Chapter 21 – Salt Spray Meditation
A sharp spray of salt water struck Kelan's face, cold and shocking. He sputtered, blinking furiously to clear his eyes, and tightened his grip on the ship's bow railing. Another wave hit the prow of the Sea Falcon, sending up an arching mist of seawater that rained down on him. Despite being drenched to the bone and shivering in the brisk wind, Kelan did not retreat. He was exactly where he meant to be.
It was mid-morning on a choppy day. The previously calm sea had become lively, with the wind picking up from the west. Though it was no storm, the waves were sizable enough that the bow regularly plunged into their troughs and lifted over crests, occasionally knifing through a wave and throwing spray high into the air. The sky was a pale blue patched with fast-moving clouds.
Kelan stood at the very fore of the ship, just behind the bowsprit where a small observation platform—often called the foxhole by the crew—allowed one to lean out over the water. Normally it was a spot lookouts might use in fair weather. Today, no lookout wished to stand there and be soaked, so Kelan had it to himself.
He had come up here with a purpose: to challenge his burgeoning meditative skills under less-than-idyllic conditions. In the quiet of his cabin or the still dawn, he had found it increasingly possible to center himself. But on the previous day, Captain Cressa had hinted at a next step. "It's one thing to find calm in calmness, another to find calm in chaos," she had said. "Try meditating sometime when the world around you isn't quiet. It will strengthen your focus."
So here he was, attempting what he jokingly termed "salt spray meditation." He planted his feet shoulder-width apart for stability and closed his eyes, ignoring for the moment the rivulets of cold water running down his neck. In through the nose… out through the mouth. Steady breaths.
Immediately, the wind tugged at his clothes, whistling loudly past his ears. A burst of laughter came from the main deck—some crew likely amused at the crazy passenger standing in the splash zone on purpose. The ship pitched and Kelan's stomach dipped; he flexed his knees and kept balance.
He tried to tune into his inner awareness. Inhale… exhale. Acknowledge the wind as simply the breath of the world. Acknowledge the spray as the sea's touch. Let them be, do not resist or resent them. This was the mental dialog he attempted to maintain.
It was not easy. A particularly strong gust slapped at him and tore away any semblance of warmth he'd retained. Kelan's teeth chattered briefly and a frustrated thought flared: How am I supposed to concentrate like this? The moment he indulged in that complaint, another wave broke and sent a sheet of water right over the bow, drenching his front. He gasped, losing the thread of focus entirely as cold water seeped through his shirt.
Spluttering, Kelan steadied himself again. He wiped his wet face and resolved not to give up. If anything, the sea's rough playfulness spurred his determination. Alright, if I can't ignore the elements, perhaps I can embrace them. Captain Cressa's advice about not trying to force hummingbirds but inviting them with love came to mind (she'd shared that anecdote one morning from an old essay she read). Similarly, perhaps he should not fight the environment but include it in his meditation.
He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the crisp, salt-laden air until it almost burned. As he exhaled, he imagined himself spreading his awareness outward, not just inward. Instead of a rigid stance, he allowed his body to sway naturally with the ship's motion. Instead of bracing for each spray, he tried to welcome it as a refreshing kiss of the sea.
The next splash that came still struck him, but this time Kelan did not flinch. He kept his eyes closed and felt the droplets hit his face like cool needles—he noted the sensation, then let it pass. The wind buffeted him; he leaned into it slightly, like greeting an old friend with a hearty shoulder bump. Noise of crew and waves swirled around—he pictured each sound as a bird flying by in the sky of his mind, there and then gone.
To his own surprise, Kelan found a rhythm amid the chaos. The rise and fall of the ship became like a rocking cradle, a repeated pattern his body could predict and adjust to. His breaths he timed between the bigger waves, inhaling during the smooth lift, exhaling during the jarring crest impact. Soon, that, too, became less jarring as he synched with it.
He became keenly aware of individual senses: the taste of salt on his tongue; the smell of seaweed and wet wood; the sound of water lapping the hull between the crashes; the touch of wind wrapping around him like an invisible cloak flapping.
And then deeper—beneath those sensations, he sensed his inner self once more. The quiet flame of consciousness that had not been extinguished by the surrounding tumult, merely overshadowed for a time. Now it burned brighter because he fueled it with acceptance, not anger at the interruptions.
His mind settled. Not a perfect calm—thoughts still flickered like fish in a pond—but a calm despite the storm, like the pond's depth remaining still while the surface rippled. His earlier frustration ebbed away, replaced by a subtle exhilaration. He was doing it. He was meditating in the middle of crashing waves and howling wind.
A laugh bubbled up in him at the absurd joy of it, but he kept silent and merely smiled. In this state, Kelan tried something new: he opened his eyes while maintaining the meditative mindset.
The world appeared startlingly vivid. Droplets of water hung in the air in what seemed like slow motion before splattering on the deck. A rainbow prism glinted in each bead of spray when caught by the sun. The sea ahead was green-gray and capped with white foam, each wave a moving mountain with valleys that the ship dutifully traversed.
Gulls wheeled in the turbulent sky, seemingly reveling in the wind as they dipped and soared. One gull in particular flew just a few yards off the bow, keeping pace with the ship. Its black eyes briefly met Kelan's as it angled by. In that instant, Kelan felt a curious kinship with the creature—both of them navigating the same gusty reality, finding their balance within it.
His thoughts flowed freely yet without sticking. This is incredible, he mused. The world is fierce and beautiful, and I am part of it, not separate.
He raised one hand, palm open, as another geyser of spray erupted from the bow slicing a wave. Water droplets pelted his hand and ran through his fingers. Kelan imagined he could feel the energy of the sea in those droplets—a kind of life force. Perhaps it was only his heightened senses, but he felt connected to the sea in a way he hadn't before, not merely as an observer but as a participant in a grand dance.
He recalled in one of Master Elian's lessons, the concept that a Mind Touch adept should strive to feel unity with the world, to understand minds and nature as one fabric. Only then could empathy and intuitive power flow unhindered. At the time, it had sounded mystical and abstract. Now, soaked and windblown on a ship's prow, Kelan had a glimpse of what that might mean. By not resisting the environment, he had joined it, and in joining it, his mind had grown expansive.
At length, the wind began to ease as the ship's course changed slightly, angling them more downwind. The bow slapped fewer waves as the ride smoothed. Kelan emerged from his meditative trance gradually, as one might gently wake from sleep. He became more plainly aware of the cold saturating his clothes and the ache in his legs from bracing. It was time to step back.
He made his way carefully to the main deck, where a few crew who had been watching broke into applause and playful cheers. "Well done, lad!" shouted one. "You showed that water who's boss—by letting it smack you repeatedly!" Another guffawed. Kelan took their teasing in stride, grinning as he squeezed excess water from his sleeves.
