A Night at Sea (1)
When the wind shifted against them, Chester furled the sail and began propelling the raft with oars alone.
Just then a large wave rolled in, making the raft pitch hard.
“Ugh.”
The sudden heave was too much for Monia, who had already been tormented for over an hour by the endless rocking. She frowned, fighting the queasiness.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I can manage.”
Monia could manage. Rex, it seemed, could not.
The boy who had been so delighted when they first climbed aboard now lay sprawled on the raft’s floor. Monia fanned him with a broad leaf, trying to ease his seasickness even a little.
“How come you’re so immune to it, Chester? You’re a land person.”
“Ah, that.”
As the lines of light shifted, Chester subtly bent one knee and straightened the other, pushing the raft forward. The craft rose with the swell, yet the carefully balanced knees kept his body steady, unshaken.
“Seriously?”
“Unfair.”
“I hate Papa.”
Monia and Rex complained at him in unison.
“Just watch the fishing lines.”
Wasting time was not an option. While Chester steered, Monia and Rex had their own work—fishing.
They could hurl the harpoons tethered to their wrists, or simply let the rods dangle and wait for a bite. They had brought some preserved food, but preserves were preserves; better to save them whenever possible.
“If it’s hard, want me to sing?”
“A song… What kind of songs do sailors sing…?”
“Anything’s fine, right?”
Chester began humming along with the easy rhythm of the waves—a nonsense medley of fish names he knew and childhood memories of playing in the river, all jumbled together.
After listening a moment, Monia joined in, humming random lyrics of her own to fight the nausea.
How long they continued like that, no one could say. When a favorable breeze finally rose, Chester unfurled the sail, settled into place, and rested. Standing for hours on a pitching deck was exhausting work.
“Let’s eat.”
“Mm. …We’ll reach the island before sunset, right?”
“Hm? Probably. If we keep going steadily like this, we will.”
Chester grabbed a fishing rod just as it was about to slip into the sea and tried to haul in whatever was on the line. The fish fought hard; the rod bent nearly to the breaking point.
“Whoa—!”
Monia gasped at the sight. Chester waved that it was fine, letting out line, then reeling in, locked in a push-and-pull with the catch.
“Oh! This one’s heavy!”
Whatever it was, the fish had real power.
Sensing the rod was about to snap, Chester gripped it with one hand and pulled out a leather glove. With Monia’s help he got the glove onto one hand, then reached out and seized the line itself. A sharp crack followed as the rod broke; Chester abandoned the broken shaft and wound the line tightly around his gloved fist.
“Kh!”
For an instant the fish dragged him toward the water, making the raft lurch.
“Kyaa!”
While Monia cried out in alarm, Chester, with Rex’s help, got a glove onto his other hand as well and began hand-lining with both fists.
The line bit deep into his palms. He jammed his feet into a gap in the raft for purchase and leaned his whole body backward, holding on.
The fish thrashed left and right. Each surge shook Chester and the raft alike.
Yet he did not miss the single moment when the fish’s strength faltered—the brief pause after it had thrashed its tail with all its might. The lines of light flashed their signal; Chester yanked the line in a single powerful pull and wound it tight around both hands so it could never slip free. He put his full weight into it. Startled by the sudden drag, the fish tried to resist.
But it had already spent itself. Resistance had its limits. Chester watched for every tiny lull and hauled relentlessly.
By the time the fish recovered enough to fight again, it was too late. Its shadow was already rising toward the surface.
“Whoa, it’s huge!”
The fish nearing the surface was more than twice the size of the ones they usually caught and ate on the Floating Island—an enormous specimen.
“What the—!”
Of course, the closer it came and the shorter the line grew, the greater the force transmitted. The fishing line now threatened to strip the skin clean off Chester’s palms.
Seeing that, Monia snatched up a wooden harpoon and hurled it at the thrashing fish. It missed and sank. She reeled it back by the wrist cord and took aim again. Rex scrambled to his feet as well, both of them targeting the catch.
