A Fain to North
#1 of North
I have not submitted anything in a good long while. This is the result of feeling bad about that at 4am. Comments, especially critical ones, are very welcome.
warning: as of yet this story contains nothing "furry" (that will be fixed as I expand upon it) and I used the word fuck (so don't read below of the word fuck disturbs you. Fuck.)
The rind smell of the sea is an invigorating one. Polluted by endless fountains of human and animal waste, refuse and the rot of death and disease the sea is still a heady perfume. To such scents arrived a train led by a pale gelding, with a tall man astride.
"The docks of Port Lemuse are no stranger to depravity Dian," announced the rider "Keep close that which you value." The rider's companion made to move to his side atop his own brown mount, nodding his understanding.
"I am no stranger to the world uncle, I've been fucked by her enough these past sixteen years to know her precocities." Dian replied, pulling ahead of his motionless uncle, glowering at the crowded, fetid sprawl of the evening waterfront.
"You spout sin and garner misfortune with that tongue of yours boy, and if you know ought of fucking you should be denied by your house!" His uncle growled, shaking a fist as if in threat. The gelding turned at the uncle's direction, and the guards that made up the accompanying train made to follow. "Do not disappoint your family Dian, when you return your sister will be ready to marry, and will be indeed of a dowry."
Dian halted and mimed his understanding to his turning uncle with a heavy shrug, not turning to acknowledge his cantankerous companion, before sliding off the horse and handing off the reins one of the guardsmen and pulling his laden pack from the saddle, where it had been tied.
"Make good your clan's coffers, and make good your clan's honors. I bid thee luck, life, and most of all a sane tongue!" With that, the tall man, astride his pale horse, rode back and away down the muddied street he had emerged from, accompanied by three guards cloaked in grey, the furious bustle of the waterfront's commerce, and a lonely brown mare.
And Dian felt the frosted fist of fear grasping at his guts.
The sea was dark, as the ruddy light of evening gave way to the march of the hours. Dian knew his destination; the crayer Miss Adventure. The docks of Port Lemuse, however, were vast. Some hundreds of ships, at his least estimation, must be moored in close order on the old, scum encrusted stones of the numerous wharves. Dozens more leaving and entering the calm waters of the deep harbor.
Dian wondered if, were he to miss the ship, he would have the fortitude of heart to return home bearing such shame.
"I will find you, Miss Adventure, I swear." He muttered to the world. Dian knew he had until first light to make good on his oath.
Several hours later he relieved himself of his vow- the Miss Adventure had been tied in not a hundred yards from the street where he had departed his uncle's company. Dian cursed himself for his stupidity- his uncle had obviously assumed he would find the ship after being left in such close proximity to it. It explained the lack of specifics of direction, but he had assumed his uncle was simply being the miserly bastard he knew him to be and leaving him to his fate.
The Miss Adventure was not a behemoth but nor was it small. Dian took comfort in the size of the ship- he had feared he might have been booked aboard some matchbox prone to be cast into splinters by the wild autumnal sea.
The wharf where it had been tied was perhaps even more uncomfortably bustling and crowded than the norm- dozens of barely clothed sailors dragged, muscled, pushed and rolled barrels and crates of all sizes up two great notched gangways between the ship and land. Dian saw men so heavily tattooed they appeared black of skin, and he saw men with skin of black of their nature's own. Diversity of the sea, his father had called it. The sea attracts all kinds, from everywhere, and casts them about the world at its will- uncaring of order or misplacement.
Dian turned and felt childish as he silently bid his home farewell- a city of commerce and life. He could not see his clan's hold, not even the silver washed Moon Tower, but he nodded vaguely in its direction anyway. Port Lemuse's filthy stones, crumbling brick, and warm putrid airs left him feeling homesick already. It was time to depart his wealthy southern city.
