Jackal Among Snakes - Chapter 33

Chapter 33: Stowaway Jackal

Argrave sat up, breath rapid and face drenched in sweat. His body was rocking. He looked around, seeing an unending tide of blue. Feeling a rising blackness in his stomach, he turned over, grabbing the side of something wooden and vomiting into the water. The putrid substance slowly faded away, falling into the ocean and drifting behind them.

He took a second to catch his breath, clearing his nose and spitting out what little remained of the vomit. His whole body was aflame with pain. As his senses came to, he heard a rhythmic chant, and saw oars moving back and forth, cutting through the water. He turned his head, finally making sense of his surroundings. His body rocked back and forth with the tides.

He was on a longship. Though he looked around, trying to spot the coast, they were far out into sea. He turned his gaze back to the ship. The Veidimen rowing the boat looked at him and spoke of him, muttering about ‘the Hand Reaching from the Abyss.’ It seems the lie of him being an agent of Erlebnis had spread.

Anneliese sat adjacent from him, staring with a book in her free hand. Her amber eyes were passive.

“We’re taking you to Veiden, as was agreed. Fortunately, though you burned one ship and I crashed the other, one was left in sailing condition,” Anneliese said in greeting. “You passed out. You should eat food, drink fluids.”

Argrave touched his head. A fierce headache disturbed his thoughts. The memories of the battle soon replaced those uncomfortable images born of his dreams, and he looked around for Galamon.

“Where… how is Galamon?” Argrave asked.

“He dispatched those metal things admirably. His actions spared us much carnage. After, he said he would wait for your return to right his wrongs. His life would be forfeit in Veiden as an exile and a vampire.”

Argrave nodded. He felt very shaken. He had mustered a courage he did not know he had during the battle, but whatever was propping up his mentality now was gone. War was cruel. It was a great song to all the misery in the world.

Anneliese walked to him, thrusting a piece of bread and a canteen of water in his face. “Here,” she said.

Argrave looked up at her. He took the items. “I forgot. You have a big heart.”

He chewed on the bread slowly, taking small sips of water. Content that he was eating, Anneliese walked away. With his free hand, Argrave cleaned the dirt off his body, conjuring his barely replenished magic to remove blood, mud, and other such filth. It felt like he was shedding his sins, somewhat.

After he had finished the bread, Anneliese handed him other things—mostly vegetables, but it was food. It had probably been taken from Barden in haste as they left. There were a lot fewer on the boat than he recalled being at Barden, and the thought that some deaths could have been avoided had he remained conscious disquieted him. Argrave ate his food slowly, working on suppressing his meandering thoughts and emotions.

Anneliese read quietly despite the rocking of the ship. One hand tended to her long white hair, twisting it about in her fingers. She was braiding a section of it with one hand alone, fingers moving skillfully. She had already done near a foot, and considering it went down to her knees when she was standing, it would be a long process.

She stopped. Argrave looked up at her face to see she’d taken notice of him watching.

“What? Got stage fright?” Argrave asked, sitting a little straighter. “Keep going. It was entertaining.”

She unwound the braid, and her hand dropped down to her knee. “Galamon bit you,” she said matter-of-factly.

“He was hurt. It was necessary,” Argrave responded after a brief pause.

“You are not worried about contracting vampirism?” she tilted her head.

“He would need to drain me completely, and then I’d need to drink his blood. Or ingest it some or other way. Eugh,” Argrave shuddered thinking of it. “Contrary to popular belief, it isn’t like a disease. It’s more so a ritual. It’s hard to be turned by accident. That’s why Galamon’s case is curious.”

“You don’t hate him, despite what happened?” Her amber eyes stayed locked on his face.

“Hate him?” Argrave repeated. “It was a donation.”

“That’s a lie. He was much too shaken, much too guilty, for that. Your body was bruised from being grabbed. You also fell unconscious.”

Argrave furrowed his brows, but a smile came to his face. “You keep seeing through me, I’m going to start losing confidence in my grifting abilities. They’ve carried me a long way.” Argrave sat up a little straighter as his feelings of weakness faded somewhat. His arms felt like pudding and his head still throbbed fiercely.

“Fine, so it wasn’t exactly philanthropy for the thirsty, I’ll admit that much. But…” Argrave pointed at Anneliese to emphasize his words. “I don’t hate him. Hate, at least in terms of hating people, stems from a lack of understanding; an inability to view the other person’s perspective. Ultimately, hating another merely weighs on yourself. It’s a waste of brain power. Though… being pragmatic and being na?ve are separate things entirely. Some people will always hate you, and it’s best to learn to accept and adapt to that.”

Argrave lowered his finger. “Recognizing that and following it are entirely different matters, though. Everyone inevitably succumbs to their emotions now and again.”

Anneliese lowered her head, mulling over his words in silence. The waves of the ocean battered against the longship, and Argrave turned his head out to look out across the ocean. He considered falling in for a moment and his mind wandered. The ocean was a terrifying thing looking at it from above, but once inside, it offered an unparalleled freedom. Swimming in all directions—up, down, left, right—it must be mundane for a fish, but for a landlubber as he was, it sounded enticing. Amphibians got the best of both worlds.