Captain Cressa, who had been on the quarterdeck observing the sail adjustments, walked down to meet him. She looked him up and down with astonishment and respect. "I take it your exercise was successful?" she asked.
Kelan nodded vigorously, water droplets flicking from his hair. "It was. It was… amazing, Captain. Difficult at first, but then—" He searched for words, his excitement evident despite chattering teeth. "Then it was like I wasn't fighting the sea. I was just… part of it. I managed to meditate through it all."
Cressa clasped his shoulder, heedless of his soaked state. "Excellent. I could tell something shifted—I saw you go from looking like a half-drowned cat to looking as steady as one of those gulls." Her own coat was damp from the spray, but she was clearly pleased. "Come, you need a dry cloak and some hot tea before you catch your death."
She steered him toward the companionway. As they walked, she added in a lower voice, "What you did is something even seasoned sailors struggle with—the sea tests not just body but mind. You kept yours disciplined. That'll serve you very well, Kelan."
He flushed with pride at her praise. "Thank you. It was your suggestion, after all."
She chuckled. "Maybe. But you put it into practice."
Below decks, once Kelan had changed into dry clothes and wrapped himself in a woolen blanket, the full impact of what he'd achieved sunk in. Sipping from a steaming mug of ginger tea Sella had thrust at him, he felt a glow of accomplishment. This voyage, aside from carrying him physically closer to Auristaz, was also sharpening him mentally and emotionally.
He thought back to the first days aboard when even the gentlest rocking had upset him, when he felt overwhelmed by every unfamiliar sound and sight. Now he had learned to center himself under conditions that would send many into panic or discomfort. I'm stronger than I knew, he thought, not arrogantly, but with humble gratitude.
Later in the day, as the weather calmed and the sun broke fully through the clouds, Kelan went back on deck (in a fresh dry shirt). The crew was busy swabbing away the salt residue left by the earlier waves. Kelan joined in, grabbing a mop without being asked, and started pushing water towards the scuppers. His muscles moved in an easy rhythm, his mind still clear.
A young sailor named Jorin worked alongside him. Jorin gave him an appreciative nod. "You looked like some kinda sea spirit up there earlier. I half-expected you to start singing to the waves like in the old myths."
Kelan laughed. "Nothing so grand. Just finding my sea legs… and maybe my sea soul."
Jorin grinned. "We could all use a bit of that. I usually just curse and endure when I'm up front in rough weather. You made it look—well, not fun exactly, but purposeful."
Kelan wrung out the mop and looked toward the now-placid horizon. "It taught me something. That sometimes leaning into the discomfort works better than fighting it."
"Aye," Jorin agreed, sloshing his mop. "The sea teaches all who sail her, one way or another."
By dusk, the wind had died to a breeze and the Sea Falcon cruised smoothly once again. Kelan found a moment to himself at the bow, watching the sun sink gently with none of the earlier fury. The wood of the railing was still damp and smelled of salt. He placed his hands on it and closed his eyes, taking a brief meditative breath—not out of challenge now, but out of appreciation.
In his mind, he silently thanked the sea and wind for their lesson. They had been his harsh tutors for an hour, and he felt oddly affectionate toward them for it. I am a guest upon the ocean, he thought, and today the ocean decided to initiate me a little further.
As a final gull cried and headed toward its evening roost, Kelan opened his eyes to see the first star appear—a tiny point of light above the amber glow of twilight. He smiled. He would practice again, maybe in the rain or during the crew's noisy nights, to further hone this skill. But for now, he was content to have passed this personal test.
The memory of standing unbowed in the midst of wind and spray would stay with him. Whenever future challenges would threaten to overwhelm, he knew he could recall that feeling of merging with the chaos and finding peace within it. It was a potent lesson—perhaps one of the greatest he'd learned so far.
Chapter 22 – Gulls and Ghosts of Dreams
The cry of a gull cut through Kelan's slumber, high and keening. He drifted upward from the depths of a dream, the plaintive call weaving itself into the fading images behind his eyes. In that lingering moment between dream and waking, he wasn't sure if the sound came from the world or his mind.
Kelan blinked awake. Early dawn light filtered into the cabin. The gull cried out again, unmistakably real this time. He heard the flutter of wings and a thump—perhaps the bold seabird had landed on the railing just outside his porthole.
He sat up in his hammock, the dream still clinging to his thoughts like cobwebs. Fragments of it swirled: he had been on the deck at night, but the ship was empty of crew and the sea was eerily still like glass. A dozen white gulls circled overhead in the moonlight. In the dream, one gull swooped down and spoke to him in his mother's voice, but he couldn't remember the words. Then a ghostly figure had appeared on the quarterdeck—a silhouette of a woman with long hair billowing, possibly his sister or someone else dear—and he had felt an intense sorrow, though he couldn't recall why.
Now fully awake, Kelan rubbed his face. His skin felt clammy, whether from the humidity of dawn or the residue of dream-sweat. Reaching for the small tin pitcher in his cabin, he found a bit of water left and splashed it on his face to chase away the last of the sleep-fog.
That dream… it had felt important somehow. Ever since he'd started meditative practices, his dreams had grown more vivid. Master Elian had warned that opening one's mind could stir the subconscious. "Old memories, unresolved feelings, they may come forth in dreams when you begin this path," he'd said. "Pay attention to them, but don't be controlled by them."
Kelan stood and stretched. Through the porthole, he caught a glimpse of the persistent gull perched on the outer ledge, pecking at a bit of seaweed stuck in the wood. It cocked its head and fixed a beady eye on him as he peered out. "Good morning to you too," Kelan murmured with a faint smile.
He dressed quickly and decided to head topside. The night's dampness clung to the corridor as he emerged onto the deck. Dawn was just breaking—a thin line of pink at the eastern horizon. The air was cool and fresh.
A few crew were up and about: the night watch finishing their shift, and the early risers like Old Sella starting breakfast preparations. The ship moved lazily over gentle swells, sails barely filled by a light breeze. After yesterday's bluster, the ocean seemed to be catching its breath.
Kelan walked toward the bow. The gull that woke him had flown up to the foremast and sat atop a yard, preening its white feathers. Beyond it, in the growing light, he could see other gulls gliding near the ship. Gulls often meant land was not far—these birds rarely ventured too deep into the open sea. Perhaps they were nearing some scattered isles or the continental shelf. The thought was heartening: it meant progress.
Leaning on the railing, Kelan let his mind drift back to the remnants of the dream. The figure on the quarterdeck… in the dream he'd felt sure it was his elder sister, Alina. Alina had died when Kelan was only eight years old, but he remembered her vividly—a bright, laughing young woman of sixteen, taken by a sudden fever. It had been Kelan's first encounter with deep loss, and it had marked him. He realized he hadn't actively thought of her in some time, yet the dream brought her forth so strongly.