Upon boarding Dian was by met two surely, soberly clad men - they accepted his receipt and welcomed him to his home for the next several weeks. The men introduced themselves as sirs Gall and Fenway - they represented the charter and business of the shipping company that owned the Miss Adventure in Port Lemuse. They would not be accompanying the ship on its voyage, and they directed Dian to follow a sailor, pulled aside, and instructed to relay Dian to his cabin.
Dian thanked the sailor and tipped him a low piece for his service before closing, and bolting his door shut. It was a small door, for a small room, and Dian had to bend his head slightly to keep from brushing the ceiling. He didn't mind. Shrugging his heavy pack onto the floor he lay himself down into the cramped cot, which itself was no more than the shallow rectangular trough bolted to the floor, and padded with a rough woolen mat. There were no sheets provided, so Dian swathed himself in his grey cloak and embraced oncoming sleep. The creaking and subtle rolling of the ship was not enough to pierce his exhaustion.
The sharp thud and rattle of an assault on his cramped cabin's door jolted a reflexive unsheathing of his dirk out of a startled, groggy Dian. For a short moment Dian felt the fear of unknown surroundings press upon him and he feared for his life.
"Food!" announced a muffled shout accompanying another hearty thumping of the door. Relieved, he sheathed the blade, feeling foolish and not a little disgruntled. He had been dreaming of things that only men dream. Not needing to dress, having slept fully clothed, Dian undressed - slipping off the grey cloak that marked him a man of Fein's house. A son of wealth and prominence had many advantages- but they dissipated along with civility. The sea was not a civil place.
With his fine traveling cloak removed his thin travel frock only partially concealed the outline of his dirk securely sheathed at his waist. Dian briefly considered leaving the dirk in his cabin, but the notion quickly left him as he embraced the heady thought of being an armed, mysterious man of the sea. Pulling a small collapsible brass mirror from his pack he figured he could pass off as such with a day's unshaven stubble already showing and his unwashed hair left tousled from sleep.
Putting on his best, mangiest scowl Dian emerged from his cabin into the below-decks, locked his door, and began to make his way to the light at the end of the cramped way- before stumbling to his knees. He had not noticed in the smallness of his cabin but the rolling of the ship beneath him pulled at his balance.
He managed to recover himself just as others began to emerge from their rooms, and he counted himself lucky. Best not show any weakness, Dian thought; let them think me weak and they will surely come for blood.
The morning meal proved to be dreary. Served from a great communal pot Dian received a bowl of watery, tasteless and rapidly cooling grey oatmeal. He ate it anyways, finding a seat on the deck with his back against a forward mast. He felt, as silly as it was that the bulky old man who had served it was watching him for sings of ingratitude. Looking up he knew he was busied with serving the seemingly endless rotations of sailors. At least passengers were fed first; else he'd still be waiting.
Dian returned his bowl along with others who finished by placing it in the now empty pot face down as the bulky man indicated.
Unsure of what he should do Dian returned to his seat at the base of the mast. He sat unthinking for several moments before it occurred to him that he had not thought an important eventuality- he was several weeks from his destination and had nothing to occupy himself with.
Through the following days Dian began to notice the flow of time aboard the ship had a different tempo than he was used to. There were four meals around which duty shifts were organized - breakfast, lunch, dinner and another at midnight for the nights' watch. The ship was a minuscule town of its own; there was always someone awake and always something to do. Dian found himself enjoying the company of the sailors of the night watch. The six rangy men awoke at midday to a lunch breakfast, and set about personal duties until midnight meal when their shifts began. Prior to their shifts they engaged in games of luck, cards and dice, and Dian was eager to join in. However, Dian played no stakes for he knew gambling lead only to failure. Dian must succeed else he'd live a life of shame.
His fellow passengers kept well enough to themselves. There were only seven; given the Miss Adventure was primarily a cargo hauler. The passenger class comprised of four sisters and an accompanying man of a rival clan from Port Lemuse, a well-dressed quiet man of no apparent business or allegiance, and an ancient looking fellow who, seemingly unaware of his age, pranced about his daily doings with youthful energy. Dian did not feel particularly inclined to speak to any of them, and so he did not. The sisters especially seemed distrustful of others and were unapproachable with their wary male companion anyway.
