Aelric the Sailor

Hi all, it’s been a while! Sorry about that, I’ve been hard at work working on my next book - Sons of the Carrispont. Good news, SOTC has just come back from its first round of edits thanks to the amazing Tasha Bee Editing, so rest easy knowing there’s progress being made and it’ll be in your hands before you know it. For now, I’ve written a bit of a more wholesome short story for you this time. Of course, like a lot of our short stories, this takes place in the world of The Whispering Depths, following an older couple from the island of Iron Anchor. This story is a bit cosier than our usual stuff, but I think it has a nice message.

So sit back, relax, and enjoy the tale of

—Aelric the Sailor—

Aelric of Iron Anchor wasted his life.

That’s what he thought to himself, as he reached down into the bamboo trap, salt water soaking his forearms, and pulled up a small octopus. The creature looked at him with a mix of confusion and fear, with large eyes that almost seemed to plead with him.

He was close to his sixtieth year, and still he toiled away. Day after day, serving those Imperial dogs.

The octopus was far too small, and its kind were known to all the fishers and the crabbers of the Golden Sea to be poisonous when eaten. He tossed the thing aside, letting it slip off the slimy rocks and back into the foamy water. He reached down again, this time pulling up a bright orange crab with streaks of blue running across its carapace, like marble. Its eye stalks turned to him, and he imagined it pleading as the octopus had.

“Sorry, feller,” he grumbled. “Your kind’s good eatin’.” He dropped the crab into the bucket beside him, and carried on.

He was not a slave, no. He was worse. He could leave whenever he wanted; he served them because they paid him. He served them to patch the roof of his dingy lighthouse. He served them to buy lavish fabrics that he couldn’t afford to please a wife he didn’t want. Sixty years of salt and sea, sixty years of servitude. And what did he have to show for it?

He grabbed another crab, a large one hidden inside a shell. This one shrank away into itself, though Aelric could still see its long antennae poking out.

“Crab’s a crab, ya see.” Aelric said. He saw those large, black eyes staring out at him. “Now don’t you start, too. Crabber’s gonna crab. You’ve been caught. It’s over. Aint no use in pouting now.”

He dropped it into the bucket.

His sons had fled long ago, to start their lives in Oenares and Carnath. He hadn’t seen them in near twenty years. He didn’t know if they had sons of their own, or wives. He didn’t know if they even still lived. No, all he had now was a wife who hated him, and a bucket of crabs begging him not to be eaten.

He pulled out another, this one large and bright orange. He held it from behind, its two claws held in either hand.

And why shouldn’t she hate him? He’d always talked about sailing off one day, just the two of them. He’d spoken to her of adventure, and of foreign lands. He’d spoken of Andaria, the city of Gold, and Ophirion, the city of Light. He’d spoken of N’gana and Farfield and of frozen southernmen. But he’d never taken her. It had always been too easy to stay in his little lighthouse, and to tend his little beacon. To crab and fish and just scrape by with what little the Masters paid him.

 The crab turned its eyestalks around as he held it in his grip, and he thought he saw fear in those black eyes. Another damned pleading crab.

“Enough!” He growled, balling his fists in anger. “Stop lookin’ at me like that!”

He felt his fingers crack the shell, pulling the crab’s claws off in frustration. The creature squealed as what was left of its body fell into the bucket with the others. He looked down, and watched its legs writhe as the other crabs swarmed over it. The squealing stopped as the other crabs tore into it, smelling an easy meal.

Aelric leaned back, releasing a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking down at the shattered shell of the now-dead crab. “I was always gonna kill ya, I just didn’t mean for it to be like that.”

Why shouldn’t she hate him? He absolutely loathed himself.

He felt himself rise from his stool on the jetty, and felt his feet carry him back across the island, towards the lighthouse. He’d left his crabs in the bucket, but he didn’t care.