Why now? Perhaps his expanding sensitivity was stirring old grief. Or maybe, Kelan fancifully thought, her spirit truly had visited his dream. He wasn't sure what he believed about the afterlife, but he felt comfort, not fear, recalling her presence.
He folded his arms on the rail and lowered his head onto them, gazing at the water sliding by the hull. In the quiet of dawn, memories of Alina came to him. She was the first person who had ever encouraged his inquisitive mind. While others laughed off his odd insights as a child, Alina had listened. He remembered her sitting with him under a fig tree on a summer day, entertaining his wild ideas about whether animals had thoughts like people. She'd treated him like an equal mind, not just a child. When she fell ill, Kelan had been kept away from her bedside. She died one night, and he never got to say goodbye. It was a wound that he had buried over the years, but never truly healed.
A soft thud of footsteps on the deck roused him from his reverie. He turned to see Marin, one of the younger sailors, approaching with a coil of rope. Marin gave a friendly nod. "Mornin', Kelan. You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep," Kelan replied with a polite smile.
Marin yawned. "Aye, the gulls were noisy this dawn. Must be near some shoals rich with fish." He set about replacing a frayed section of line on a belaying pin nearby.
Kelan hesitated, then ventured, "Marin, have you—when you sail long—do you ever have strange dreams? Or… see things? Perhaps it's a silly question."
The young sailor paused and gave Kelan a curious look. "Strange dreams? Hmm, some say the sea can send dreams. I've had one or two myself. Why do you ask?"
Kelan shrugged lightly, not wanting to reveal too much. "I had a dream of someone I lost… years ago. It felt very vivid."
Marin nodded slowly. "The sea often reminds us of ghosts, or so the old hands say. All that endless horizon can stir the mind." He cleared his throat. "I remember once dreaming of my gran the night before we sighted my home port. She'd been dead five years, but in the dream she was at the docks waving. Next day, coming into harbor, I swear I felt her presence. Maybe just my mind, but I like to think she was watching over us."
Kelan offered a gentle smile. "That's comforting."
"Aye," Marin agreed, tying off the renewed rope. "Your lost one, maybe they're watching over you too. Or it could just be homesickness working on you. Either way, nothing to fret about."
Kelan considered that. Perhaps part of him was homesick—especially after hearing Rhovan rumors and thinking of his family's safety. He hadn't allowed himself much indulgence in longing for home, focusing instead on looking forward. But dreams have a way of unearthing what daylight thoughts neglect.
"Thank you, Marin. Fair winds," Kelan said as the sailor finished his task and moved off to the next chore.
"Fair winds, friend," Marin replied kindly.
Now alone with the dawn and his thoughts again, Kelan closed his eyes and inhaled the crisp air. The gulls' cries were increasing as more of the birds flocked nearby, perhaps in expectation of galley scraps soon to be tossed overboard after breakfast. To some, their calls might sound mournful or annoying. To Kelan this morning, they sounded like a conversation—raucous gossip, perhaps, or encouragement.
He fancied one particular drawn-out cry sounded like keee-laaan. He chuckled under his breath. The gulls are speaking my name now? If so, they were likely scolding him for anthropomorphizing them.
His dream's emotional residue still clung gently: sorrow, but also a tender warmth from seeing Alina's face again, even if conjured by his own psyche. Kelan decided to perform a brief farewell ritual in his mind—something Master Elian had taught him for unresolved feelings.
He straightened and looked out over the waking sea. The sun's edge now peeked above the water, a sliver of brilliant gold. Kelan imagined his sister's figure standing on that solar disk, smiling at him. In his mind, he thanked her for visiting his dream and told her he was well. He promised to live in a way that honored her memory. And in a final silent benediction, he let her image go, watching the rising sun dissolve it into pure light.
A sense of peace washed over him. The ghost of the dream was laid to gentle rest, at least for now.
The deck was growing livelier; he heard Sella banging a pot down below which meant breakfast soon. Kelan decided to help set up—he felt a particular need this morning to be around the living, to feel the solid presence of his shipmates and the comfort of routine.
As he helped arrange some benches for the crew's meal, Captain Cressa emerged from below, adjusting her coat. She looked as though she'd had a rare full night's sleep. Spotting Kelan, she gave a morning nod and joined him.
"Good morning, Captain," Kelan said.
"Morning, Kelan. You're up early. Everything alright?" Her perceptive eyes scanned him.
"Yes," he answered. After a beat, he confided, "Had a vivid dream I couldn't shake, so I came on deck. But I'm alright now."
She studied him a moment, perhaps weighing if it was something she should inquire about. Ultimately she just offered, "The sea can do that. Some say she collects dreams and returns them to us amplified." Her voice was gentle. "If it troubles you further, you know you can talk to me or Sella or whomever you trust."
Kelan felt gratitude. "I know. Thank you. I think I've made my peace with it this morning."
Cressa nodded, satisfied. "Very well." She tilted her head upwards. "Though if those gulls keep circling, they'll haunt our dreams next. I haven't heard so many since we left port."
Almost on cue, a particularly bold gull swooped down and landed on a capstan not far from them, eyeing the captain and Kelan as if expecting a handout.
Cressa laughed softly. "Cheeky bird. You're a bit early for breakfast scraps." She shooed it lightly with her hand, and it squawked indignantly but flew off to join others perched along the yardarm.
"They are heralds of land, aren't they?" Kelan mused. "Maybe we're nearing the Auristazi archipelago."
"Likely some outer rocks or islets," Cressa agreed. "We won't see mainland for a while yet, but I wouldn't be surprised if by midday we pass something." She breathed in deeply, the morning sun lighting up a streak of silver in her dark hair. "Always good to hear gulls after days of nothing but open water. Makes the crew perk up."
Indeed, as the word spread that gulls were about, the crew's chatter turned to speculation of sighting land or at least enjoying the company of birds. One sailor had already dug out an old crust to toss to them.
Breakfast was a simple porridge with dried berries and hardtack, taken in good spirits. Kelan ate with Marin and Jorin, listening to their banter about what they'd do on first night ashore (mostly involving ale and questionable establishments). He smiled but his mind wandered to what he would do—likely head straight to the Lyceum. There'd be no wild carousing for him; his purpose was different. Still, he absorbed their excitement. Landfall, even if still days off, was approaching.
After eating, Kelan volunteered for lookout duty up in the crow's nest to give the regular watch a break. Climbing the swaying mast was invigorating in the morning air. He settled in the small round platform high above the decks and scanned the horizon with a spyglass. The gulls kept him company, a few circling at eye level with his lofty perch.
To the east and south, the sea was endless blue. But to the north, as the sun rose higher, Kelan's keen eyes caught a smudge on the horizon—a darker shape against the pale sky. Could it be a distant island or large rock? He focused the spyglass. Yes, he could make out the faint outline of something—perhaps a craggy atoll, still many miles off their port side.
