Extract from A Tale of Vengeance

Lucy Murray

There was something in the water. A dark shape bobbing just beneath the surface, emerging with each wave, fighting against the day’s violent current. It had to be a carcass of some kind. Carrion birds circled above, casting deep, stretching shadows across Althea’s rowboat. 

She strained her eyes, shifting the oars slightly to aim for the mass. There was no blood. The thing was too small to be a bone wyrm. Too small to be any of the creatures that frequented the isles, and much too big to be any of the fishes she had spent the better part of three hours attempting to catch. 

There was a strange feeling in her stomach, a kind of grief for this thing, whatever it was. It drew her closer, tangled with a morbid curiosity to know more. She let go of the oars and reached for her notebook. Perhaps it was a creature from the mainland, something she hadn’t seen before. Ripped in half and left to drift slowly away from home. 

It had been so long since Althea had seen anything besides fish. It wasn’t necessarily something to complain about, she needed to catch at least a dozen a day to get by, some to eat and the rest to sell. 

It was as she was drawing closer, the choppy water making her scant breakfast fight to reappear, that she realised it was not a desiccated creature floating aimlessly in the waves, but a man. 

He drifted on his back, hair spread out around him like a dark halo.

He looked ethereal. 

He looked dead.

And Althea was disappointed. Not a new species of sea dragon then. Just a man. 

She pulled up alongside him, dropping her notebook back to its place at her feet, and nudged him with an oar. The man didn't move, just dipped slightly further beneath the waves, his head submerging for a brief second. 

His eyes twitched slightly beneath their lids, the first sign of life. So he wasn’t dead. Yet. But he would if she didn't help.

Althea sighed. Letting him die was not an option. The nightmares it would cause would be terrible. Or so she had read. Althea had never killed a person before, had never even been around during the death of another. From what she had heard, it was a fairly traumatic experience, and Althea enjoyed sleep. 

She settled the oars back in their posts and reached for the coils of rope she kept beneath the benches. She began her knot, feeding the rope through to make a snare. There was no way she was leaving her boat to get him, so this would have to do. 

It was barely midday by the time Althea had guided them back to town. The man had yet to wake. She had looped rope around his chest and dragged him aboard, almost falling overboard from the weight of him. It was only when she’d had her hands on him that she could feel his chest rising and falling. 

At least it meant she hadn’t been forced to deal with any theatrics from him. There would be enough of that by the time she made it home. The members of her fishing town would see this as a bad omen. Dawn had brought a tremor powerful enough to unsettle the sea and now she was bringing them a half-drowned man, who had been drifting in an unpopulated section of their isles.

It was odd. He shouldn’t have been able to get there without a boat, and there hadn’t been one in sight. It could have been swept away by the current. That happened often enough. A person fell from their boat and was unable to reach it before it drifted away. But if that was the case, he should have drowned, or been bashed against the rocks, or tangled up by the reeds. 

Instead, he seemed pristine. His hair had dried, showing the true colour to be an ashen grey. It was certainly a choice. And it signalled that he hailed from further inland where there were mages capable of frivolous things such as changing your appearance. That spoke of wealth. Enchantments weren’t cheap. Althea had spoken to traders from the mainland who had explained that such magic had to be learned from the Priests of Oriana, Goddess of Beauty. A hefty donation to the temple was highly encouraged in return for classes. 

And then there were the man’s clothes. Even though they had yet to dry, Althea could tell that they were of good quality. They clung to the man’s body, accentuated his muscles, clearly tailored specifically for him. This man had money, perhaps he had enough to give Althea a reward for saving his life. 

When the port came into view, Althea nudged the man with the toe of her boot. He didn’t stir. She glanced towards town, and her fast approaching berth, and kicked his shin a little more harshly. Still nothing. There was no way she would be able to carry him back to her house, and the town doctor only had a few spare beds, which would be taken up by those hurt that morning. She looked to the unconscious man again, and fought the urge to just push him overboard. She had been forced to cut her trip short because of him. She hadn’t even had the chance to catch anything for dinner, and now she would be forced to cough up a few coins in exchange for help carrying him home. 

‘You better have money.’ She told him, not really expecting a response, though one would have been appreciated. ‘If you don’t wake up by the time I dock this boat, I’m selling your shoe laces.’

The man didn’t wake up. 

Althea dropped anchor and jumped out of the boat and onto the wooden dock, a coil of rope hanging off her shoulder. It only took a few seconds for her to tie the boat to its post, and she gathered her things. Her notebook and spare rope went into her knapsack. The fishing rods were disassembled and wrapped in sheets of fabric for the walk home. 

