The Roaming Sea - 17. The Sea, Pt. 3 / Hereafters

By first light, the vanguard was raring to move. While nobody spoke it outright, they knew that by day’s end—for better or for worse—their tenday journey would be over. And if the compass was to be trusted, they’d travelled farther west than expected, making an early start a prudent choice.

Once Callum had everything prepared to leave, he approached the scout, Tulenk.

“How’s your leg?” he asked.

Tulenk hopped from one foot to another, showing no pain. “It’s well. Thank you, medic Cal’oom. I am in your debt.”

“That’s not necessary,” Callum said with a timid wave. “I’m just happy there’s no infection and you can walk on it. Try not to overdo it, though.”

“Fall in!” Katock bellowed.

The team surrounded the leader. Cior stood by his side, holding the compass with reverence.

“I know this crossing has been difficult,” Katock said, “but you’ve all shown strength and conviction where it matters. Let’s get these supplies to our new home.”

The vanguard raised their trunks, trumpeting their commitment, then strapped themselves to their crates. Regardless of the wide leather straps and belt to even the load, it was evident the heavy crates were taking a toll on the team. Rym made no attempt to hide a grimace, and Callum laid a hand on the pactrid’s thigh in concern.

“When we’re done, I’ll do all I can to ease the pain you’re suffering,” Callum said.

Rym let out a deep sigh. “Thank you, pup. I fear my shoulders will look similar to your feet.”

Katock signalled to move out. With the grand expanse of flat bedrock before them, the members spread out—a chevron of pactrids and one human, with Cior leading the squad. As the morning progressed, the sun lost its fight to accumulating cloud cover. Light rain showers pattered upon them, yet their resolve remained undeterred. They soldiered on, oblivious as the showers developed to rain. For Callum, ignoring it only strengthened his determination. Perhaps they felt the same.

Ever since he’d left Anbera, it felt like he was finally doing something right. Of course, he didn’t regret his duties as a medic, but that war—that damned unending war—was all based on lies and deceit. Even after all this time, he struggled to accept it. So many dead—human and pactrid—and despite his involuntary involvement, he questioned whether he’d ever be able to forgive himself.

Callum still found himself amazed that, in spite of the Anberans’ abhorrent acts of war, the majority of pactrids didn’t resort to blind racism. Anberans had so much to learn from their objective and unselfish behaviour. And to know this vanguard—possibly even Eudald—respected Callum filled him with a sense of pride, an unfamiliar pleasure. That recognition had more worth than anything he’d experienced back in Anbera. Even just the thought of disappointing the team crushed his heart. Callum looked up to Rym. His tired friend stared forward, unaware of the formidable affection beaming from Callum’s whole being.

I hope I never let you down.

Without the sun, there was no way to judge the passing of time. To make matters more difficult, a heavy fog fell upon them. At least the rain had stopped, but the fog’s arrival had brought a plunge in temperature. Callum’s damp clothes clung to his skin, leaching what warmth he had left. The consternation he’d felt about using the compass to guide them was moot now. Without it, they’d be walking blind. The needle was leading them somewhere. It was their best chance—likely their only chance—to escape this seabed alive.

The passing hours and unchanging terrain, however, whittled away at the vanguard’s earnest tenacity. Threads of water—tiny streams—appeared at their feet, filling the narrow veins within the bedrock. Callum dipped his finger into the flowing water then lifted it up, allowing a solitary drop to touch his tongue.

“It’s salty,” he said.

The vanguard stopped and turned to face him.

“To what are you referring?” Katock asked.

Callum pointed at the gathering water.

“It could be salt deposits mixing with the collecting rain,” Cior chimed in nervously.

Katock crouched down, carefully balancing the crate on his back, then dunked a finger into the water to taste for himself. He smacked his lips, watching the flow hasten before their eyes.

“No. The sea has arrived.” He stood up and joined Cior in the lead. “Move!”

The team’s gait had been brisk and steady all day. Now, they were nearly trotting. Callum winced at the renewed sting caused by his boots. It doesn’t matter. Ignore the pain. Let it bleed. He kept pace with the others—his breathing stable, leg muscles enduring the weight without complaint. Rym had been right about all the travelling they’d accomplished. From Brookside to the vanguard settlement, and crossing the seabed itself. Pushing his body had granted the stamina he needed to keep going when it mattered most.

