Cluiun is an Erien setting story that ties in with Moment's.
Art word by Samuel Pray, created using Daz 3D, Photoshop and Filter Forge.
The Cluiun stood near the wheel and inhaled, tasting the fresh
breeze and salt air. This was the life he had wanted yet would have been denied
to him, had his father been successful. Hells, if his father ever found him,
ever found a way to drag Cluiun back, everything Cluiun had worked would be
stripped away from him. Fortunately, only one person knew for certain that The
Cluiun and that missing boy were one in the same and that man was one Cluiun
knew would never betray him.
No man could ever ask for a truer
friend.
He turned,
letting his gaze move over the men working on the deck. Each man knew their
place, the task assigned to them and the banter that passed between them was
relaxed, the conversation of men who knew and trusted their colleagues. They
weren’t the best of crews, he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that his
crew would never be bested, yet he was proud of them. For the most part they
had sailed together for at least two years now under his captaincy, and some
had been with him prior to that, serving on other ships but only Joran had been
with him for the seven years since they had fled their assigned roles.
“They’ve pulled together over this last voyage.” Joran
climbed the steps, his blue-grey eyes dancing with mirth. “Admittedly with a
few smacks along the way, but they’re a decent crew.”
“Aye, that they are.” Cluiun agreed, his gaze pausing on one
of the youngest members of the crew. “He’s pushing himself too much today
though. I don’t think he’s taken a meal break all day.”
Joran glanced
back. “That’s Karl - kid has been pushing hard since he joined the crew
but you’re right. He’s not taken a meal break as yet today.” Joran waved at one
of the older men working on the deck and then pointed at Karl. The grey haired
man looked over and then nodded, curling up the rope he’d been working on
before approaching the youngster. “Frank will make sure he takes a break.”
Of that Cluiun
had no doubt. “Good, we don’t need someone collapsing because they were
stupid.”
“As opposed to collapsing through blood loss. Got it,” Joran
smirked.
Cluiun bit back
a chuckle. “Yeah, well that’s a valid reason, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Maybe, depends on the reason. I mean, if the man cut
himself, he’d be in trouble, but a wound honorably taken, that’s another matter
entirely.” Joran mused, pausing for a moment. “It would need to be an actual
wound, not a knick or paper cut. There’d have to be witnesses, wouldn’t you
agree?”
How the man kept
a straight face was beyond Cluiun. “We’d need to consider
the source.”
Both men fell
silent as Cluiun headed to the railing, letting his gaze drift toward the
shore. “Weather looks good, no signs of a storm coming in.” Cluiun rolled
out his shoulders. “No aches reported from the older members of the crew either,
unless you’ve heard something.”
“No, nothing.” Joran confirmed.
“Good,” something moved through the sky, marking a slow path
upward. He shifted his weight, trying to get a better look at it only to shake
his head. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Odd, that looks like smoke,” Joran murmured as he moved
alongside of his Captain and leaned heavily on the railing. “Not something
normally seen here. Not this close to shore at least.”
“Maybe, but it could be just a camp fire.” His gaze
narrowed. Joran confirmed his suspicions, a small tendril of smoke curled
upward from the distant shore, tinted by the setting sun, but still enough to
draw his attention. He frowned, leaning on the wooden railing along side of
Joran. Something large and dark sat at the bottom of the smoke, though they
were too far away to make out any details. The area wasn’t known for
settlements and the amount of smoke didn’t add up for a single camp fire, nor
did the shape that was the source of the smoke, despite his words.
“True enough,” Joran smiled and turned his attention to the
crew, calling out orders. “But that’s a lot of smoke for a camp fire, even a
bloody big camp fire Captain - and we both know it.”
“Aye, we do.” A fishing vessel? That would explain the
location. Had one been attacked by pirates or a rival fishing crew? Neither was
unheard of but again there was too much smoke for a small craft. It had to be
something larger and each swell of the waves drew them closer to the source of
the fire. Curiosity itched the back of his neck and he rubbed it with his left
hand. “Well, it’s been going for sometime, whatever it is. Too late to do
anything about it, wouldn’t you agree?” Who was he trying to convince? There
was always a chance that something could be done. That a life might be saved
that would otherwise be lost.
Yet something
about the situation sat ill with him. Running into rescue someone - it wasn’t his style. Sure, he might throw them into a fight if there was
a reason, such as he’d been paid, or he knew someone involved in the fight, or
it seemed like a good idea at the time or… Fine, he’d done it before, yet this
time something felt wrong. He was no coward, never had been one to run from a
fight, yet his instincts pulled him in two directions, each side warring with
the other for control.
