Chapter 19
“So, you’re traveling through?” the barman inquires.
“Aye.” I gulp ale from a black, horned mug at the lively tavern in Ender’s Bay. The salty smell of the ocean fills the air as I sit alone among a crowd of seafarers.
I decided to book passage across the ocean, even if just for a few months while collecting myself. If Cypress wanted me to stay, then it’s not my fault she didn’t offer me a more genuine reason to listen to her. Saying the exact words I wanted to hear almost makes it worse. How much of an idiot would I be if I just believed her?
No, this is the best choice. Get away and think things through without Soren haunting me.
“Where you from?” the man asks with a high voice that contrasts his rough visage. He has dry, wiry gray hair all over his head and face, like he’s been worn down from the salt of the ocean.
“Skull’s Row,” I say with pride.
It feels good to say that out loud after all these years of living as a healer among pacifists. Screw it. I’m a spawn of one of the most feared men around, and I finally have to accept it.
He frowns, his rag partially sticking out from inside of the mug as he pauses. “And what are you doing, living there?”
“I’m a baker," I say, belching. Worrying about manners seems rather pointless, now. “I make the best muffins, and I got a secret recipe that only I know, so no one kills me in return.”
I can’t mention that the secret recipe is pure, organic bullshit, as I spin that story from nothing but the memory of baking lemon muffins with my mother.
Then again, there’s some truth in it. I once knew a baker who made the best sourdough, and a Zenith put a golden skull on his store, denoting that he’s not to be hurt in any way, shape, or form. They call those skulls 'The Zenith's Promise'. It’s made of Naprese gold, just like the ornate designs of their masks.
No one can reproduce the way the gold becomes translucent when right next to a flame, like a unique stamp of authenticity. An invisible shield in many ways, torches usually burning right underneath.
The barman seems to buy that, or at least, he doesn’t pry and moves to chat with a more grizzled lot. I eye them as I eat my stew. People change the closer they get to the coast, their outfits are worn and made of wool, and nearly all the men have facial hair, often times braided.
I’m so close to being free.
It seems risky to sit at a pub and drink when Soren must be hunting for me, but I’ve hit the end of my road, now waiting for passage across the ocean. I chose to come to Ender’s Bay since I know it doesn’t have near as many pirates in these ports. The least amount of drama I get involved with, the better.
Going north into the wooded lands above us did cross my mind, but again, I don’t know forests. I only know mercenaries, pirates, and the ocean.
The next ship leaves at dawn, which means just a few more hours of waiting. Surely, I’ve made it far enough. If anyone comes looking for the horse I stole, I’ll just give them all of Soren’s gold to keep them quiet.
I pause, realizing I should have just left some coin in place of the horse to preemptively take care of that. No, because then his men would see that and know you took it.
It’s not as if any of that matters, it’s too late to change plans. I just have to trust in the small lead I have. Taking another drink, I hope it can help subdue my nerves. I’m far from relaxed; every little sound or moving shadow scares me, waiting for him to find me. Soren has a few dozen men that he’s probably already sent out as hounds.
Tapping my foot, I stare out a window as I desperately wait for the sun to rise.