Maelesea, Irozia
The village of Maelesea sat on the coast amongst nearly black rocky crags and pebbled shorelines. Its streets and colorful wooden buildings were enveloped in an almost persistent mist. The clouds formed off of the cold waters and drifted onto shore, stopped by the rolling hills that lined the coast. Some days the sun could chase off the mist and other days the fog was too thick for even the sun to break through. Regardless of the weather, the fishermen of the village would rise from their beds at first light and make their way down cobbled streets to the docks. They would get into their small single-masted boats and glide out of the bay, serenaded by the harsh barks of the seals that inhabited the harbor.
The currents off the coast weren’t as bad as they were among other places – the bay they sat in was considered the safest port along the coast. Of course that was a relative term as many wayward ships still met their end on the rocky shoals until the mage finally moved into town. He did what all the magically inclined tended to do: He built a large tower to work his magic in. The lighthouse sat on the spit that jutted out from the coastline – the enchanted light guaranteed to pierce through even the thickest fog. In return the villagers left him mostly alone, in fact he was as much of a hermit as Torvola was.
Torvola. Daughter of Flintshire and Hero of Irozia. She despised the title, it reminded her of all she was those decades ago when she fought by Queen Venera’s side in battle. She never regretted fighting for the queen, never regretted helping her retake her rightful place on the throne, and never regretted their love for each other. However, she never felt like she earned the title of “Hero of Irozia”.
Anyone who willingly sent men to their deaths couldn’t be called a hero in any regard, even if it was supposedly for the right reasons.
Like the fishermen: Torvola also awoke with the sun, the interior of the plain driftwood cabin she called home still almost too dark to see anything. She sat up in bed and stretched, letting out a pleased sigh as her back cracked. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and planted her feet on the floor, she paid little mind to the dull ache in her left knee that most certainly signaled a change in the weather was on the way. She had slept surprisingly well, one of the few nights she had slept peacefully in years, and she felt unusually well rested. Perhaps it was because she knew what day it was.
A feeling of anticipation, a giddiness, fluttered in her stomach. She paused for a moment and laughed quietly at herself for acting like a little girl with a crush.
The fire in the hearth had burned low, the embers still weakly glowed a dull red and radiated slight warmth. After she shrugged on her tunic and breeches, Torvola walked over to the hearth and breathed life back into the fire, coaxing the flames with dried twigs and then a few split logs. She didn’t build the fire up too much as she knew she was going out soon.
Saxus, her aging sheltie, lay at the foot of her bed atop a nest of furs and straw. He opened one eye and huffed, not moving from his spot. Torvola smiled at him, “Come on you lout,” she said softly, “You’re not pissing in my house.”
He slowly got up and Torvola noted with sorrow that his gait was getting more stiff, he was more and more reluctant to rise from his bed. She had found him by the docks when he was only a pup and raised him for almost 15 years. He was nearing his last seasons and it saddened her to see him like this.
She had already resolved to give him the best final months of his life and she made a mental note to stop by the apothecary in town to grab more herbs for his aching joints.
‘I take better care of him than I do myself,’ Torvola thought with a small chuckle.
She opened the door to let Saxus out into the misty morning and he seemed to perk up as soon as the cool, fresh air hit his face. He trotted out into the yard and began to sniff around to find the perfect spot to do his business. Torvola grabbed her sheathed sword from by her bed and stepped out with him. She always began her day going through the guards and cuts that were drilled into her from a young age. Despite her retirement, she never stopped – it never felt right to not start the day with her drills.
She stood on the rocky ground and unsheathed her blade and began to go through the motions, seamlessly switching between guards and cuts. The exercise brought her back to her youth, training along side her father and his troops in preparation for a life of trouble. Her father was the lord of Flintshire, a small mining town in the mountains of Irozia, one of the few locations on the continent where the iron was mined underground.