“I think you’re right.”

Argrave turned his head back to Anneliese. She was smiling faintly. It was the first time Argrave had seen her smile, and he could not help but return it. They stared at each other for a long moment, but Argrave eventually turned away, blinking quickly.

“How do you intend to persuade the Patriarch?” Anneliese inquired, shutting her book and devoting her attention to conversation.

“With words, obviously,” Argrave said drolly. “Well… let’s see. You’ll probably introduce me as the agent of Erlebnis and the killer of those druid scouts in order to get an audience with Dras to begin with. From there, I’ll demonstrate the breadth of my knowledge. I remember a prophecy I can use, some vague… in fact, maybe you can help make sure I’ve got it right.”

Argrave scratched his chin and then pointed, remembering something. “Oh, and if that curmudgeonly bastard Rowe the Righteous is there, he would be a great help in proving this matter. He’s a very unreasonable person, but he’s not inflexible. If I give him the signs, he’ll accept the truth.” Argrave nodded as his plan came together in his head.

Anneliese leaned back a little, evidently taken aback about what he disclosed. “How much do you know about the Patriarchate of Veiden?”

Argrave beamed. “I know most things in heaven and Earth, Horatio.” His words fell flat, Anneliese watching him blankly. “Though I can’t say I know every detail about every person, I know more about many important figures than even your patriarch.”

She crossed her arms, then spent some time deliberating on whether or not to say something. “Knowing so much would probably make most people uncomfortable. Does that bother you?”

“You tell me, miss empath.” Argrave put his elbows on his knees and crossed his arms. “You can read people very well. You can spot the emotions that most people try to hide. You see through my lies like they’re glass, even when I weave silver with my tongue. I have little doubt that makes many people uncomfortable. Does that bother you?” he returned her words.

Anneliese’s amber eyes shook for a moment. She took a deep breath and composed herself quickly. After some time, she asked, “Why are you telling me these things? Your knowledge of Veiden, your plans…”

Argrave was taken aback by the question. Why was he telling her this? ‘Because she asked’ would be the obvious answer, but then the further question would be why her, specifically. Was it merely because she was someone who would be prominent in the future? Argrave wasn’t certain.

“Perhaps…” Argrave mused. “Perhaps it’s merely therapeutic to finally share a little bit of what’s going on inside my head. Who better to be honest with than someone who can see past this fa?ade I try and put on?”

She nodded, her composure returned. The waves beat against the side of the longship as a silence stretched out.

“You said my empathy would make many people uncomfortable.” She let the words hang, and Argrave nodded. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

Argrave chuckled, and then leaned back against the ship. “It might make me surprised, throw a wrench into the conversation that forces some semblance of honesty from me. Might make me mind my words a little bit. But uncomfortable? Not at all.”

Though Argrave had hoped for another smile, Anneliese contemplated his words in silence. He shuddered as he felt a cool wind travel along his hair.

“It’s pretty cold out here,” Argrave commented, rubbing his hands together. “Maybe it’s because I don’t have much blood. Or body fat. Or musculature.”

“Though that can’t help, the real reason is that we’re getting closer to Veiden.” Anneliese turned her head towards the bow of the ship. She pointed towards the horizon. “There. You can see the coast, even.”

Argrave looked out, following her finger. The steady movement of the Veidimen rowing the oars threatened to pull away his attention, but he still looked.

“I see… a lot of blue. Mostly water, some of it sky. There’s white there, too. Ocean foam. No coast, though.” Argrave blew on his hands to ward off the cold.

“You have never sailed to Veiden. We recognize the coast immediately. Some of that white you see is likely ice.”

“I see. Icy.” Argrave pursed his lips, wondering how to phrase his question. “You wouldn’t happen to have any spare clothes, perhaps? Fur coats for the bloodless?”

Anneliese stood up, walking to the mast. “No. You will need to wait until we are back in the patriarchate proper.”

Argrave let out a long sigh interspersed with shivers. He held his hands beneath his armpits. Slowly, he began to make out the coastline that Anneliese had spotted. It came into view—long, broken fragments of ice drifting out in the ocean, and behind it, a coast.

The navigator on the bow of the ship gave commands to the oar men, and the ship expertly avoided the fragments of ice while travelling along the coast. In the distance, Argrave spotted a great spire of gray stone with a roaring black flame atop it. As Argrave remembered, it was this color to be visible in snowstorms. At night, it would become white. So was written in books, at least.

“The Torch of Veid,” Argrave muttered.

The longship came around a bend, and a great harbor came into view. There were innumerable longships lined up. Argrave tried to count them and estimated them to be near three hundred. Many sailors tended to the ships, swarming around the docks.

As they pulled closer to the landing, Argrave felt some swirling nervousness. He didn’t have much reason to lack confidence in his plan, but that did not change the fact that he would be the sole human here, and he would need to go before the leader of this vast fleet and try to tell him to call off the invasion.

“Whew,” Argrave sighed, placing a hand on his chest. “Let’s not fumble at the goal line.”