He rang the small bell in the crow's nest twice—signal for "land or hazard in sight." Immediately below, he heard the excited responses as sailors rushed to the port rail to see. Captain Cressa shouted up, "What do you see, Kelan?"
"Land or reef, bearing roughly north-northwest!" he called down. "Very distant, ma'am, perhaps an island."
He saw her confer with the navigator and alter course slightly to give it a wider berth if needed.
The day passed without incident, the mysterious land on the horizon eventually disappearing behind as they sailed on. But the mood remained uplifted. Spotting any land gave a psychological boost—it reminded all that they were drawing closer to their destination and that the vast emptiness was giving way to the fringes of civilization.
By late afternoon, fatigue from his early start caught up with Kelan. He took a brief nap in the shade of a lifeboat, lulled by the now gentle rocking and the distant cries of gulls that still trailed the ship. This time, no unsettling dreams disturbed him—only a vague impression of flying above the waves alongside white birds, free and at peace.
When he awoke to the lowering sun, he felt refreshed. The ghosts of his dreams had been laid to rest by the simple acts of acknowledging them and then engaging fully with the living world of the ship. Kelan realized this was another quiet lesson: face your inner phantoms, but don't let them trap you in the past. Life moves forward like a ship on the sea, and one must ride with it.
As evening fell and the gulls one by one peeled away to find their roosts on some unseen shore, Kelan stood at the stern watching them depart. "Safe travels," he murmured to the birds, feeling a kinship and gratitude. They had led him inward and then outward again, all in a day.
One gull remained until the twilight's last gleam—a stubborn one perched atop the mizzen mast. It gave a final cry that echoed into the dusk. To Kelan's ears, it sounded like a benediction, a farewell to the ghosts of yesterday and a heralding of the journey ahead.
He retired that night and slept deeply, dreamlessly under the gentle stars, the only whispers in his mind those of hope and gentle remembrance.
Chapter 23 – Rhovan Rumors
"So they say Prince Ardel might shut down the ports entirely if the guilds don't pay the new levy," the sailor said in a hushed tone, eyes darting about as if the very timbers might overhear and tattle. "Some even whisper of rebellion. Rhovan hasn't seen open revolt in three generations, but times are a-changing."
Kelan leaned in over the barrel that served as an impromptu table in the mid-deck hold. The lantern light flickered across the faces of three sailors and himself as they took an evening break below decks. A mild rain pattered above, so a group had gathered around some ale kegs here to swap stories out of the wet.
He had stumbled on them discussing news from Rhovan, his homeland, and naturally, he was all ears. "Who told you that?" Kelan asked the man who'd spoken—Derk, a seasoned deckhand who hailed from one of Rhovan's coastal towns.
Derk took a swig from his tin cup of watered ale. "Heard it from a docker in Auristaz last we were there. Word was coming via traders: The Prince hiked tariffs on exported grain, the merchant guilds balked, and now there's a standoff. Some guildmasters in Calta reportedly refused to load ships and barricaded a warehouse."
Another sailor, Brielle, shook her head. "That's a dangerous game. Prince Ardel doesn't seem the merciful type."
Kelan felt a pang of worry. Calta was a major port in Rhovan, albeit not his hometown. If unrest was stirring in one port, it could spread. He thought of his parents and younger brother. They lived inland, farmers turned coopers, usually removed from politics. But conflicts had a way of rippling outward.
He cleared his throat. "I'm from Rhovan," he said quietly. The others looked at him with some surprise—Kelan seldom spoke of home. "My family's in the countryside. If things turn violent in ports, could it affect the villages too?"
Derk scratched his beard. "Hard to say. In Rhovan, the nobles control the countryside through sheriffs and such. If guilds revolt, they'd mainly grip the cities. But if Prince Ardel fears rebellion, he might squeeze the peasants harder to ensure no support flows to the guilds. Sometimes common folk get caught between, double-taxed by both sides."
Kelan frowned, stomach sinking. He'd left to pursue a destiny and better the world if he could, but what if his own people were falling into chaos while he was away? A strand of guilt coiled within—should he be there to help, somehow? But what could he do, untrained and inexperienced? And he had been sent away for an important reason.
Brielle sensed his worry and offered, "It might not come to that. Rhovan's monarchy is strong; likely they'll cut a deal quietly with the guild heads. A few concessions, a few arrests of hotheads, and things will simmer down. Happens in other places too. Money disputes seldom turn into full revolts unless there's famine or foreign agitators." She spoke as one who'd seen many ports and their intrigues.
The third sailor, a quiet man named Thom, added in a conspiratorial whisper, "Now, foreign agitators—there's a thought. Some say Auristaz might be stirring the pot."
All eyes turned to Thom. Kelan's heart skipped. "Auristaz? What do you mean?"
Thom looked around and lowered his voice further. "Just gossip on the docks: that maybe Auristazi agents encourage these guilds to resist Rhovan's prince, to destabilize an old rival. You know Auristaz runs on a very different system—matrons and councils, not kings. Some think the matriarchs wouldn't mind seeing neighboring patriarchies weaken." He shrugged. "Or so the theory goes."
This was new to Kelan and quite startling. Could his soon-to-be hosts in Auristaz have a hidden hand in troubles at home? It sounded far-fetched, but history was full of subtle meddling by one power in another's affairs.
Brielle scoffed. "Sounds like paranoia. Auristaz has its own issues; doubt they need to provoke Rhovan. And Prince Ardel's troubles are of his own making by all accounts—he's levying for that grand palace project of his, isn't he? Overreaching greed is enough to anger merchants without needing foreign help."
The group murmured agreement at that point. Derk nodded. "Aye, heard he's refurbishing Castle Aurin to be the finest in the world. Gold leaf on the throne room ceiling and all. Got to squeeze coin from somewhere."
Kelan absorbed these perspectives. It did fit Prince Ardel's reputation—he was known as Ardel the Ambitious. Kelan remembered him from a distance at a seasonal festival once: a tall, hawk-nosed man who carried himself with cold pride. Rhovan had prospered under his father, but Ardel's early reign had seen increasing centralization of power and wealth in the capital. It wouldn't shock Kelan if the prince's policies had spurred discontent.
He felt a bit relieved at Brielle and Derk's practical takes—probably an internal matter that would pass, not a civil war or anything so dire. Still, he silently resolved to send a letter to his family when he reached Auristaz, warning them to stay safe and out of any unrest.
As the sailors moved on to lighter topics—tales of tavern escapades in prior ports—Kelan excused himself and climbed topside. The rain had ceased, leaving the deck glistening under cloudy skies. The air smelled of wet rope and a hint of ozone.
By the mainmast, he found Captain Cressa and the first mate discussing their navigation, both hunched over a chart protected in a oilskin case. Kelan hovered politely, not wanting to intrude on official business. But Cressa noticed him and waved him over.
"You look thoughtful, Kelan," she said. "Something on your mind?"