The work was hard and dangerous and not just from the cave-ins and pockets of sulfurous, choking gas. Deep beneath the earth, far from the cleansing light of the sun, were evils spoken of only in hushed whispers around warm hearths in the dark of night. Creatures made of half rotted flesh and rusted armor that were human-like only in form. They clambered up from old tunnels and attacked the miners with savage ferocity.
Torvola’s father and his father before him vowed to protect the people in the town they ruled. It was a vow Torvola took when she was old enough to hold a blade and shield. She would descend into the tunnels with her father and his loyal soldiers, pushing the creatures back into the depths they came from.
In her minds eye she saw the creatures they called the elders: their skeletal faces, their vacant white eyes, and their mouths filled with rotted teeth. The guttural screams and moans haunted her dreams even almost four decades later. She screwed her eye shut against the sound that echoed in her ears and delivered a series of particularly savage cuts to the humid air. Her yells rent the air as well as her sword did.
She breathed heavily with exertion and opened her eye again to reveal nothing but the clearing fog. The sun had apparently won the battle against the mists this morning and the golden light revealed her surroundings. Her home was atop a cliff overlooking the ocean and a fair distance away from Maelesea. From her front yard she could see the lonely lighthouse on the spit and the lord’s keep that sat a short distance away, just above the village that sat below and out of view.
Torvola sheathed her sword and stepped back into the house to put it back in its spot. She paused as she was setting the sword down. It was almost imperceptible but she could have sworn she felt the ground quiver slightly. She stayed still for a few moments, trying to feel for the movement again but it was gone.
Saxus whined and stared at his master with an expression Torvola could only describe as “concerned”. She shrugged, “Maybe my knees are finally giving in with the old age,” she muttered.
–
Torvola stepped out of the house half an hour later; she was dressed and equipped for the day’s errands. She wore an old red tunic embroidered with golden thread and black breeches that had seen their fair share of patches. She donned a gray woolen cloak and with a basket in hand, she made her way down the path with Saxus loyally trotting by her right side.
As she walked into town, she greeted the villagers with a smile and nod which most of them returned. Her name garnered respect anywhere in Irozia and while she didn’t like the fame that came with it, she did appreciate being well liked. Her vision on her right side had gone with her eye, leaving her unable to see things on her periphery. Saxus provided a watchful set of eyes to her right and warned her of any dangers to her right flank.
There was no danger today except for the two boys who were playing tag in the streets, blissfully unaware of their surroundings as they shrieked with laughter. Torvola felt Saxus bump lightly into her leg and she turned just in time to avoid getting bowled over by a young boy who was looking behind him at his companion instead of ahead. She recognized him as the baker’s son … what was his name? Gorin? Qordin?
Oh yes. Kordin.
“Woah, watch it!” Torvola said as she dodged Kordin.
He stopped and looked sheepishly up at Torvola, “Sorry,” he said. His friend stopped beside him, also looking appropriately contrite.
“Be more careful,” Torvola told him, her voice stern, “You could get hurt or hurt someone else.”
He nodded quietly, scuffing his toe into the ground. Torvola turned to walk away but she stopped when she heard him call out again, “Wait!”
She turned to face the boy again with an eyebrow raised.
“You taught Jamen to talk with his hands, right?” Kordin asked, “Can you teach me?”
“I can,” Torvola started slowly, she looked curiously at Kordin. “Do you know Jamen?”
“I’ve seen him around,” Kordin said with a shrug, “I don’t know him really well but he seems lonely. I just want to be able to talk to him, that’s all.”
Torvola smiled softly down at Kordin. A feeling not unlike pride swelled in her chest, “I’m sure he’d appreciate that a lot.”
Kordin beamed up at Torvola, “So you’ll teach me?”
“I’ll talk with your mother and father about it,” she said, “We can figure out a time.”
“Thanks!” Korbin said. His companion poked him roughly in the shoulder.
“Tag!”
“Hey! That’s not fair!” Kordin yelled after his friend who had started running away. He gave chase and left Torvola alone in the street.
