. Huddled together to optimise the light, the bulky crates on their backs limited their forward vision. Not once did anyone catch sight of ripples on the water, though, nor hear the wake of movement against the border of the trenches.

For Anberans, the sea had always been an uncharted barrier—its shrouded mystery left unknown. Given its tumultuous nature, they assumed nothing could live within its waters. In contrast, pactrids made no assumptions without a thread of evidence, but none in the vanguard expected monsters lying in wait. It was possible what attacked them had been trapped there, waiting for the sea to return.

Once the first vestiges of pre-morning light revealed the terrain before them, the team noticeably relaxed and spread out to travel at an accelerated pace. Escape from the maze of pools remained illusive, however. Cior’s chosen path forced the team to weave their way forward as best they could, but it was never a direct route. Being the ninth day, this worried Callum. Presumably, gnawing doubt ate at the other members as well, but none outwardly displayed their concern. Fatigue, on the other hand, was clear as the day’s blue sky. Each pactrid was bent over now, trudging ahead with their trunks hanging forward, swinging with each ponderous step. Callum was certainly suffering from fatigue as well, along with the ache of guilt that his rucksack—while near to bursting—was nowhere as heavy as the crates.

The day lingered, ceaseless and indefinite. Exhaustion’s grip on the vanguard tightened with each passing hour. They could’ve stopped to rest, even if only for a short time, but the risk of the sun falling while lost amongst the pools kept them moving. That persistence, at long last, bore fruit in the late afternoon.

“Ho!” Cior’s rough voice cracked, but his excitement was unmistakable.

He pointed toward the northern horizon. The pools of water abated, leaving only rocky plains beyond. Groans of relief burst out from the team. For Callum, the view was equal parts gratifying and distressing. At least they’d be able to finally rest without needing someone to keep watch, but how much further would they need to travel to reach safety?

Pulling from their dwindling energy reserves, they pressed on. The pools fell behind them soon enough, yet Katock ordered the team to push a bit longer. He didn’t want another chance for an ambush. The team begrudgingly agreed and dragged onward for another fifteen minutes before finally collapsing.

Callum’s feet throbbed and burned. He pulled off his boots and stockings, cringing at the blisters. A few had burst, much to his dismay. With no remaining disinfectant, he resorted to clean water and gauze pads to protect the lesions. Brows furrowed in worry, Rym watched as he treated his wounds.

“Perhaps your footwear is harming more than protecting,” the pactrid said.

Callum shook his head. “My feet would certainly be worse if I walked barefoot. Humans don’t have the advantage of tough feet like pactrids.”

He knew medical supplies lay deep in one of the twelve crates. In hindsight, marking each crate and keeping an inventory would’ve been a smart choice. His minor injuries couldn’t justify the time and energy required to go digging now, though. And his blisters would be the furthest thing on his mind by the next evening.

Donning cleaner stockings and tying his bootlaces, Callum realised he had to stop worrying about their predicament. Either they’d make it out alive, or they wouldn’t. As much as it pained him to admit, either eventuality was beyond their control. All they could do to better their odds was forge ahead. Never had he pushed himself harder—not during basic training or at the front lines.

Memories of Anbera—home, or what used to be home—suddenly overwhelmed him. Faces of his past flashed before his eyes. His mother; his dead friend, Oren, and his widowed wife, Greta; his fellow medics and doctors; his brothers; his father.

He was suddenly aware of the compass against his chest, hanging from the chain around his neck. The memory of when he’d last seen it eluded him. Upon pulling it free, it spun in a circle, gradually untangling the twisted chain. Golden sunlight reflected off the compass’ surface until the spinning diminished, revealing the inscription on the back.

To find your way home.

Despite the sting of melancholy arising from the words, a smile still brushed across Callum’s lips. And then, upon completing the gentle revolution, the compass revealed its needle.

It was pointing north.

His heart leapt into his throat at the sight. It had never pointed north before. Breathless, he laid it flat in his hand, and used the western setting sun to confirm his orientation. The needle settled. Yes, it was aiming north—or more accurately, slightly northeast.

“To find your way home?” he muttered in his native language.

Rym, sitting nearby, glanced over in confusion. “What are you saying?”

Callum was at a loss for words, stammering, holding out the compass for Rym to see. But of course the pactrid didn’t understand the significance.

“What’s wrong, pup?”

“I think this is showing us the way to land.”

“How?”

Callum closed his eyes, creating a mental map of the world as he knew it. Standing in Anbera, the needle always pointed southwest. During his escape at the front lines, which were much farther south than anyone knew, it pointed more toward the west. By his account, the needle was always pointing toward the western coast to some degree. Now, it was attracted to something northward. Sitting on the seabed, it all made sense. Had the compass been pointing toward this unknown land all this time?

“I think it’s pointing us to safety.”

“Come. We must tell Katock and Cior.”

They hustled to the leader and scout, and Callum tried his best to provide a succinct explanation without rambling. Cior held the compass, turning in a circle to watch the needle move.

“If this is to be trusted, we’ve travelled too far west,” the scout said.

“Would that explain how we lost our way?” Katock asked.

Cior nodded eagerly, then turned to Callum. “May I keep this until our arrival?” The uncertainty and despair he’d exhibited earlier was gone. Now, confidence swelled his chest. His expression instilled a sense of conviction—that they were going to make it.

“Of course!” Callum replied.

The scout beamed his squinting smile. Callum couldn’t resist the infectious energy and grinned back. Katock called out to the vanguard and tired faces turned to meet him. As the leader explained the new development, Callum couldn’t help a feeling of doubt wash over him again. What if he was wrong? What if the compass was leading them to nothing? Earlier, he thought it was broken. What if that was still the case? His belly soured as the team trumpeted a cheer for Callum to provide such a tool. Not wanting to appear unappreciative, he summoned a pale smile. Even though relying on the compass was purely speculative, he reasoned it was their best chance to reach landfall.