Sins & Virtues

Chapter Twenty-One: Dreams or Hallucinations?

Truett

Seasail, Seerfayre

Three weeks passed after the Cleric's arrival and Truett was exhausted. The Amitian was relentless but Truett knew every inch of the castle; knew every cut through, every hidden passageway, every back staircase. He had avoided every dinner request, every meeting, every party held by the nobility in an attempt to lure him out. He knew Timothee had lied and claimed Truett had been stricken with belated grief and preferred to be left alone. The lie had held most back, but either the Cleric did not care for the grief of an orphaned royal or didn't believe it.

Hiding was boring and tedious, and throwing himself into the daily paperwork and decisions that arrived in the office adjoining his chambers, only kept that irritation that came with boredom at bay for so long.

From the first week after his coronation, he was encouraged not to go out on the water. First by his mother, who pleaded with him with such teary eyes he had relented, then, after her death, by the nobility, who pressured him to remain ashore. They didn't understand. Most of them weren't sailors, and those who were preferred the regality of their giant ships than his manta.

It was Delilah who had finally told him to go. They had been walking through the castle and spotted Cleric Parson marching over to them. She had seen the anguish that was clearly printed across his face and signed to him to run to the beach, sacrificing herself with a charming smile and bold hand on the Cleric's arm.

Truett sat upon his manta, eyes closed, relishing in the seawind across his face and the cold water surrounding his legs. He had rolled up his trouser legs after abandoning his boots on the sand, sitting astride the manta like other king's would a horse, the breeze fluttering his cobalt blue shirt. He had gotten past the pull of the shoreward swell, into open water, and dropped the sail, content to float upon the waters.

Opening his eyes, he realised he'd turned with the waves, facing away from the shore and looking out at the open water. The sun was warm on his right shoulder, still climbing for its apex. He looked north and let his mind wander, wondering what he would find if he just kept sailing, kept moving north. It had never been done. Nobody had gone north, past the coast of Kingsdown and past the Wild Woods, beyond the charted maps, beyond knowledge. Nobody had gone north and returned.

King Caleb had warned him of the north when he first taught Truett to sail. Nobody had tried to venture north for generations. Too many had been lost and all had assumed the harsh seas or sea monsters had dragged their ships to the deepest depths, and their sailors with them. Ships had sailed west and returned, speaking of other lands and realms, but nothing of enough consequence to bother returning or creating trade routes.

Truett took a deep breath, letting the salty air fill his chest, then, gripping tight to a rope with his hand and to the manta's belly with his legs, he slid sidewards into the water.

The water was a shock of cold against his sun warmed skin but left him with that refreshed, renewed feeling that only ocean water could give him. He hung upside down in the water, letting the waves move around him and looking down into the inky depths of the ocean. The silver of the surface made way for the cerulean, then navy blue then grey then black, where no sunlight could touch it. He reached his free hand out, feeling the water run through his fingers like silk.

A vibration through the water froze him in place. The sound of a beautiful melody slid through the water with the current, reverberating around him.

He heard it.

Not ringing in his ears, but through his chest. The vibration of the sound didn't move around him like the water, but through him, filling his lungs and sinking into the blood in his veins.