Torvola laughed to herself and went back to her errands. Her first stop was the apothecary, Petan they chatted while he grabbed the herbs for Saxus, “And how about your joints, m’lady?”
“A bit sore,” Torvola admitted, “But manageable.”
“Are you sure you don’t want some wintersbreath to rub on them?” he asked. She fought the urge to smile, the man was always looking for a sale.
“I don’t want the Hero of Irozia to suffer from aching joints.”
“I’ll be fine,” Torvola said with a laugh, “All my efforts are on Saxus at this point.”
She reached down and scratched him behind the ears and he sat on his haunches, tail thumping the wooden floor in joy.
Her next stop was the fishmonger, Helgi, she was set up by the pier under a large canvas canopy. Torvola knew exactly what she was going to get from the merchant – she knew her friend’s tastes after all. Helgi grinned as Torvola made her selection, “Northern Sea cod? Are you having lunch with your friend again?”
“It’s obvious isn’t it?” Torvola answered lightly.
The harsh bark of a seal caught their attentions and they turned to see a light gray harbor seal had managed to jump onto the dock. It looked from Helgi to Torvola and back and barked again. Helgi put her hands on her hips, “Is this your Marí?”
Torvola shook her head, “Too light. I think this one’s Isagard.”
The seal bobbed its head up and down as if to confirm its identity to the two women. It stared up at Helgi with its beady dark eyes expectantly and she rolled her own eyes, “You befriending the seawalkers have certainly made running my business a whole lot harder Lady Torvola.”
“As if they haven’t lead our fishermen to the best fishing grounds off the coast time and time again.”
“And they’ve taken their share of the winnings,” Helgi threw a large cod towards Isagard who caught it in her mouth and swallowed it whole. With a bark of thanks, Isagard slid back into the sea.
“I’ve noticed it’s only really her who pays you a visit,” Torvola said.
Helgi looked suspiciously at Torvola, “What are you getting at?”
“I think she may like you,” Torvola said with a shrug as she paid Helgi for the cod she bought and a little extra for the fish Isagard had taken.
“Well she ought to know I already have a loving wife,” Helgi called after Torvola as she left and Torvola laughed.
“Come on Saxus, let’s go get lunch with our friend.”
Saxus barked as if in agreement and trotted by Torvola’s side as she turned up the path to the beach.
Torvola held the basket close to her chest as she descended the precarious trail to the beach. Saxus was ahead of her, tongue lolling as he practically ran down the cliff side. It was at moments like those, where his puppy energy seemed to return, that Torvola thought rather hopefully that maybe he had more than a few seasons left in him yet. Marí was already seated on the rocks by the crashing waves, folding her seal skin neatly and placing it beside her. She was a large woman, muscular and fat from years of living in the harsh northern seas. Torvola approached her and set down the basket. From within she grabbed a large tunic and handed it to Marí.
Marí scrunched her nose in displeasure as she put the clothes on. She had spent decades in her seal skin and she hated the feeling of linen on her skin. Still, she tolerated it, she knew how weird the villagers got when they saw her naked. It was a small sacrifice she’d make to spend time with Torvola. She sat down on the sun-warmed rocks and basked in the warmth of the afternoon.
Torvola took their meal out of the basket and placed it on the rocks in front of them, as she worked she asked Marí, “How are the others?”
“Fine,” Marí replied in sign.
In the time they had spent together, Torvola and Marí had created their own sign language. Marí, being a creature of the seas, could not speak as she had foregone that ability long ago. They spent weeks and months spelling out letters to each other, creating gestures for words, and even coming up with some semblance of a grammatical structure to their language.
“Isagard paid Helgi another visit,” Torvola said with a chuckle, “She’s beginning to think Isagard’s taking a fancy to her.”
Marí shook her head, “Isagard just knows Helgi will give her whatever she wants if she gives her the puppy eyes long enough.”
