As the last of my breath escapes me, I remerge, reborn into the night. As the cool air fills my lungs, I realise that my traveller’s daze has been swept away in the depths. I feel more alive and alert than I ever remember, fire runs through my veins until I am impervious to the coldness swaying around me.
A slight coastal wind disturbs the greenery. The soft steady rhythms of the ocean almost block out the liveliness of the forest, a soothing repetition washing over me as I wade back towards the fiery pinpricks in front.
A hearty sight greets me. The entire camp is buzzing with refreshed energy. Some sit on logs but most lounge on the floor or random large rocks that have been scavenged. The children are chasing after each other, their supposed exhaustion after the long day temporarily forgotten, pausing only occasionally at their parent’s words. Every now and then I notice one of them waddling after the others clumsily, realising that my shoes have been passed around for the evening whilst they’re not needed and now flop around comically on tiny feet.
A few of the hunters had managed to cobble together a few shaky looking rafts and had spent their last couple of hours of light spearing what they could. It seems like they managed to come up with an impressive haul, it’s still no feast but as I look around most people have managed to get their hands on at least a little of the meat. I had even noticed them messing around a couple of times, shoving each other into the water when they were unsuspecting. The euphoria is contagious, given our present situation I wonder when it was that these families last managed to laugh as much as they do now.
Orrian tends to the fire closest and beckons me over with the widest grin I have even seen him sporting as I enter the gently wavering light, welcoming me back with an already cooked portion of fish. I perch on the edge of the log beside him, like many of the others I sit bare-chested, allowing the warmth of the fire to flood through me. My hair stiffens and an odd sensation creeps through my skin as the ocean salt slowly dries against it.
For the first time since beginning our journey, Orrian sits this evening free from his advisors. Until now, each day the few hours between setting up camp and sleep had been filled with the king consulting others on the next morning’s plan and the direction in which we would head. However, these usual consultants now relax dispersed over the shore. Closer to the sea line around a smaller fire huddles Faelyn and Sage Malach among some families, they listen to the Sage as he comforts them with prophecies and his wisdom. If I ever get the chance, I would love to introduce him to Ida, maybe before me is the one person who can decipher her encoded ramblings. Meanwhile, Jaq and Ryfon are throwing their heads back in laughter among a small group of guards, easily the loudest group on the beach but nobody is going to complain at such a joyous sight, strengthening the hearty atmosphere.
Mine and Orrian’s fire hosts several familiar faces. Astera, Horas, and Medea all enjoy the warmth at the centre of our group. Also, through the flames I spot Jaq’s younger companion, Tharrin, the one who had acted as my guard before the duel and who had fought Horith valiantly on his king’s behalf.
“Hey!” Tharrin yells as Arys, his younger brother whom had bothered him so many times whilst guarding me in the cavern, skids past the group in pursuit of friends. The boy brandishes an arm length branch in the air, gleefully kicking up sand and finely dusting the remainder of Tharrin’s fish. The older sibling curses under his breath at the loss of such precious food.
Despite this, Orrian volunteers to fetch Tharrin some more fish, chuckling along with the rest of us around the fire. As he rejoins with another couple of portions to satisfy Tharrin’s temper, one is undoubtedly for himself, we all begin to sink into a comfortable silence.
An hour or so later, with the partly obscured moon casting its shimmering reflection onto the rolling waves, Orrian finally calls for sleep and people begin moving towards the hastily constructed sleeping platforms.
I am to rest alongside Orrian and Horas and so it is whilst waiting for the former to round up the last of the protesting children that I find myself next to the twin. No longer wet, I reclaim my dry clothing to protect against the chill of the night now that we’re further away from the fire.
As we perch on the edge of our platform with our legs venturing out into the cooling sand, Horas’ reaching notably further than mine, I turn to the young chef. He looks out into the abyss of the ocean, ignoring the bustle around us as his people ready themselves for slumber, loose strands of sand-ridden hair fall over a gently illuminated face.
“Why haven’t you got any ink?” I ask, having only just realised the difference between Horas and many of the warriors around us.
Horas doesn’t answer for long enough that I’m about to resign to him ignoring the question.
“I never wanted to be the Akanian,” he admits, “I’ve been called a coward a few times, but I’ve always known that it wasn’t meant to be me. You should see my sister and the others, the hunger they have in their eyes that they could be the one. I don’t want that on my shoulders.”
“That doesn’t make you a coward,” I say, trying to comfort him, although he seems at ease admitting