“Aye, Captain.” His friend spoke softly, his tone formal and
detached, lacking the warmth and undercurrent of friendship that normally
existed between them. “Most likely you’re right and it’s all over and done
with, save for the shouting. Wouldn’t do us any good to go rushing into a mess
that’s non of our concern. Better to stay away from it all.”
Cluiun scowled,
not liking the formality. Odd, he should have become used to it by now,
whenever there was a chance that one of the crew might over here, Joran would
err on the side of caution, but there was more to it than the crew hearing
them. He glanced at Joran and then back at the shoreline, taking a moment to
form his words. “They can’t hear you, not up here at
least.”
“When we’re at sea you’re the Captain, or Cluiun. You can
bug me about calling you Cormac when we’re in port.” Joran shrugged, his voice
pitched low. “That’s the way its supposed to be so that’s the way it will
always be. Discipline must be maintained. Just as the choice to investigate
what’s happening on the shore is yours and yours alone. You have my support,
even if my own opinion differs from yours.”
Discipline. They
weren’t part of anyone's navy, nor would they ever be, and yet the ship
was run with the same iron hand. No voting on a captain or quartermaster. No
dividing the spoils unless the Captain said so. Most of what the ship collected was used for her maintenance, and
weapons were provided by the ship and her Captain, not brought on board by men
- and occasionally women - who served on board.
He smiled at the
thought, his gaze fixed on the coast. His choice. In that, Joran was right. He
might speak to his old friend, digging into his thoughts in order to have a
better understanding of the situation, but as Captain he made the final
decision.
“Why do you think they stay?” He nodded toward the crew
without taking his gaze away from the smoke. He didn’t want to discuss the fire
and what might be going on there. The more attention he paid it, the greater
the chance that he would be pulled into the mess, yet still the niggling itch
at the back of his neck continued to grow. “They don’t have the same rights as
they would with a true independent ship.”
“You mean pirate.” Joran chuckled and shook his head. “Say
what you mean and mean what you say, Wolf.”
“Aye, something like that.” Wolf, the name suited him,
though he’d fought it for years. He didn’t look over at his old friend. Joran
had been with him for years. No, truth be told they’d been friends together,
grown up in the same village until the day they’d both made the choice to
leave.
Choice, some choice. Stay and follow
the path they picked out for me, or leave and follow mine own.
There had been
something else though, a push he hadn’t been able to
identify. He’d woken without reason in the middle of the night, knowing that he
had to leave. That any and all doubts he’d had about his choice had now died.
Cluiun shook his head and allowed his focus to return to the source of the
smoke.
The order was on
the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it back. He couldn’t, wouldn’t put his crew at risk for - for what? A fire that
marked the end of something, not the beginning? Crew that was all ready dead,
or held captive? To dive into a fight that wasn’t his to deal with?
The coast was
normally safe enough. The nearest village along the coast was easily fifty
miles away, though there were villages inland from what he could remember. Not
a place he’d visited but there had been mentions of it. Farmers,
orchards, hunters, a castle or two. Small noble families who relied upon the
farms in the surrounding area and the fishermen and women who supplied poor and
noble alike.
The fire would
draw people in from the farms. Riders would be raised from the nearest noble
home, armed men and women sent to investigate, another reason why it was likely
a matter that he should leave well alone.
Another curl of
smoke, dark mixed with light, reached up toward the sky, adding a fresh wave of
inky blackness to the sky.
They could find
a safe place to anchor for the night and then, come the morning, investigate
the remains of the fire. There was no reason why they needed to anchor for the
night, the sky offered no hint of a storm, nor were there any other signs of
danger that might send them inland for safety.
They needed to
find a port. In truth, it had been too long since they had headed for a safe
port, well a port that would welcome the arrival of the Cluiun and his crew.
More often than not civilized towns turned them away, some nonsense about them
being pirates. Or at least a crew with a less than civilized reputation. Not a
fair assessment, they’d never attacked a town along this
coastline, or any within several days sail. The same couldn’t be said of the
ships that made their way out to sea, they were fair game as was the nature of
his work, but the actual ports themselves. No, only a fool would attack them
without just cause.
Whatever the
cause of the fire, it wasn’t his concern yet his gaze kept
returning to the plume.
