Mel Odom - Rising Tide

"Good," Jherek answered.

"You have to eat to keep your strength up."

"I know, Fostyr, and thank you for being so attentive."

"I worry about you, my friend. Kythel told me you were working in the gardens yesterday, and you washed your own clothes when we could have seen to it."

"I feel I have to earn my keep," Jherek said. "I'm not a man to sit idly by."

"Still, you have been wounded and should rest. You're here at the temple as our guest."

Jherek curbed his impatience. It wasn't the priest's fault that he hated lying fallow. Ilmater forbid that he should ever become a burden on anyone.

"Aye, I know that, and I thank you for your hospitality."

"But you will not simply accept that hospitality?"

Jherek shook his head. "I can't."

Surprisingly, Fostyr only smiled and said, "Such responsibility in one so young."

"Not so responsible," Jherek disagreed. "Otherwise I'd have never gotten into that fight in the tavern. That wasn't the course of a responsible man."

"According to my friend who brought you here you fought for a lady's honor."

"Aye, I suppose I did."

"Another responsible act."

"I'm not so sure," Jherek said. "What Aysel said were only words. I could have walked away."

"But where do I draw the line?" Fostyr mused. "That is your question isn't it?"

"Not mine," Jherek replied.

Fostyr nodded, then took another tack. "I saw you at the service this morning," the priest said.

"Aye."

"What drew you there?"

Jherek shifted positions gingerly, mindful of the aches and bruises he'd received. "I wanted to pay my respects to Lathander. You could have turned me away when I was brought here bleeding, covered in ale-reeking sawdust."

"Do you know of our religion?" the priest asked.

"Some," Jherek admitted. "I'm a follower of Ilmater."

"He is a good god to study, but Lathander might have something to offer as well. Lathander is the god of spring and the dawn, of birth and renewal, of beginnings. I've heard the nightmares that plague you, my friend, when you were in the grip of the fever that took you the first two nights you were here."

The priest hadn't mentioned that to Jherek before, and his face burned hotly. "What did I say?" he asked.

"You mean did you mention that you're the son of Falkane, one of the most feared pirates along this coast? Yes, you did."

Jherek shook his head in wonderment. "There's a price on the head of any man who sailed with Falkane," he told the priest. "You could have turned me in."

"No, I couldn't have," Fostyr said. "I prayed for you, that you might find peace and happiness, and that the fear in your life will depart."

Jherek didn't mean to sound harsh, but his voice was tight. "You've seen the tattoo on my arm?"

"Yes."

"It's a brand, Fostyr, and there's no getting rid of it. As long as it's with me, I'll be forever marked and my life won't be my own."

Fostyr was silent for a time, letting Jherek have time to regain his composure. "I just wanted to point out the possibilities," he said.

"At the temple?"

"Yes."

Jherek almost wanted to laugh in spite of the heartache that filled him. He shook his head and asked, "A pirate for a priest?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"No, Fostyr. What I need is a ship bound for Baldur's Gate."

"Why?"

Jherek thought about his answer, considered telling the priest about the voice that had plagued him, about the vision Madame litaar had concerning that city, but he didn't. "Because I have to," he said. "I've been told that whatever calling I have in this life will be found there. At least some part of it."

"You seek the truth of that?"

"Aye."

"And if you find that it's not true?"

Jherek looked out at the rolling blue sea and said simply, "I don't know."

"The north is dangerous country now, along the trade routes."

"I know. Have you found a ship I can travel on?"

"No." Fostyr sighed. "Even with all the contacts I know, no one is willing to take a man on without papers. There's talk that some of the pirates are getting conspirators on board some vessels to sabotage them. If you're not known, they won't take you on."

The only people who'd know him, Jherek realized, would be sailors from Velen. They would have heard all about his heritage by now. That was no answer, either. He turned to the priest and said, "I've got to go."

"Now?"

"Aye. I feel as though I'm getting behind now." That feeling had been nagging at Jherek since the fever had broke.

"You're in no shape to travel," the priest protested.

"I suppose there's only one way to find out." Jherek stood and took up his pack and bedroll. The cutlass hung on his hip.

Fostyr watched him silently for a moment. "You're very driven, aren't you?" he asked finally as he too rose to his feet.

"Aye," Jherek answered, "only it's more like… haunted." He was relieved the priest wasn't going to try to argue with him further.

"Then I'll wish you godspeed," Fostyr said, offering his hand, "and provisions."

"No," Jherek replied. "I'll not take any more charity."

"You can't eat pride."

Jherek gave him a crooked grin, but didn't feel as brave as he tried to sound. "Pride's all I've got left, Fostyr, and not much of that. I'll have to work with what I've got." He took his coin pouch out and dumped all the coins inside onto the table, knowing the priest would never accept them.

"What are you doing?" Fostyr asked.

"I'm making it harder on whatever's driving me," Jherek answered, knowing the truth of his words. "All my life my ill luck has kept me from having things no matter how hard I worked. Well, now I have nothing but the clothes on my back. I've been told that if a thing is supposed to happen, a way will be made." He folded the empty coin pouch up and put it away. "I'm going to test that."

The priest nodded. "You may be surprised, my friend," he said. "Know that the door will always be open here should you need us." He offered his hand.

Jherek shook the priest's hand. "There's one other thing," he said, reaching into his pack and pulling out a folded sheet of paper. "I've written a letter. I'd appreciate it if you could have someone send it to Velen."

"Of course."

"Thank you for your hospitality. Tell the others goodbye for me." Jherek didn't think he had the courage to go through any more good-byes. They were getting to be a habit.

He walked out of the temple courtyard and turned his steps toward the docks.

Less than an hour later, Jherek stood in a ragged line with two dozen other men down by the docks, waiting as the caravan master walked toward them from the wagon he'd just drove up in. He stood as straight as he could, knowing that his face was still marked and his eye nearly swollen shut. At least his vision didn't appear to be harmed.

The caravan master was a big man, beefy and broad, burned by years of travel in the hot tropical sun. His clothing was sweat-stained and covered in grime. He wore a two-handed broadsword over his back. His leather armor showed signs of repair and of battle. Scars covered his body and marked his face.

"Listen up," he barked. "My name's Frauk. I got a caravan going out by evening so we can avoid most of the heat of the day. We're going to be traveling all night, so any man that don't think he can make that, step out now."

Three of the men swapped looks, then stepped out of the line, drifting back toward the taverns where most of them had come from.

"I just got back from a caravan coming out of Water-deep," Frauk said, "and I want you to know what you're facing. Since the shipping's gotten so dangerous along the Sword Coast and the overland trade routes have opened up again, you might think you'll be traveling well-traveled roads. Well, I'm here to tell you that the ores and goblins are traveling those roads too. You might be able to figure out which end of a horse is which, but if you don't know how to fight, if you're not willing to fight, you might as well cut your throat here before we leave and save the ores and goblins the trouble."