She nudged the man once more, and upon getting no response, shouldered her knapsack and headed for the port master’s office. The normally busy port was abandoned from the morning tremor, only the most stubborn, or desperate, still going about their work instead of preparing for aftershocks. The port master usually fell into the stubborn category. Not even a rampaging leviathan would be enough to make him abandon his post. That she knew from experience.

As expected, the man was in his office, the small building guarding the enterance to the port. Althea’s boots thudded against the wooden floor, announcing her arrival. Mikail held up a hand while he finished writing in his ledger. Shipments would be delayed from the events of the morning. There would be twice as much work to do once everyone emerged from their shelters. 

When he was done, he closed the book and finally looked at her. ‘You aren’t normally back until sundown. Caught all you need?’

‘Sea’s empty.’ Althea said. ‘Nothing to catch. Well no fish at least.’

‘I thought you didn’t want to be like your pa.’ 

‘I didn’t bring in a beast either.’ She said, attempting not to clench her jaw. ‘I found a man.’

Mikail sighed. ‘I’ll send word to the temple. They should be able to collect the body tonight.’

Althea shook her head. ‘No, I need you to send word to the doctor.’

‘He’s still alive?’ Mikail looked as surprised as she had felt.

She held up her hands. ‘Somehow. All I did was fish him out. I wasn’t expecting him to still be breathing. I’ll need to hire a few hands, or a wheelbarrow, to get him back to mine.’

It was times like this that Althea wasn’t sure if the port master loved or hated her. He glared at her, as if only she could bring such trouble, and rose from his desk. ‘Did you at least wrap him up? The sea is freezing this time of year.’

‘I don’t stock blankets on my boat.’ Althea only owned a single blanket and it stayed on her bed, not that she was going to tell him that. 

‘This man,’ Mikail said, sounding infinitely tired of her, ‘is going to die from hypothermia because of your poor care.’ 

She shrugged. ‘I’m a fisherman, not a nurse.’

‘You’re a mess.’ He muttered. He paused briefly to pull a box down from his shelves, peeling back the lid to reveal the blankets they saved for whenever someone fell overboard. He threw one at her. ‘Let's go.’

Althea slung the woollen blanket over her shoulder and followed the port master outside and back to her boat. He waved down one of the few apprentices still working and sent the boy to pass on a message to the town doctor. Much to the older man’s grumbling, Althea snatched a wheelbarrow on their way and dropped both the blanket and her knapsack inside.

They crossed the rest of the port in silence, Althea wincing each time the wheelbarrow hit a rough patch of the docks, the wheels jerking against the wooden planks and sending a shock up her arms. 

Mikail didn’t need to be told where her berth was, he had scolded her there enough over the years to not need any directions, and before long Althea was dropping the handles of the wheelbarrow alongside her boat. 

Mikail did as was customary when looking at her boat, and grimaced. ‘It is a miracle that this thing hasn’t sunk yet.’ He said. He stepped down into the boat and crouched over the man, hands strangely delicate as they inspected him for wounds.

The stranger hadn’t moved an inch. He looked peaceful, slumped across the benches of the rowboat, as if he was merely sleeping. His head lulled listlessly to the side when Mikail checked for a pulse. A tinge of panic spiked in Althea’s chest. ‘Is he alive?’

‘Still breathing,’ Mikail reported, ‘somehow your tender care hasn’t finished him off.’ He scooped the younger man up into his arms and nodded to the wheelbarrow. Althea took that as a silent request to bring it closer and did as she was told. He gave a second pointed look to the items inside and she tipped them out onto the docks. ‘We should really thank the Gods that you did not become a nurse.’ The port master said, leaning over the side of the boat to place the stranger inside the wheelbarrow. 

‘I’m pretty sure if I’d tried, Lord Visha would have come to the earth himself to stop me.’ Althea quipped, barely earning a huff of amusement. ‘In fact, our gracious God of Medicine would probably prefer to throw away his discipline rather than let me practice it.’

The look Mikail gave her turned venomous. ‘Do not mock the Gods. You never know when they’re listening.’

‘Wasn’t mocking.’ Althea sighed, collecting the rest of her things from the boat. ‘Just joking. It’s not like they answer when you speak their name, anyway.’ 

‘Pray for more important things, then.’ Mikail wrapped the stranger up in his grey blanket and, even though Althea made a sound of protest, wedged her knapsack between the man’s head and the wheelbarrow as a makeshift pillow. ‘Try not to make jokes involving Lord Visha when the doctor arrives. We both know practitioners can be petty enough to withhold their services if you speak ill of their God.’

