Imperialist: The Voyage

Chapter Twenty-three; Regret

It was a beautiful day, as far as sailing on the ocean was concerned. The sun was out in all its glory and there were very few clouds in sight. So the blue ocean sparkled and gently rocked the ship. His last remaining ship, The Mahout. With a crew of only seven survivors, they had been forced to leave his other two ships anchored off Volcano Island. 

As if in a last-ditch effort to lift Moutassim's spirits, a pod of four bottlenose dolphins that had been following the ship for some time, suddenly leapt and twisted out of the water, making the crew aww in delight and point.

Moutassim did not look. He just sat in another corner, absently staring out at the ocean through puffy eyes. The kracken could have leapt out of the water for all he cared. He was replaying in his head all the what-ifs. What if he had not brought Tarik with him? What if Dakati had no cause to mutiny? What if he was able to leave the island yesterday afternoon, safe and sound, and with Elia by his side?

Of course, the biggest what if continued to prick his conscience. What if he had never launched this voyage, in search of new land? Instead, all he had found was death and heartbreak. And he had not even been able to give Sahelia or his brother, proper burials.

For what felt like the hundredth time, Moutassim buried his face in his hands and let out his grief in a torrent of tears. Angry tears at the world for robbing him of Elia. Anger at himself.

Through his grief, it occurred to him that a small, warm hand was gently caressing his shoulder. He did not raise his head. But he was grateful for Tigrita's small efforts to comfort him anyway.

A small part of him wanted to be angry at Tigrita too. Because after last night's tragic events, when they had boarded one of their last three ships, she had helped to override his orders to turn back.

"It's on you."

Tigrita squinted. "I'm sorry, your majesty?"

"It's on you," Moutassim said more loudly, clearing his throat. "It's on all of you if more people die on this voyage."

"We accept that," a deep, rolling voice said above his head. He looked up.

It was Sengathi, the tall, burly crew member with the thick afro and tribal tattoo on his chest, who had singlehandedly saved him and Tigrita from the rampaging beast last night. He had managed to rally what remained of Moutassim's crew, to disobey his instructions to turn back.

"We did not come all this way, go through so much, to just turn back now. We will not return to Mesigan with our tails tucked between our legs." Sengathi had said, to solemn nods from most of the remaining crew.

"That's right," Tigrita had said, coming up to press her body against Moutassim and rub his back. "We will be your strength, my emperor. The strength you need to carry on with your voyage. We will make history together."

And so, after several half-hearted attempts to convince them of the futility of the very trip he started, Moutassim had settled into a corner to mourn for his sister-in-law and brother.

"I don't accept it," someone said stubbornly. 

Moutassim looked around Sengathi's broad frame, to see that it was Okorie who spoke. Had Okorie had his way, the longboat would have pushed off from the shore and left him and Tigrita at death's door last night. Even now, his left side temple remained swollen from Sengathi's fist. Moutassim looked at it with some satisfaction. 

"No one asked you," Sengathi snapped and Okorie quickly averted his eyes. "My emperor, as I said last night, we've come too far to give up now. For those who did not make it, we owe it to them to ensure their sacrifice wasn't in vain."