“Throw!”
The instant Chester jerked the line opposite the fish’s movement and locked it in place, Monia’s and Rex’s harpoons flew.
After several throws, Rex’s finally struck home. Monia’s followed, piercing the fish’s side.
Even with two harpoons in it the fish flopped for a long while, but its strength was spent. Chester hauled it aboard with ease.
“Hoo.”
It truly was enormous—longer than Rex himself. Once on the raft it occupied an entire corner with imposing bulk.
“Wow, this is something else.”
“Insane. Are all ocean fish like this?”
Chester and Monia marveled as they began dressing it.
They split it open, tossed the guts overboard, scaled it, and set it to cook over a fire.
They had already prepared a small hearth of leaves and earth on one part of the raft, so they kindled a campfire there and roasted the fish.
It was so large they could not cook it whole; they had to cut it into thick steaks and grill them piece by piece.
Four massive fish steaks sizzled over open flame. The flesh was so thick it took a long time for the heat to reach the center.
After a while the four of them—two humans, one beast-child, and one ant-wolf—sat down to the finished steaks and a single roasted potato.
“…….”
“…….”
— …….
Two people and one animal fell silent.
“Mm. Not bad. So this is the taste of ocean fish.”
While Chester chewed a piece he had cut with his knife, Monia worked a mouthful with a gloomy expression.
“It’s bland…”
“Is it?”
Chester took another big bite, glancing at the red welts the line had left on his hands.
“I think it’s fine. One fish gives a lot of meat.”
“It doesn’t have that muddy river-fish smell, but… the flavor’s too mild and there’s way too much oil. The oil completely smothers what little taste there is.”
It was not truly terrible—only that Monia’s palate was overly sensitive and picky.
In truth Rex and Ant were merely disappointed that it was not as delicious as the fish of the Floating Island; afterward they ate well enough. Rex simply ate because he had to, rather than with his usual gusto.
“Picky eaters.”
While Chester clicked his tongue at his family’s fussiness, the raft rode the rolling waves steadily onward.
Jordy drew the dagger he always kept close and cut the throat of the assassin who had attacked him.
“……Hoo.”
After the kingdom collapsed in the war, Jordy had hastily gathered what he needed and fled.
Yet even in ruin he remained the king of what had once been the strongest nation on the continent. An enormous bounty rested on his head.
More than that, any faction that wished to claim the kingdom’s territory effectively—and to assert its “rights” amid the chaos of rival powers—needed Jordy’s head so it could declare that it had slain the king.
Even if a group had nothing to do with the fall of the kingdom, the mere fact that he was the fallen king gave his death terrifying value.
On top of that, the countless mad acts Jordy had committed during the war had piled the people’s hatred high. Anyone who killed him, ended the kingdom, and promised to bring peace would win the support of those many subjects.
Yes—so Jordy absolutely had to die. He had to do them the favor of dying.
But Jordy had not the slightest intention of dying for anyone.
He searched the assassin’s corpse for valuables, then mounted his horse and left the place at speed.
Even he did not know where he should go next.
Yet he had to reach somewhere far, far away—some distant land the flames of this war had never touched.
So for now he simply rode forward.
Forward, and forward again.
A fierce headwind struck him as he galloped; his hair streamed back.
Through the flying strands, skin hideously twisted by burns was revealed.
Jordy pressed the hair down to hide the scars, clenched his teeth, and spurred the horse harder.
He had lost his country, his power, his subordinates, his wealth, and even his once-brilliant looks.
Just as with Tiara, everything Jordy had possessed was vanishing one by one.
Why did it come to this?
He could not understand.
Why his life had to become like this—he simply could not understand.
A flame of hatred with nowhere to go piled up inside him.
That unexpressible fire of hatred accumulated and accumulated, eating him from within.
Where does a man go who cannot see his own faults and has nothing left but hatred for something? No one knows.