The two sat in comfortable silence as Saxus ran into the waves, jumping in the water and barking excitedly.
“Sometimes I think he wants to become one of you,” Torvola said with a laugh.
“He’d be a welcome addition.”
“So aside from pestering Helgi for a free meal, what is your herd up to today?” Torvola asked.
Marí pursed her lips in thought, “Godan and Enar are with your fishermen. Sinda is further out to sea – something was bothering her this morning.”
“Bothering her?”
“She said something felt off, wrong. She wanted to investigate and ask the others if they sensed it too,” Marí signed.
Torvola frowned, a twinge of worry gnawed at her stomach – was this a sign of trouble to come?
“Others?” she asked.
“The sea is inhabited by more than just us and fish,” Marí replied with a smile, “Anyway – I’m sure it’s nothing. Sinda has been around the longest of all of us, if she was truly concerned she’d have forbade me from coming up here.”
“Are you sure?” Torvola asked.
“I’m sure. She may not approve of our relationship but she won’t keep me away from you unless it was necessary.”
But Marí’s reassurance did little to comfort Torvola, who felt a familiar anxiety twist in her gut. Was she keeping Marí away from her duty to Sinda? Was Marí giving up her place in her herd by her friendship with her? It felt all too familiar to Torvola.
“What’s wrong?” Marí asked.
“I don’t want to be the reason that you’ve lost the respect of your herd,” Torvola said, “I don’t want you to have to choose.”
Marí raised an eyebrow, “Why would you think I would need to choose? I want to be with you.”
Torvola swallowed thickly as she stared into Marí’s eyes – they reminded her of the warmth of a summer’s day by the sea. Her calm demeanor did little to quell the storm of anxiety in her gut. Marí’s expression became pained as she looked at Torvola.
“Don’t you want to be with me too?”
Saxus suddenly barreled in from the sea, barking loudly as he ran to his master. The ground gave a sharp jolt and knocked Torvola off balance, preventing her from answering that question. She went to her knees and looked wildly around for any threats while Marí grabbed her seal skin out of instinct and clutched it protectively to her chest. Another, prolonged bout of shaking started, much more violent than the jolt. There was a crash as the rocks on the cliff side nearby started coming loose, Torvola’s eyes widened in horror at the sight. The whole cliff looked to be about to fall onto the beach.
Onto them.
“Watch out!”
Torvola threw herself on top of Marí and held her close. A few stray rocks hit her back and she stifled a groan, not wanting to worry Marí. Beneath her she felt Marí trembling, whether out of fear or from the quake, she did not know. The sound was tremendous. Rocks crashed onto the beach, trees shook violently before snapping in half, an entire cliff side fell into the sea with a roar.
Slowly, gradually, the shaking subsided and Torvola raised her head to look around at the destruction around them. Most of the nearby cliff face had collapsed, sloughing off onto the beach but mercifully the slide had missed them if only barely. Torvola’s back ached from where the rocks had hit but she paid no mind to the pain as she focused on Marí. Saxus was right next to them, he whined and nudged both Torvola and Marí with his snout.
“Are you alright?” she asked Marí. She held her friend by the shoulders as she checked for any signs of injury.
“I’m unhurt,” Marí signed back.
Torvola’s shoulders sagged as she breathed out a sigh of relief. Marí’s attention turned to the sea and then back to Torvola. Her eyes grew wide with fear as a realization dawned on her, “We need to go. Get to higher ground.”
Her fingers were flying so fast in the sign that Torvola could barely understand. She looked at Marí in confusion, “Why?”
“When the earth moves under the sea, it causes a big wave,” Marí grabbed Torvola’s hand and practically dragged her to the cliff side. She began to climb up the scree that had been knocked loose, one hand clutching her seal skin and the other holding Torvola’s hand in a viselike grip.
Torvola saw how absolutely panicked her friend was and got ahead of Marí, “Come on, follow me.”