The days wore on. Dian played with his new found friends for hours between meals, which were the focal point of the wakeful day aboard the Miss Adventure. The calls to breakfast stopped coming, but Dian had already fallen into the tempo of the ship, and awoke naturally to the swaying of the ship and the salty, damp breeze of the sea.
Most of all, Dian slept, and tried not to think about his future.
North.
That is where all great adventures begin, right? Dian wondered to himself. Perhaps north was a mistake. Dian had chosen such a vague destination when his time came. At the time he had been taken with the prospect of adventure, and not with practicality.
Young men of house Fain began their adult lives by venturing out into the world with a small, portable strongbox of silver, as the first great Fain had centuries before - Aukus Fain. At sixteen the young Fain leaves, and sometime before two years returns a wealthier man.
When Dian had come of age he was given his silver, his blessing, a receipt to board any ship, or a bought place on any caravan, to any reasonable destination that the young Fain chose.
House Fain was a financial powerhouse - and potential leaders of future generations of Fains must be great merchants themselves. The men of Fain must prove themselves economically tactful, quick of wit, resourceful, strong and sly enough to survive the harshness of the world.
Dian chose north. Where his cousins before him had chosen specific cities or towns or faraway colonies in the hopes of finding some famed land of opportunity, Dian chose only a cardinal direction. Surprisingly, without question or protest his father had secured him a place aboard the Miss Adventure, upon which he now sailed, to a city Dian had previously never heard of; Sarmapils. A city of the snow.
Some of his cousins, long departed on their youth's adventure, had yet to return.
"I often think, my friend, that perhaps this trip was unwise" Dian had guiltily revealed to one of his night watch companions, "perhaps I should've chosen a destination amid the warmer climes, where there is no need for an iceberg watch." Sann, a well-tanned wiry fellow, chuffed in amusement and nodded agreement, and cast his dice in pursuit of a petty, stake-less fate amongst friends.
The days grew increasingly colder as autumn grew to its fullness, and as the Miss Adventure left the warm southern climes of his homeland.
When the ship began to flounder in the onslaught of storm-stroked waves Dian felt his future dwindling.
Sixteen days at sea marked the first blackness on the horizon. Seventeen and the sea had grown angry, pulling and pushing the Miss Adventure jarringly. Dian felt as if the wooden ship would surely shatter apart solely from the roiling of the waters about them. The storm was still a blemish on the northern horizon, not yet come to full fury.
On the eighteenth day the storm had consumed the Miss Adventure, and was it not for the freezing waters thrashing over the deck Dian would not have believed he was at sea; the darkness the storm brought was so complete. As the crew fought to keep their island floating Dian suffered his fears with shame - curled in his cramped cabin.
For two days the storm had not relented, and the ship was lost to the world, suffering in its own dismal night of lightning and cold and gloom. Dian was called upon to assist the crew above deck in attempting to keep the ship in the land of the living, even as the sea claimed unlucky sailors, plucking them with impunity from the slippery deck of the Miss Adventure.
Dian helped haul heavy buckets from the depths of the ship, until more his own balance than any misdeed of the storm took his legs from under him. The bucket went over before him, and Dian scrambled for a grip, but could not force his exhausted lungs to call for help as he was dragged across the rough deck. Bruised and breathless from his fall Dian knew there was no help, and could only hold on for dear life, one arm curled around a lock rope, keeping only his upper body aboard the swollen wood of the deck, his legs dangling into the waves.
For several eternities Dian held, unseeing, and unknowing of the world around him. The cold of the water had long since robbed him of feeling, and the days without food or rest had robbed him of his mind.
When Finally Dian slipped into the lightless maw of the sea he did so without fear; unknowing and unconcerned for Dian had left his consciousness aboard his ship, and was consumed.