He appreciated her perceptiveness. Casting a glance to ensure others weren't right by, he spoke softly, "I heard some of the crew discussing trouble in Rhovan. Possibly serious economic unrest. That's… where I'm from. I'm a bit worried."
The captain's expression turned sympathetic. "I've heard the rumors as well. We got tidings in Auristaz just before we left—some conflict over tariffs, correct?"
Kelan nodded. "Yes. They mentioned possible rebellion, though that might be exaggeration."
Cressa exchanged a look with Teren, then said, "I wouldn't put too much stock in the most dire rumors. News mutates with each retelling, especially at sea. But if you'd like, when we reach Vay'Sala, I can inquire at the Rhovan consulate or among the merchants for the latest accurate news. We likely will have a couple days in port while you get settled. We can try to find out how your region fares."
Kelan felt immense gratitude. "Thank you, Captain. That would ease my mind." He realized anew how fortunate he was to have her guidance and care beyond just ferrying him.
Teren rolled up the chart they'd been examining. He chimed in, "We'll keep an ear out, Kelan. But I suspect Rhovan will sort itself. It's a strong kingdom. Something like trade disputes rarely topple those in power."
Kelan exhaled slowly. "I hope so. For everyone's sake."
Captain Cressa studied him a moment, as if guessing at the deeper currents of his worry. "You know," she said quietly, "this may be the first of many times you feel torn between duty to where you're going and concern for where you came from. Balancing that is part of growing, especially for someone with gifts that connect people. But take heart: learning what you will at the Lyceum might one day put you in a position to help your homeland more than you ever could by turning back now."
Her words struck a chord. Kelan had indeed felt a pang of guilt wondering if he should be back in Rhovan, but hearing her frame it that way helped. He offered a small smile. "Thank you. You always seem to know the right thing to say."
She laughed lightly. "Not always. But I've seen a lot of young folks leave home for one reason or another, only to be confronted by news that tugs them back. It's like the sea itself—tides push and pull. You must learn when to go with the current and when to row against it. Right now, your path is forward."
Kelan nodded, standing a bit straighter. "Forward to Auristaz," he agreed.
"Speaking of forward," Teren interjected with a sniff of the air, "the wind's shifting southerly. I'll have the crew adjust the sails to take best advantage." He gave a respectful nod to them and went off to holler orders.
Captain Cressa rested a hand on Kelan's shoulder briefly. "Chin up. We'll get to port soon, and perhaps there will be letters or messengers from Rhovan that give clarity. Now, I must make my noon observations."
Kelan watched her go, then decided to busy himself with a task to keep from stewing in thoughts. He ended up joining a group repairing a section of netting. As his fingers worked the cords, weaving and knotting, the rhythmic activity soothed his mind.
Throughout the afternoon, little snippets of Rhovan entered conversation among crew, as news tends to run like quicksilver on a ship. A few had traded there and shared their experiences: "Rhovan's navy is small—if unrest does break out, they can't blockade Auristaz ships effectively," one noted. Another argued, "Ardel's got the loyalty of the knights; any revolt would be crushed swiftly." It was all speculative, yet Kelan listened from the sidelines, hungry for any kernel.
He found it interesting how his perspective was shifting. When he was in Rhovan, Auristaz had felt like the exotic unknown, subject of rumor. Now among Auristazi travelers, it was Rhovan that was the distant land discussed in rumor and conjecture. It reminded him how relative one's view of "normal" and "other" can be.
That evening, after supper, Kelan retreated to the quiet of the bow as was becoming his habit. The sky was clearing, stars blinking through the remnants of cloud. The ship murmured with subdued life—creaking ropes, distant laughter of a dice game near the mast, a lullaby hummed by someone below deck.
Kelan thought of his family. He imagined his father closing up the workshop at dusk, his mother lighting a tallow lamp in the kitchen, his brother perhaps feeding the chickens. They would be concerned about him too, off in a far land. He silently promised again to write as soon as he could.
He also thought of the responsibilities he might carry in the future. If rumors were true and Auristaz and Rhovan stood at odds in subtle ways, what role might he play someday? Would he have to choose sides or mediate between? The idea that the gift he was nurturing could have political weight was daunting. Master Elian had mentioned that Mind Touch adepts often served as impartial counselors or arbiters because of their insight. Perhaps Kelan might one day be in a position to guide Rhovan's rulers or mend trust between nations. It was a lofty prospect, but one that gave him a sense of purpose—one more reason to learn all he could.
He recalled a snippet from a treatise he'd read about telepaths (one of the few bits of reading material he had brought): "A mind adept hears the many threads of thought in the world and can weave them into understanding." He hoped to become that, a weaver of understanding. If Rhovan and Auristaz had misunderstandings, maybe one day he could help bridge them.
For now, they were still at sea and his immediate world was this ship and its people. The Rhovan rumors had unsettled him, yes, but also galvanized his resolve to see this journey through.
As the first mate called the change of watch and the night crew took their posts, Kelan offered a little prayer to the stars above: "Keep my family safe, keep my homeland at peace, and guide me to be of use wherever I'm needed." The stars, age-old witnesses to human hopes and follies, winked in response as if to acknowledge his plea.
He then went below to rest, feeling more balanced. The next time he heard of Rhovan, he would likely be on Auristazi soil, better informed and better positioned to act on whatever news came.
In the grand scheme, he realized, the voyage was not just a physical passage but a transitional space where he could process being of Rhovan but journeying to Auristaz. In that liminal space, he was integrating his identity and steeling himself for the role he might play at the crossroads of cultures.
Let the rumors swirl; he would convert concern into motivation. With that comforting thought, Kelan drifted off to the gentle rock of the ship, dreaming not of ghosts this time, but of a bright morning where Rhovan and Auristaz flags flew side by side in harmony.
Chapter 24 – Spar on the Foredeck
Thwack! Kelan barely managed to parry the incoming wooden staff before it tapped his shoulder. Even so, the impact jarred his arms and sent him stumbling back a step across the foredeck. A few crew members lounging nearby whooped in amusement.
"You've got to hold your ground, lad!" laughed Aran, the burly sailor who was Kelan's sparring partner. Aran twirled the long wooden spar—a cut-down broom handle, essentially—with ease. "Feet apart, knees bent. Anticipate my swing."
Kelan nodded, catching his breath. The two of them had drawn an impromptu circle on the foredeck during the afternoon lull and were engaging in a friendly sparring match. It had begun when Kelan mentioned he had little combat training; Aran, who fancied himself the ship's unofficial boxing and wrestling champion, immediately offered to teach him some basics with the staves.
A small crowd had gathered: a mix of sailors glad for entertainment on a calm day. They cheered each exchange as if watching knights duel. Captain Cressa looked on from the quarterdeck, arms crossed but a hint of a smile on her face at the crew's antics.