His legs carried him of their own will, and he soon stomped up the wooden steps to the lighthouse, his home. He stopped, staring at the old tower. He’d been here his whole life. For forty years he’d maintained the beacon, guiding passing ships, and not a day went by that he hadn’t wished he’d been on one of them. This was his whole life.

A life he never wanted.

 He finally knew what he had to do.

Petra, his wife, jumped as the door slammed open, spilling the tea she had been brewing.

She scowled at him, but said nothing. They hadn’t said anything to each other in three days.

“Come with me,” he said, and she turned to raise an eyebrow at him as she wiped the bench clean with a rag.

“Has your mind finally gone? It’s about time. Hopefully me next husband will have better breath, and a nicer place to live.”

“Come with me, Petra,” he said again, and now saw the desperation in his eyes.

“Why should I want to go anywhere with you?” She gave up on cleaning the spilled tea and slumped into a wooden chair.

“Because I love you, wife. Or, I used to. Come with me because I’m all you’ve got, and you’re all I’ve got. I hate this damn lighthouse. I hate this damn island, and those damn crabs, and the damn sea! I hate it, Petra! I hate the fuckin’ sea, and I want rid of it! I hate the taste of salt crab, and I hate the world and all we do is sit and bicker and wait for death, and I wanna eat a poison octopus every other day, and… And we used to be happy, didn’t we? Before the boys?”

“Aye, you old coot,” she scolded. “We used to, when we were wee and foolish.”

“What happened?”

“We got old, you fool. We got sick of each other, and your little rant isn’t fuckin’ helping.”

He chuckled, and suddenly felt the energy drain from his chest. He wavered, and fell into a chair beside hers. He covered his eyes with a hand, and began to laugh to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Petra asked.

“Oh, my wife. The boys’re gone. We’ve got nothin’… Do you remember, what we used to say? We wanted to see the world.”

“We’re too old now,” she grumbled. “We lost all our time.”

“Did we?” he asked, looking at her. He could almost remember the woman he’d fallen in love with. She was younger then, and more beautiful, though he supposed he hadn’t exactly flowered either.

“What if we could just go?” he asked. “Right now. I’ll charter a boat to Fjorung. We can go’n see the cities. We can find our boys…”

“Oh, Aelric…” She had tears in her eyes, now, and put a hand to his cheek. “I almost want to.”

“Why not?”

“We can’t…”

“Why not?”

“Because… What about the lighthouse? What about the Masters?”

“Fuck ‘em,” he said. “Some other fool can waste his life here. Not us. We’ve served our time, and anyone says otherwise can go to Fo’Valad!”

She saw the pleading in his eyes, and for the first time in he didn’t know how many years, she smiled at him. A big smile, with creasing cheeks and missing teeth. A smile he would’ve traded anything to see again.

The two went giggling together across the island, as they had when they were young, and waited by the quiet port. A ship would be along soon, Aelric knew.

They left everything in the house. They would need only each other out in the world, on their adventure.

Sure enough, before long, a small cutter carrying supplies pulled alongside the jetty. Aelric and Petra smiled at one another, and nervously walked up the gangplank.

“We need passage to Fjorung,” Aelric bargained.

“A long way,” the Captain said. “What do you have for payment?”

“The lighthouse,” Petra cut in, “and everything inside.”

The Captain looked to the old beacon, sitting up on a small hill on the southern side of the island.

“You can charge a toll to the Masters,” Aelric said. “They’ve paid me good money to keep it running for near forty years, now.”

The man nodded to himself, clearly happy with the prospect of imperial money.

“Well then,” he said, “climb aboard.”

—The End—

That’s it for this time, folks! A bit of a lighter story this time. Aelric and Petra’s story is only just beginning, so who knows what crazy adventures await them on the horizon? You’ll just have to subscribe to find out (and get a free horror short story while you’re at it)!

There’s still plenty to come, so make sure to keep an eye on the blog for all the latest updates, news, short stories and more.

As usual, thanks for reading!