The not so silent rebuke stung. A few misspoken words would not be worth this man’s life. 

Althea shut up. 

She squeezed the rest of her belongings alongside the stranger and went to take the handles but Mikail brushed her hands away and set about pushing the wheelbarrow himself. They walked quietly to the entrance of the port and Althea shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and gazed at the other boats, trying not to compare them to her own. Her little rowboat was dwarfed by the larger ships. The fishing boats so many of the townspeople worked on bobbed restlessly in the water, casting her in shadow. There was even a carrack at the far side, its white sails whipping in the wind. 

Curiosity overtook her. ‘That wasn’t here this morning.’ 

Mikail didn’t even need to look over at the massive ship to know what she was talking about. ‘It docked shortly after you set off. They’re here to trade with your father.’

Althea decided to ignore that last bit. ‘I’m just surprised they sailed despite the quake.’

‘They were already on the water when it hit. The force of it managed to crack one of their masts.’

‘They’ll be here for a few days then.’

Mikail shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. The captain said this was only meant to be a short stop. Pick up a few sea dragons and bone wyrms and then head north. I hear your father lured them here by promising to put kraken meat aside for them.’

Althea swallowed her scoff. ‘Good for them.’ They were leaving the port now, the wooden docks giving way to a trampled dirt road. The streets were mostly empty, only a few townspeople still going about their day despite the auspicious start. 

They stared more at her than the man she was carting through the streets. Althea didn’t let her eyes linger on any of them. She looked straight ahead, the ground becoming steeper with each step. The town had been built at the base of a large hill, and the wooden homes tilted dangerously as a result. Sometimes, on the days Althea felt like raging, she wished the houses would just collapse under the strain of remaining upright. But that wouldn’t fix her problems, and people like her parents, with their nice stone houses, would be unphased by it all.

‘You still living over the hill?’ Mikail asked, likely trying to draw her attention away from her thoughts. It didn’t work. 

‘Yeah.’ Althea said. She wasn’t surprised that Mikail knew. It had been all people could talk about when the mayor had kicked her only child out onto the streets. Althea had fed the gossipers for weeks by making claim to a small hut just outside the town rather than grovelling at her parent’s door. It had only been raw spite that had stopped her from going back in the years since. Not that her parents had come looking for her. 

She tried not to dwell on it. It would be on her mind tonight, either way, when she tried to sleep despite the leaking roof and rotting floorboards, this stranger taking up the one piece of furniture that had not yet broken, and the one blanket she relied on to keep herself warm. 

She helped Mikail push the wheelbarrow once they left the confines of the town. There was no path to her hut, and the hill was steep and muddy. Their progress was so slow that the town doctor caught up to them when they reached the top of the hill, sweat beading her own forehead. 

Mikail nodded politely to the woman. ‘Doctor Erden.’

The doctor didn’t bother with any formalities, her gaze instantly going to the unconscious man. ‘Let's get this one inside. I need to check his lungs for water.’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ Althea said, lowering her own head in respect. Her hut was already in view, so she walked ahead, pushing the door open. There were a few objects scattered on the floor, an unused reel of fishing line, a small pile of dirty clothes she hadn’t found the time to take to the creek. She kicked them aside, opening up the limited space between her bed and the door. She was pulling the covers off the bed when her guests arrived. 

Mikail carried the man bridal style to her bed. Althea held back her comment about getting the man’s dirty boots on her bed and instead moved to the side. There wasn’t much space available so Althea retreated back to the front door to give the other’s some space.

Doctor Erden was at his side the second the man’s head hit the pillow. Althea let her get to work. She leaned against the door of the hut as the doctor checked the stranger’s pulse and breathing. 

Mikail backed out of the doctor’s way and stood alongside Althea. ‘I need to head back to the port soon.’ He said, sounding almost hesitant. 

Althea just shrugged. ‘Thank you.’ She glanced at him sidelong. ‘For helping.’

‘It’s my job.’ He glanced around the hut, his gaze lingering on the broken floor boards and the mould spreading in the far corner. ‘Have your parents visited?’

‘Once.’

‘They were fine with you living here?’

‘They didn’t exactly offer to help buy me a house in town.’ Althea said dryly. ‘It’s fine. It’s just temporary.’ Which is what she had said five years ago. And what she would be saying in five years time, if the hut was still standing. 

Mikail clasped her shoulder, a rare gesture of support, and opened the door. ‘Doctor Erden, I’m off. Send your bill to the port.’ 

The doctor merely hummed in response, in the process of removing the stranger’s clothes. 