It didn’t take long for the trickles of water to become rivulets. Soon, the seabed was submerged in a thin layer. It wasn’t deep enough to restrict their movement—not yet—but the water was swelling at a daunting rate. Despite the fog, Callum had no doubt the day was nearing its end. The quality of the light had diminished—darkening—making it difficult to see.

“Ho!” Cior cried out excitedly.

The scout’s familiar call brought a glimmer of hope. At first, Callum was unsure why he was pointing at the water, but then he saw it.

Sand.

Thin wisps, barely perceptible, danced and swirled in the flow of water. More accumulated as they progressed, and before long, the rocky seabed was lost to it. That didn’t stop the water, of course. With each passing minute, the depth of the sea grew alarmingly fast with ever-increasing surges.

The fog, thick as it was, still thwarted their view ahead. A sudden rising contour in the sandy terrain surprised them, and climbing it brought distance from the swelling seawater. Relief-tinged laughter rose from the team, Callum included. They kept their spread-out formation so not to be troubled by the wake of footsteps in the sand.

At the beginning of the journey, their traversal down the cascading banks had been easy. In stark contrast, progression up this ascent was painfully slow. More unsettling was the audible flood of water behind them now. It was distant, but Callum knew their time was short. They had to keep climbing, or be swallowed.

The fog brightened—its colour taking on a fiery hue—as they trudged upward. Then they were hit by an abrupt shift. Their view suddenly expanded to infinity, revealing a stunning sunset to the west. They were above the fog’s boundary, its voluminous surface illuminated in shades of orange and red. To the north, their destination was finally in view. They were indeed heading in the right direction. Beyond the countless ascending waves of sandbars stood a magnificent mountain peak—standing so tall that snow capped its craggy tips. The sun drew long shadows from its edges, enhancing and defining its rugged shape.

The vanguard—panting for breath from the efforts of their climb—could only grunt in amazement at the scene before them. But now was not the time to sightsee. The rush of water was growing in intensity—a continuous warning that they did not belong here. And mere minutes after they’d witnessed the sunset, the rising sea emerged from the fog. It frothed like a mad animal, snapping at their heels.

Callum’s legs began to burn from the exertion. Ignore it. Just keep climbing. But mental willpower couldn’t perpetually subdue physical fortitude. Ever gradually, each step forward became more laborious. He gasped for air, yet his lungs demanded more. The space between the twelve pactrids and himself began to spread. With their focus on reaching the shoreline, none had noticed Callum was lagging behind. He looked to his rear. The seawater still advanced—bubbling and surging—but as long as he could keep pace with it, he’d survive.

Each escarpment was a challenge, but mounting them meant they were that much closer to the shore. Callum allowed himself to fall into a trance, trying to ignore his screaming muscles. All that mattered was to lift one foot ahead of the other, and not to trip in the fine sand. It was deep in places, requiring additional energy to pull his foot free. With concerted effort, he tried to control his ragged breathing, but that only compounded the burn in his chest.

He tripped, falling forward onto his hands and knees. To his dismay, the roiling seawater was advancing with shocking rapidity. He pushed himself back to his feet with a groan and stumbled forward. The inclination was manageable where he stood, but he questioned his ability to clamber up the next sandbar. Upon reaching it, he clawed at the sand, trying to gain purchase to pull himself onward.

“Rym,” he managed to croak. “Help!”

The pactrid glanced back at the cry. Horror streaked his features to discover Callum had drifted so far behind. The others called out to Callum, imparting words of encouragement to urge him up. Rym didn’t wait to determine if that would help. He bounded down the sandy bluffs—heedless of the heavy crate—crying out ‘pup’ every few steps in desperation.

Reaching Callum, he took his outstretched hand and effortlessly lifted him to his feet. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice strained with worry. “I didn’t realise you’d fallen behind. I thought you were with me.”

Still out of breath, Callum hung onto the pactrid’s leg, then risked peering at the seawater. Its familiar crash told him it was rapidly accelerating toward them. He pushed onward while Rym lumbered alongside, but the warning calls from the pactrids in the distance confirmed their pace wasn’t fast enough.

“I don’t want to kill us both,” Callum said. “Go!”

Rym stared down at him in disbelief. “I will carry you if I must, or we die together.”

Callum gestured at the crate on Rym’s back. “You’re already carrying too much.”

Teeth bared, the pactrid yanked mightily at the leather strap around his waist—unbuckling it. Then again at his shoulders, freeing himself of his cargo. The crate smashed to the ground and tumbled toward the ever-expanding sea.

“You need that!” Callum cried out in dismay.

“You’re more important!”