Kelan adjusted his grip on his own staff and planted his feet more firmly. His muscles were warming up now, initial nervousness giving way to determination. He'd always been more of a thinker than a fighter, but he recognized the value in learning to defend himself physically too. Plus, there was a certain exhilaration in testing his reflexes and strength.
Aran feinted left; Kelan tracked the motion, recalling Aran's earlier strikes. The big man had a tendency to swing high after a feint. Sure enough, Aran quickly shifted and brought the staff arcing toward Kelan's right side, shoulder height. This time, Kelan was ready—he raised his staff diagonally and caught the blow with a solid crack of wood on wood.
There were cheers. Kelan felt a surge of satisfaction at the successful block, but Aran was not done. Using the rebound, Aran pivoted and aimed a jab at Kelan's midsection. Kelan twisted away just in time, the tip of Aran's spar grazing his vest but not landing a hit.
"Good!" Aran praised, sweat glistening on his brow. "You're quick."
Heart pounding, Kelan circled, mindful of the limited space and the spectators around. He tried a tentative strike toward Aran's left leg. Aran easily sidestepped and tapped Kelan's staff aside.
They exchanged a few more blows and blocks, the sound of their practice echoing off the sails. Kelan was fully engrossed now. He found that if he focused intently, he could almost sense Aran's intent by the man's posture and eyes—perhaps a touch of his Mind gift subtly reading the opponent's shift in mood or muscle tension. It wasn't mind-reading exactly, more like heightened intuition.
At one point, Kelan felt a prickling awareness and raised his staff instinctively to the left; Aran's swing, which Kelan hadn't consciously seen coming, met Kelan's staff in a loud crack that surprised both of them.
Aran narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion. "How'd you know that one? That was my trick move."
Kelan just shrugged with a grin, not about to explain the mysteries of intuition. "Lucky guess?"
The onlookers laughed. One shouted, "He's got third eye in the back of his head, Aran!"
Emboldened, Kelan pressed a little attack of his own. He stepped forward with a quick series of thrusts—one high, one low. Aran parried them, but the force made him give a half-step back.
"Oh-ho!" Aran exclaimed. "The scholar's got bite!"
Encouraged, Kelan swung for Aran's side. But Aran was crafty; instead of fully blocking, he deflected Kelan's staff just enough that its momentum carried Kelan a bit off-balance. In that blink, Aran stepped in and hooked his own staff behind Kelan's ankle with a gentle tug.
Suddenly Kelan's footing vanished. He yelped as he went down, landing on the deck flat on his back with a thud that knocked the wind out of him. His staff clattered away.
A chorus of good-natured "Oooooh!" erupted from the spectators. The match was clearly decided.
Aran immediately extended a hand and helped Kelan up. "You alright?" he asked earnestly.
Catching his breath, Kelan nodded and dusted himself off. "Yes—just lost pride, nothing broken." He smiled to reassure Aran he wasn't upset.
The crew gave them both a hearty round of applause for the show. Someone passed a waterskin to Kelan, which he gratefully drank from.
Captain Cressa descended from the quarterdeck, clapping slowly. "Nicely done, both of you. That's the most spirited foredeck 'exercise' I've seen in a while."
Aran gave a small bow. Kelan did likewise, though he winced at a developing bruise on his hip.
"Thank you for the lesson," Kelan said genuinely to Aran. "I clearly have much to learn."
Aran patted his shoulder. "You did well for a beginner. You've got speed and you don't panic—that's key. Just need to build strength and balance." He chuckled, "And be glad it was me and not Mirena sparring you—she'd have truly flung you."
Mirena, the bosun's mate, was a wiry woman known for her fierce grip and no-nonsense demeanor. Kelan laughed at the thought. "I'll train up before I ever challenge her, then."
As the crowd dispersed back to duties or leisure, Captain Cressa walked with Kelan toward the rail. "I'm pleased to see you engaging in combat practice," she remarked. "The Lyceum's focus might be the mind, but they won't neglect physical conditioning. You'll likely have drills and self-defense classes."
Kelan flexed his arms; they felt a bit sore from the impacts. "That makes sense. A sound mind in a sound body, as the saying goes."
She nodded. "Indeed. Also, being able to defend yourself is vital. Not everyone you meet will honor your talents—some might try to eliminate a threat or capture you. The world can be hostile to those with power." Her tone grew slightly dark at that, as if recalling something.
Kelan looked at her curiously. "Do you know of Mind adepts having to physically fight often?"
Cressa considered. "Maybe not often, but it happens. Auristaz had wars in past decades where Mind adepts served as battle-mages or scouts. And on a smaller scale, an adept traveling might face bandits who won't politely be defeated by a stern thought alone. Some ruffians only understand a staff to the head."
Kelan swallowed. He had never been in a true fight. The sparring was playful; real violence was another matter. But he understood. His gift didn't make him invincible, and might even make him a target under certain circumstances.
"I'll keep practicing," he promised.
She smiled. "Aran will be glad to give you more tips, I'm sure. This crew's taken a liking to you. They'll probably try to toughen you up before we land, like birds fattening a fledgling before flight."
That analogy made Kelan chuckle. "I appreciate them... and you."
Over the next few days, true to Cressa's words, Kelan continued informal training. In the mornings, he joined some sailors in their routine calisthenics—sailors often did stretches and rope climbing to stay limber. Kelan found his upper-body strength improving as he helped haul lines more frequently.
Aran or another volunteer sparred with him every other afternoon when the weather allowed. They used padded gloves one day for boxing basics; Kelan ended up with a puffy lip but learned to keep his guard up. Another day, Mirena indeed took a turn with him, teaching him how to break free if grabbed. Her method was direct: she had him in a headlock before he could blink, and only by tapping her arm did she release. Then she taught him how to drop his weight and elbow a hypothetical attacker's stomach to get out of such a hold.
The sessions always drew a small supportive audience. The crew respected that Kelan earnestly wanted to learn. In turn, Kelan earned more of their camaraderie and respect.
One evening, as he sat cross-legged on the fo'c'sle with Jorin and Brielle practicing tying knots (another skill he figured a sailor could teach a future mage—who knows when a good knot might save a life), Kelan reflected on how much more integrated he felt compared to the start of the voyage. At first he'd been a passenger—polite, somewhat distant. Now he was simply part of the crew family, albeit temporarily.
He realized that sparring on the foredeck was more than just a physical lesson; it was also about trust and bonding. Trading blows in good faith had a way of forging friendship. And in each tumble or bruise, Kelan found a lesson not just about fighting, but about himself—his resilience, his quick study, and his limitations.
After a week of such activities, Kelan woke one morning and noticed in the small polished metal mirror in his cabin a faint new hardness to his form. His arms, while still lean, showed a bit more muscle. A particularly dark bruise on his left forearm from blocking a staff had turned a sickly yellow-green in healing. He smiled at these small badges of progress.