Althea looked away. This was going to be one long day.

Imereon slept, and as he slept, he dreamt. And as he dreamt, he saw him again. The one thing that had made his immortal life worth it. 

In all his dreams, Valkreath was there, hands outstretched, waiting for him in the Gardens of Rest. And Imereon wanted to take his hands. Wanted to hold him again. To kiss him. But every time he reached for him, Imereon woke up. 

Imereon didn’t want to wake up. He never wanted to wake up. So he just stood there, hands limp at his sides, grief crushing his chest. Perhaps if he stared at Valkreath for long enough, if he took the time to memorise every inch of him, the quirk of his lips, that slash of green in his brown eyes, he would remember. 

It had been so long since he had looked upon Valkreath, that the memory of him had faded. 

Even a god’s memory had its limits.

So Imereon just stood there, knowing that dawn was approaching, that waking was inevitable, and prayed that this time it would be enough, that this time he would wake up and be able to picture Valkreath’s face.

When the edges of his dream began to fade, Imereon took Valkreath’s hands and said, ‘Wait for me. I will join you soon enough.’

Imereon woke up and immediately wished that he hadn’t. 

This was not where he had fallen, where that man had pushed a knife through his heart. He searched his memory for where he had been last, and when that failed, searched within himself for a flicker of power. Nothing answered him. Panic settled deep within his chest. He sat up and the mattress groaned. His back ached from lying on hard lumps. The pain of it took him by surprise. 

Pain, the physical kind. That was new. He hadn’t experienced it since the wars. The feeling was foreign and unsettling. It pushed him to stand, if only to lessen the ache. 

Across the hovel, a woman slept slumped in a chair. She twitched slightly when the floorboards creaked beneath his feet, but otherwise stayed asleep. 

Imereon studied her. She was human. Young. Perhaps in her early twenties? Imereon wasn’t very good at guessing mortal ages. Her long black hair was in something resembling a braid, as if whoever had styled her hair had only heard of a braid being described but had never practiced it themselves. 

It was… messy. 

The entire room was. 

Imereon glanced down at his feet. They were bare and the wood beneath them was hard and sharp. He looked around the room for his boots and paused. His feet weren’t the only part of him that was bare. This woman had removed all his clothes. 

He took the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around his waist before she could wake up. Imereon didn’t usually feel self-conscious about his body. It was one he had crafted himself. But without his power, he felt vulnerable. As if even this stranger could be strong enough to defeat him. 

He padded across the room for his clothes. They were folded on the desk beside the sleeping woman, and Imereon held his breath as he reached for them. The fabric was damp. That must have been why she had removed them. Had it been raining? 

As soon as he picked up the bundle of clothes, the woman’s eyes sprung opened. She saw him, standing within arm's reach, and startled. Imereon dropped the clothes back on the desk, taking a few steps back, hands raised. 

The woman had retreated to stand behind her chair for some odd reason. Didn’t she know it forced her to have her back against the wall?

‘You’re awake.’ She said, rather stupidly. 

Imereon gestured towards his clothes. ‘And very naked. May I?’

Her eyes darted down to the blanket wrapped around his waist. She swallowed harshly. ‘Please.’

Imereon shrugged on his shirt, keeping his eyes trained on this stranger. It seemed to make her uncomfortable, but he didn’t want to miss it if she approached. She was rambling, her cheeks bright red. ‘I didn’t strip you, just so you know. The doctor did.’

‘What’s your name?’ Imereon asked. Putting his clothes back on had settled his nerves. ‘We haven’t met before.’ He added, as to not seem too harsh.

‘Althea.’ She said, not offering up a family name. 

Was that unusual for humans? Imereon couldn’t remember. 

He finished with the clasp of his trousers and unwound the blanket from his waist. The damp clothes were uncomfortable, but it was better than being nude. He folded the blanket and offered it up to her. ‘Thank you, Althea,’ he said when she took it from him, ‘for your care.’

Althea shrugged. ‘It’s fine.’ 

Silence settled thick and uncomfortable between them. Althea seemed to be doing everything in her power not to look at him, stowing away the blanket, smoothing back the bedsheets. 

After a minute, she spoke up again. ‘The doctor told me to test your memory when you woke up.’ She waited until Imereon gestured for her to go on. ‘She wanted me to make sure you knew your name and where you were and what your job is. That kind of thing.’

Imereon’s lips twitched in a slight smile. ‘Well, Althea, my name is Imris. I’m guessing that this is your home. And I’m a scholar.’

‘What do you research?’

‘The gods.’