Rym lifted Callum up and seated him onto his wide shoulders, allowing Callum to straddle his head. Then, holding Callum’s dangling legs against his chest, the pactrid marched forward—a wide, steady gait—tireless and powerful. The vanguard ahead trumpeted with fervour at Rym’s valiant rescue, but all Callum could think about was the wasted supplies. Rym had carried that heavy crate all this way for nothing, and now he was carrying him.

Despite Rym’s firm grip on his legs, the ride was jarring, and the weight of Callum’s rucksack left him feeling unbalanced, so Callum leaned forward to hug Rym’s thick neck for support. His breathing had finally settled to a reasonable rate. A wave of exhaustion took its place, however, bringing lingering dizziness. This did nothing to lessen the shame coursing through him—being carried like a child to safety.

Once the team saw Rym was making significant progress, they resumed their own climb toward the shoreline. The sea roared at their backs, and Callum ventured another backward glance. He immediately wished he hadn’t. The ferocious waters boiled, climbing with dreadful momentum. By his calculations, they weren’t going to make it.

Regardless, Rym never looked back. His gaze remained locked toward their objective. From Callum’s high vantage point, treetops were visible. His heart leapt into his throat to witness any kind of foliage after a tenday of unyielding black stone.

Rym clambered over another sandbar, giving them another few moments of extra time. They were catching up with the rest of the vanguard now. Still lugging the crates, the team was markedly slower. Callum’s weight on Rym’s shoulder must’ve felt like a feather in comparison.

“Move!” Katock bellowed, his voice barely audible over the crash of the sea.

Their show of strength and resilience was astonishing to behold. Once again, Callum felt the deep shame of inferiority. In comparison, they seemed limitless in their ability. The sea, however, was stronger still. The sand under their feet darkened as water seeped up. And in no time at all, the terrain became saturated. Each footfall splashed, spraying water into the air.

But then, the sea’s advancement waned and halted. They ran headlong toward the nearing shoreline, back onto the dry sand. Callum couldn’t comprehend what was happening—why the water’s rise had ceased—but that didn’t matter. The trees beyond the beach, now fully in view, affirmed their safety.

“We made it!” he screamed.

In reply, the vanguard roared in triumph, but there was no denying fatigue had strained their cries. Upon entering the forest—with no sand at their feet to affirm they’d be safe from the sea’s reach—each member collapsed to the ground. Leather straps were unbuckled, followed by near sobs of relief to be free of their burden.

Rym dropped to a knee and placed Callum gently on the forest floor. The scent of green—so alive—was intoxicating. He took in another breath, then looked up to his friend. Rym, his eyes closed, was still catching his breath.

Callum stood on shaky legs and hugged the pactrid’s wide torso. Rym accepted him readily, holding him close. The terror of what they’d narrowly escaped came crashing down upon Callum at that moment, and he broke down to tears. The sudden rush of emotion surprised and embarrassed him.

“I owe you my life,” Callum stammered. “Thank you.”

Rym wiped the tears from Callum’s cheek with one large finger. “Hush. You would’ve done the same for me.”

“Of course I would have, but that’s the problem, isn’t it? I couldn’t have saved you from that. Never!”

Rym’s silver eyes bore through him. Even in the waning twilight, they sparkled. Once again, his gripping stare would’ve been frightening had Callum not experienced it before.

“But you did save me, pup,” Rym finally said, then gestured to the eleven other pactrids. “You saved us all.”

The vanguard offered sombre nods in agreement.

“What do you mean? I did nothing,” Callum said.

Cior raised a fist. “We would have perished without this, Cal’oom.” The compass, held in his hand, dropped and swung from its chain.

“Yes, you saved us all.”

——— Hereafters ———

Boughs swayed gently in the breeze, encouraging dappled mid-morning sunlight to play across Callum’s closed eyes. Delicate eddies lapped upon the shore of the pond before him. He took in an unhurried breath through his nose, welcoming the subtle scents of the surrounding forest. He’d never tire of that.

In the far distance, the echo of hammer on wood bounced off the trees and canopy above. The first settlement—Cinikar, named after the pactrid who led the initial expedition and discovered this new land—was rapidly becoming a village. At the rate of growth, it could be a small town in a year’s time. The plan was to branch out with neighbouring villages to cultivate resources for the expanding population. After all, this territory would need to accommodate all the pactrids fleeing their original homeland, as well as the Anberan refugees.