Finishing his morning meditation, Kelan felt more balanced than ever. Body, mind, and spirit all being exercised in harmony. The introspection, the philosophical chats, the physical challenges—they were all shaping him en route to Auristaz.
It was as if the ship itself was a mini-school, preparing him for the larger academy to come. Captain Cressa often orchestrated this subtly, he suspected—giving permission, gentle encouragement or correction. She was headmistress and captain at once.
By the time the coastline of Auristaz was expected to come into view (just a few more days now, by the navigator's last report), Kelan no longer felt the timid uncertainty that had clung to him when he first boarded. He felt, in a word, capable. Not fully trained, not overconfident, but capable of facing the unknown with a measure of self-assurance.
One breezy late afternoon, Aran approached Kelan with two wooden practice swords he had fashioned crudely from scrap wood. "One last bout before you become an educated landlubber?" he offered with a grin.
Kelan grinned back, taking one of the wooden swords and feeling its weight. "En garde," he responded playfully, falling into a fighting stance.
They dueled on the foredeck as the sun turned orange, their laughter mixing with the clack of makeshift swords. It ended with Kelan slipping past Aran's defense to lightly tap his chest (a lucky move, though he had anticipated Aran's overextension). The crew cheered Kelan's first definitive "win", and Aran bowed theatrically in defeat.
Breathing hard, Kelan felt elation. He knew of course that in a serious fight Aran would likely still best him, but this symbolic victory marked how far he'd come.
"Next time we cross paths, I expect you'll be a proper swordsman," Aran said, clapping him on the back.
"Give me a few years," Kelan laughed. "Maybe I'll come back and challenge you for real."
"It's a deal," Aran replied, extending his hand. They shook firmly—a handshake of equals.
As dusk fell, Kelan carefully stored the wooden practice sword in his chest along with a coil of rope and a practice dagger Mirena had gifted him. These were souvenirs of his training aboard, but he intended to keep practicing on land when he could, so as not to lose the skills.
He made a mental note to ask if the Lyceum had any martial clubs or if the city offered fencing instructors—he was starting to genuinely enjoy the art of combat as a discipline.
Sitting on his bunk later that night, legs pleasantly sore, arms criss-crossed with a few healing welts, Kelan wrote in his journal:
"I have learned to dance with wooden blades and read intent in a foe's eyes. My body answers commands swifter than before. Though I am bruised, I feel stronger. There is as much philosophy in a sparring bout as in a book—balance, timing, restraint, respect. Who knew I would find teachers in sailors' guise?"
He closed the journal and lay back, listening to the gentle lap of waves against the hull. Above, through the open hatch, stars glimmered and sails fluttered.
The foredeck where he had sparred was quiet now, but in his mind's eye he saw again the figures—himself and Aran—circling, testing, learning. It struck him that this too was part of the Mind's Awakening—coming to know the union of mind and body. To feel the thrum of adrenaline and yet keep one's head clear, to sense an opponent's intention not by mystical power alone but by empathy and awareness.
He closed his eyes and offered silent thanks for the comrades who had instructed him. If Act I of his journey was discovering he had a gift, and Act II was about tempering himself on this voyage, then he was nearly ready for Act III: formal training at the Lyceum.
And he felt ready. Confident, but not complacent—keenly aware of how much more there was to learn, but confident he could learn it.
On the morrow, the lookout's cry might finally hail Auristaz's shores. When that happened, Kelan knew he would stand on deck not as a naive boy arriving untested, but as a young man who had already begun to earn his sea legs, his wisdom, and his scars. And in each scar was a story and a lesson he would carry forward proudly.
Chapter 25
Kelan stood on the gently swaying deck near the stern, the salt wind tugging at his hair as he gazed down at the parchment spread across a barrelhead. Lantern light flickered over the first map of Auristaz he had ever seen. The map's edges were frayed and salt-stained, yet the inked lines of coastline and curling script of unfamiliar names filled him with wonder. He traced a finger lightly above the parchment (careful not to smudge it on the damp wood), following the vast outline of Auristaz. Its shape sprawled like a sleeping beast across the sea, peninsulas like outstretched limbs, islands dotting the waters off its shores. Mountains were drawn as tiny upturned Vs inland, and a winding line marked a great river. Each detail drew more questions to his mind.
"This is Auristaz?" he asked softly. His voice nearly drowned under the creak of rigging and distant crash of waves against the hull. Even after weeks of sailing, the sheer size of the land depicted made him swallow in awe. Back home, maps had shown only his small island kingdom and a hint of other shores. This—this was an entire mainland, full of unknown cities and people.
Elenne stepped closer, steadying the map with one slim hand. She gave a small nod. "All of this is Auristaz," she confirmed. Her voice carried a gentle warmth that steadied him. "It's quite something, isn't it?"
The lantern's glow danced in her gray eyes as she regarded the map alongside him. Kelan caught a subtle note of pride in her tone, as if Auristaz were an old friend she was pleased to introduce. He glanced at Elenne, remembering she had spent years studying in these lands. Perhaps, he thought, she had once traced these same lines as an eager student herself.
He looked back to the map, absorbing Elenne's words. He could see a bold star marking Vay'Sala, the port city where they would soon land. He mouthed the name silently. It sounded musical and foreign, promising bustling markets and towering buildings of a sort he could only imagine. Around the star symbol sprawled other markings—perhaps city walls or districts? He longed to ask but decided to examine first, following the Code's first precept Elenne often reminded him of: See before all else.
He bent closer. Faded lines radiated from Vay'Sala's harbor like spokes, likely roads or trade routes reaching inland. One route snaked north to a symbol of a sunburst—maybe the capital or a holy site? Another route curved south along the coast to smaller circles labeled with names he tried to pronounce under his breath: "Sairin… Ozhun… Palath." Each syllable felt strange yet enticing on his tongue.
"Those are other port towns," Elenne explained, noticing his interest. She pointed to the circles he had just sounded out. "And that sunburst here—" her finger tapped the inked symbol to the north of Vay'Sala, "—is the City of Light, where the High Temple stands. Though we won't go that far on this journey."
Kelan nodded, eyes wide as he imagined places beyond the scope of their current quest. "And the Lyceum?" he asked. "Is it marked here too?"
Elenne's lips curved into a slight smile. "Indeed." She guided his gaze back to Vay'Sala. Within the drawn boundaries of the city, near what looked like a hill or rise indicated by contour lines, a small open book symbol was drawn. Next to it, in neat lettering, was the word Lyceum.
"There," she said softly, almost reverently. "That is where we'll go after we arrive. The Lyceum of Mind Touch."
Kelan's breath caught. Seeing it written on the map made it real in a way it hadn't been before. A flutter of nervous excitement stirred in his chest. That small symbol represents so much. The place where he might truly learn about his telekinetic gift—his Mind Touch—instead of fumbling through instincts and half-remembered lessons. The place where others like him trained, maybe for generations.