“That fire’s too big to be a camp fire, or even several camp
fires.” Joran returned to lean against the railing. “The color of the smoke is
wrong as well, that’s wood that’s been treated with tar.”
Which meant a
boat or, more likely given the amount of smoke, a ship - a real ship, not a
fishing vessel. “Indeed.”
“Do we take a look? Or are you set on moving on. As I said
before, Captain, the choice is yours and we’ll abide by it.”
Cluiun frowned.
Something tugged at him, a push to direct his ship to head for land, but what
good would it do? Yet the pressure remained. If there was a ship that had been
beached and now set on fire, then there was nothing he could do about it. The
smoke made it clear that it was all ready too late to help the ship and its
crew.
If there’s anyone left alive. Which there won’t be. Whoever was behind that attack would
have finished them all off - and he was making excuses again. Ones that didn’t sit well with him.
It wasn’t his concern. “No, we’re due at Ravensbluff before the end of
the week,” he turned his back on the smoke. “Not our circus, not our monkeys.” Turn
back, look at the smoke, find out what’s going on. No,
better to ignore it and focus on his own crew, their next job and the next one
after that.
“Aye, Captain.” Joran straightened and made his way down to
the main deck. “Get those ropes stowed away!”
A dozen men
moved at the order. This was his crew, men who had served with him before he
took command of the ship, and men who would continue to serve with him unless
they were killed or sought a berth elsewhere for whatever reason. He trusted
them, they trusted him and that meant not making foolish mistakes like ordering
them into potential danger for a ship and crew they didn’t know.
Pirates,
raiders, whatever was behind the smoke on the beach, it wasn’t his concern. Nothing he would risk them for.
Yet the pull
remained. An invisible thread that connected him to the shoreline.
Look.
This time he
knew that the voice hadn’t come from him. It vibrated through
him, tugging, pushing for him to turn and investigate.
Turn
and look. This is why you are here.
He shuddered and
walked to the top of the steps that led down onto the deck, his voice ringing
out clear enough to be heard by the majority of his crew. “Head for shore.”
“Captain?” Joran turned, frowning only to nod. “Aye, aye,
Captain.” He moved sharply through the gathered men. “You heard the Captain.
Get this scow turned. We head for the shore! Ready the dingy’s, we need two
prepped, crew armed for trouble.” He pushed one man away from the bucket he was
sat by. “Up and at ‘em!”
Cluiun closed
his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt the
presence behind that voice, but it was the first time it had spoken directly to
him.
I don’t know who or what you are, but you better have a damn good
reason for putting my crew at risk.
You
are needed as witness.
Witness, this
was all about seeing something? He scowled but didn’t countermand the order he’d given. If he ever met the source of
that voice - well, he’d explain, in detail, how little he enjoyed being pushed
around.
I
know, why do you think I chose you.
Chose… no, he didn’t want to think about that. He’d had enough of
people trying to plan his life for him, no way in the seven hells was he going
to let some vague voice try take control of his life now.
The voice
remained, thankfully, silent.
Maybe he was
going mad? Had he been out in the sun too long? Sure, yeah, that made sense.
Well, it didn’t matter now. The decision was made and changing it would
sit ill with the crew. A Captain had to appear to be in control no matter what
happened, even if he regretted the decision down the line. Make it. Stick to
it. Deal with the consequences and the gods be damned.
“Dim the ship lights, they might not have seen us yet.”
With the blazing
light of the fire there was a chance, however slim, that any attackers would be
focused on the blaze and anything they’d stolen from the
wreck. Dimming the lights decreased the risks for the crew and with the men
taking soundings as they approached the shore, they would remain safe unless
one of the men made a mistake.
Which is why he
routinely had three men on either side of the ship, and two off the prow,
taking readings. One man might make a mistake, multiple men reduced the odds in
their favor. Something he’d learned the hard way before he’d
become a captain in his own right. That ship had run aground, but at least
Cluiun, and Joran, had been shown the wrong way to handle such situations.
Lions, the Captain they had both served, had died during that incident, and
some of the crew had then gone on to sign on with Cluiun - perhaps because his
swift actions had reduced the amount of deaths, but he’d never taken the time
to ask.
Nor would he
ever.
Cluiun, despite
his misgivings, moved back to the railing and watched as they drew closer to
the shoreline and the fire. Night had all but claimed the sky, leaving the fire
on the shore as the only true source of light. A guiding beacon that beckoned
them inland for good or ill…
TBC next week.