Pactrids never built large or central cities, such as Anbera. Their approach was distinctly unique. Protecting nature was paramount. They built around it, not through it. When trees were felled to build their homes or fuel their hearths, saplings were always planted to take their place. It was such a simple concept, yet Anberans never recognised the importance of keeping that balance. Each day, Callum gleaned a new tenet pactrids abided by, and each day, his respect for their way of life grew.

During settlement plan meetings, Callum tended to remain silent. By his account, this was their land and their rules. Only once did he interject with an idea—that pactrids and humans should live together, side by side. Both races had unique skills that could benefit everyone. He acknowledged their reasons for segregation before, but felt strongly that in order to live and work together, everyone should be seen as equals. Murmured exchanges of approval filled the space. That heartened him, as he had no idea if they’d agree to such a bold suggestion.

Splashing in the pond broke his thoughts, and he opened his eyes. Rym, lying beside him at the shore’s edge, looked up at the same time. His fishing pole—a length of flexible wood—bobbed as the line tugged into the water. Grasping the line in his hand, he delicately took up the slack until the fish was pulled free from the water. After detaching the hook, he dropped the catch into a large bucket of water nearby, already teeming with other fish. It was best to keep them alive until they returned to the settlement with their bounty.

Food gathering—mainly fishing—had been their temporary job upon arriving at Cinikar. It was an important task, albeit trivial to undertake, given specifically to allow them recuperation time from their journey across the seabed. A pactrid healer had taken special care of Callum’s ruined feet. His boots—while protective in their own right—were never meant for such long and sustained travel, and thus caused the horrible blisters, many of which became infected. Initially, he’d fought against the help—insisting he could manage on his own—but both Rym and the healer persisted. Wearing a beguiling smile, Rym opined with the question, “Who heals the healer?” Callum relented after that, thanking the healer for her sympathetic ministrations.

He also silently thanked Eleanor again for the black soft-soled shoes, enabling him to walk without causing undue stress on his mending feet. Meanwhile, a skilled pactrid leatherworker altered Callum’s boots, inserting additional support to help against blisters in the future.

Callum hoped he’d never have to make that harrowing journey again, though. Even days after their arrival, he’d been plagued by terrible nightmares of drowning. And worse, losing Rym to the sea while Callum somehow survived. That sense of loss—absolute and all-encompassing—would have him waking in tears until reality crashed down upon him. He had nothing to fear. Rym was always sleeping soundly nearby.

After the vanguard had recovered from their hard push to outpace the sea, Cior approached Callum to relinquish the compass. Callum refused, stating it was too important to have only as a keepsake. It stood to reason that the pactrids keep the compass, and potentially try to understand how it worked to create more. Perhaps they’d discover why the needle pointed to this new land?

Compasses were mere trinkets to Anberans. Certainly, they held intrinsic properties to aid in way-finding, but Anberans didn’t try to understand how they worked—preferring to use the sun, moon, and stars. Living amongst the pactrids, it was one of many indications that reinforced the foolishness and irrational behaviour of Anberans.

Knowing the vanguard's survival was due to the sea halting just shy of the coastline would always haunt Callum. Only after contemplation did he recall that, of course, the moon had only just crested the horizon. His father had explained it when Callum was a child. The seawater captured by the moon’s pull could only expand so quickly, and it took several days for the sea to reach its peak height.

Rym tossed his fishing line back in the water and lay down beside him, bringing Callum to the present again. The day was hot despite only being morning, and they’d both stripped their shirts off, much to Callum’s delight. He never tired of gazing upon Rym’s thick, muscled form. The pactrid never complained, seeming to enjoy the attention. Both found it difficult to keep their hands off each other, but then, there was no reason to deny themselves the pleasure, either. To be held in such powerful arms filled Callum with contentment—a bottomless longing that never sated. He tried his best to return that strength and passion, regardless of his size.

Neither spoke of the love that had emerged between them. Each time Callum felt the urge to say it aloud, his stomach would fall queasy. In the past, the rare times he’d confessed his love to someone, they would die. Surely, it was the war that had killed them, not the words. But perhaps, subconsciously, he didn’t want to take that risk now.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t needed. There was no doubt they loved each other. How Rym regarded him spoke volumes. The word love could only suggest a pale imprint of the true power held in their hearts and minds. Perhaps leaving the word unspoken would be seen as cold in the eyes of others, but Callum didn’t care. Their future—whatever it held—would be spent together. Neither could imagine a better life.

And at long last, Callum had managed to claim the peace he sought. And he would have never been able to achieve that without Rym by his side.

*