He straightened up, glancing from the map to the dark horizon beyond the ship's rail. Out there, hidden by night and distance, lay Auristaz and the city of Vay'Sala. The star of the city on the map felt within reach, yet still so far beyond the black waves. He realized his hands had clenched into fists on the barrel's rim. With a conscious breath, he relaxed them.
"Hard to believe we're so close," he murmured. His heart beat a little quicker at the thought. "It still doesn't feel quite real."
Elenne carefully rolled up the map. The parchment rustled as she slid it back into its oilskin tube to protect it from the sea air. "It won't be long now," she assured, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. Her touch was light but grounding, reminding him he wasn't dreaming. "Perhaps two days more if the winds hold. You'll be standing on Auristazi soil before you know it."
Two days. After months since leaving home and weeks at sea, what were two more days? Kelan exhaled slowly, trying to temper his eagerness. The voyage had taught him patience—the endless blue of the ocean left little choice—but now that journey's end was in sight, anticipation nibbled at him constantly. He found himself pacing the deck in spare moments, straining his eyes at each sunrise hoping to glimpse land. Each time, only empty horizon greeted him, and he would will himself to be patient again.
The ship gently rose and fell beneath him, a familiar motion by now. It was late evening; above, the sky was a deep indigo, a scatter of stars just emerging. The crew on the night watch moved about in relative quietness, checking ropes and sails, their lanterns swaying and casting long shadows. A low hum of a sailor's tune drifted from the bow, a lonely sound carried off by the breeze.
Kelan realized he had been staring at where the map had been, lost in thought. He stepped away from the barrel, stretching his arms. His muscles felt a bit stiff; he had spent much of the afternoon hauling and coiling lines with the crew in a burst of restless energy. Elenne often encouraged him to help with ship duties. She said honest work kept one humble and grounded—especially important for someone with powers like his. He agreed, though sometimes he wondered if she also had him do it to tire him out so he wouldn't pester her with a hundred questions each day.
He smiled to himself at that thought. Elenne bore his curiosity with grace, answering when she could, but occasionally she'd simply raise an eyebrow and say, "All in due time, Kelan." He'd learned that meant the answer would reveal itself eventually, often through experience rather than explanation.
What will Auristaz be like? he wondered for the hundredth time. The map's images filled his mind: city sprawl, rivers, mountains. But those were static drawings. He tried to imagine the reality — the sounds of a busy Auristazi port, the smell of spices on the air, the press of crowds, the architecture, the language. Would it be overwhelming? Would people notice he was a foreigner immediately? Likely yes, he thought, glancing down at his simple tunic and salt-stained trousers. Auristazi clothing might be very different. He remembered Elenne advising him on some basics of etiquette and dress during their journey, but there was only so much preparation for stepping into a whole new world.
At that moment, a faint call came from the quarterdeck where the first mate was on duty. "Lights out, if you please! We're running dark tonight," the mate barked. On cue, one of the sailors began dousing some of the lanterns on deck to reduce their glow. It was a common practice when traversing coastal waters at night, to avoid confusing other ships or drawing unwanted attention from pirates that might lurk near shorelines. They were nearing Auristaz, after all, and though Elenne hadn't spoken of any specific dangers here, the sea had universal risks.
Elenne took the cue and picked up the lantern they'd been using to read the map. She turned down its wick to a dim glow. "We should get some rest," she suggested. "There will be much to do when we arrive, and you'll want your strength."
Kelan nodded, but he lingered a moment at the starboard rail. In the near-dark, the sea was an inky expanse. He closed his eyes and listened—to the water lapping the hull, the distant clink of metal as a sailor secured something, the quiet murmurs of two crewmen sharing a joke. The ship felt alive around him, a wooden world carrying him onward. Somewhere beyond that dark horizon lay an even wider world.
He felt Elenne's gentle presence beside him. He suspected she understood what he was feeling. "It's alright to be anxious," she said softly, guessing at his swirling thoughts. "And it's alright to be excited."
"I am," he admitted quietly. "Both. I keep thinking about what I'll find there. What if… what if I don't fit in, or I make a fool of myself because I don't know their ways?" It was a fear he hadn't voiced much, but here in the darkness it slipped out. "Everything is going to be so different."
Elenne remained silent for a moment, the kind of thoughtful pause she often used to shape her response. The waves filled that pause, a rhythmic hush. "Different, yes," she finally said. "But not wholly unfamiliar. People are people everywhere, Kelan. They laugh, they worry, they hope, just as you do. Customs vary, true, and you'll learn them in time. Mistakes will happen." She chuckled softly. "I made plenty when I first came to Auristaz. It's how one learns, provided you are respectful and observant."
Kelan managed a small smile, feeling a bit better. Respect and observation—he could manage that, he hoped. "I just want to do everything right," he said.
"You'll do what you can. No one expects perfection," Elenne said firmly. "Remember, you have good sense and a good heart. Trust those, and you will be fine. And you have me at your side for now." She patted his shoulder reassuringly before releasing it. "Come, time to turn in."
As they made their way toward the hatch that led belowdecks to their small cabin, Kelan cast one last look out into the night. In his mind's eye he overlaid the map's image of Auristaz onto the darkness, imagining the outlines of that great land waiting for them. A thrill coursed through him at the thought that by this time next week, he might be walking the halls of the Lyceum itself.
He carefully climbed down the ladder to the lower deck, mindful of the sway of the ship. In the narrow corridor lit only by the faint glow of the distant galley stove, he followed Elenne to the cabin they shared. It was a cramped space with two bunks and barely room to stand between them, but it had become familiar over the weeks at sea. The comforting scent of Elenne's herbs—she kept sachets of lavender and chamomile in her trunk to ward off mustiness—greeted him as he ducked inside.
Elenne set the dimmed lantern on a small hook, casting just enough light for them to unroll their bedding. Kelan shrugged off his outer shirt, heavy with dried salt, and stretched out on his bunk with a weary sigh. His body was tired from the day's labor, but his mind still whirled with images of Auristaz's map and all that awaited.
In the quiet, Elenne hummed an old lullaby-like tune as she settled in her bunk. The gentle melody eased the last of Kelan's jitters, as it had on many restless nights during their voyage. He found himself smiling in the dark; it was the same tune his mother used to hum when he was a child unable to sleep. The coincidence of it, or perhaps Elenne had learned it knowingly, comforted him deeply.
As his eyes grew heavy, Kelan promised himself he would memorize every detail once they reached land—the colors of the sky over Vay'Sala, the feel of solid ground, the faces and voices of the first Auristazi people he met. This was a once-in-a-lifetime journey, and he didn't want to forget a thing.
His last waking thought was a mixture of excitement and a touch of anxiety: Auristaz... I'm nearly there. The ship creaked softly as if answering, and Kelan drifted to sleep with the imagined map of that unknown land still vivid behind his closed eyes.