Chasing Life.

He stands on the shore, waiting for the boat. As it approaches, he turns and looks long and longingly at the land he is leaving. Land of his birth, his first love, his fallen honou, his son, all this he is forsaking. He takes only his armour, his weapons, some clothes, food for the journey, several mead flagons that will be shared with the crew. A sack of coins, the wherewithal to defend them.

He carries himself with the ease of nobility and the grace of a warrior. He is generous with everything but knowledge about himself. As the days pass, he takes his turn keeping close reins on a ship meant to fly. Hard, unremitting work, he does it cheerfully. He does everything for himself, a patient, careful man. The crew are beside themselves; they don’t know what to make of him. What title to give him, since he claims none.

Liquor flows in ridiculous amounts, trying to make him talk about his mad quest. His presence on their boat, alone, with nothing to trade, going where they’re going, well, passing strange. When he sleeps, they huddle and talk about him, theories are offered, bets laid. A bag is passed around and filled with tokens and bits, destined for the man who gets their passenger to talk.

They all try. Two days of hell for him, when they are becalmed. They unite in their common purpose of wearing him down so they can learn his story, the keenest in a circle around him, as he polishes his armour. Unlimited supply of spirits, apparently, he has been drinking solid for two days, they have all been drinking. He looks at them, wondering how the Master allows it, gods help them if a storm rises.

Sadly, even he is among them now, hardly able to sit straight, determined not to move until he has heard the stranger’s tale. All that is human in him, a hint of romance perhaps, wants it to be strange and fantastic, it must be something different to put him here. He won’t rest until he knows. Others take over his ship, he stares relentlessly at his passenger, utterly fixed on having  his way.

At this point something snaps in the passenger. He drops his work loudly and stands, looking at the leader with a new pair of eyes. He looks at them all, gone from docile to rampant in that instant. Men shrink back from him; the leader sits taller and drops his hand to his hip. That brings a grim smile.

“My name is Hemwyth. Currently landless, long fatherless, utterly fearless because where I am going is nothing to where I have been. What I will see is nothing to what I have seen. All of you combined do not frighten me, nor the raving beasts in the sea below. Storms can come and rip us to pieces; I do not care. Ask me why.”

Silence. Sodden minds are struggling, they look at him and think, he is fearless. All of them want to know why, none of them will ask. They’re dealing with a different man now. A dozen men suddenly half sober.

“Oh come,” he says, “you have questions enough in the night. A fine set of answers, I commend you all on your imaginations. I remind you that feigning sleep is child’s play. I tell you now, listen closely, that even the most far fetched of your ideas is nothing to the truth.”

He bends down and picks up his armour, the rag and tallow. He sits again, holding the piece in his hands, finding the place he left off. The rag makes circles, he looks around at them.

“None of you will ask, who can blame you? You do not need my story; you will only lose sleep over it. Lose your sense of security, question all that you know of life and love, learn that no hiding place is safe. Do you really wish to be burdened? No.

“Step away from your own curiosity, catch it and box it, keep it hidden for now, I will feed it soon enough. You will never hear my story, not from my lips, there is nothing you can do to change that. Accept it now, leave off, leave me alone.”

A slight breeze catches his hair, long and gold it lifts behind him, kind wind coming. Faces brighten, time to raise the sail. His armour stowed, Hemwyth helps where he can. The mood is tense, words linger long after they are said. There is a sense of anticlimax, men prepared for a fight are difficult to settle. Unspent adrenaline, unacknowledged fears, thwarted curiosity, these breed resentment.

He is one against them all, but he shows no fear, which makes them uneasy. Whispered conversations, sidelong glances poorly disguised, weapons kept close, they’re afraid of him, but won’t admit it. After a while they start looking at each other, mutual fear flashing secret signals.

Hemwyth sits alone, near the prow, a flood of wind in his face, a roar in his ears. His back is turned to them, one is bolder than the rest, he steps forward with his sword raised. Hemwyth turns around and smiles at him. “No my friend, it does not happen this way.” He laughs out loud.

“Go ahead, cut me down right now, all of you come forward and hack me to pieces if you think you can. I tell you it will not happen like that.”

Now some of them start backing away, weapons are sheathed, urgent duties found elsewhere. The few that remain stand firm beside their leader, he looks around at them. “Stand down, I will deal with this alone.”

They leave with outsized reluctance. Hemwyth looks at the man in front of him, leader and part owner of a lovely ship that is bringing him across the sea to his destiny.

“Tell me your real name, not the one you use to sell goods and deceive merchants. Tell me why you do not keep better discipline on your ship, tell me why you are brought to arms against a paying customer. What do you hope to gain from me?

“Tell me why you let curiosity lead you to violate our agreement, our host guest relationship, your own honour and that of your ship. Tell me all this and I might share something in return, if your answers satisfy me.”

His deep, resonant voice seduces, his promise beckons, the noble in him glows through his skin. They listen, they find themselves, something like normal falls with the dusk. He stands in the winds, a shivering animal feeling something more powerful than himself. The ship slices through distance, night comes, and lanterns are lit.

A presence beside him, a voice.

“My name is Dante, not a name to sell goods or deceive merchants. I tell you frankly that I cannot account for my behavior, insofar as my manners are usually much better and my sense of honour stiff. Come, out of the wind, so we may hear each other clearly.”

They sit, away from the others, polite, careful, proud. The Master reveals his willingness to have his feathers ruffled, Hemwyth keeps his elbows on his knees and his hands limp. His sideways look is something to be reckoned with, Dante flushes and drops his eyes.

“I cannot answer for my men, they come from diverse countries and have strong opinions. What do you expect them to make of a man who reveals nothing of himself? That he has much to hide. How do they know that you are not a runaway slave in stolen clothing, how do we know that you are not wanted and worth a ransom? Money and mystery, few can resist such a pairing. I say that you did, in fact, encourage the behavior. Surely you could have invented something, a cover story of some kind. It is the easiest way to travel, I assure you.”

Hemwyth smiles.

“Would you believe any story I told you? Will I now believe yours if you tell it to me? Who knows the truth of anything? Do I look like a runaway? Have I been keeping hidden? Do I have the bearing of a slave? You can see these things for yourself, I fear it is wit you are missing. I have said and shown that I’m not afraid of you, if you won’t ask why then I will tell you. It’s the only thing I will tell you, and it’s the truth, I swear on my life.

“I go now to a Viking village, with no notice, no back up, nothing, just my body and my skills as a warrior. They will take me; I will become a valuable part of their clan. I know this for certain, because I have seen my own future.”

He looks at Dante a long time, his face never changing, the blue of his eyes as sure as the ocean around them. Dante slowly grows still, while his mind works with what he has been given. Everything it can mean, Holy Grail and black hole.

Thoughts scatter frantically through his mind, hold on to them, no, something like this is impossible. Is it? How would such a thing even happen? Who could show it to him? Why would he be shown? Why would he look? I would close my eyes. 

Hemwyth wastes no more words. He waits. Soon enough questions will come.

“The worst of this is that I believe you. Have you sold your soul to the devil for it? Was it worth it? What did you give up? How do you know it’s true? You are asking me to believe the impossible and you will say no more about it. I tell you my friend, a sailor loses that kind of faith quite early on.”

“Then why do you believe me?”

Dante sits silently, wondering the same thing. After a while he says boldly,

“I think you have forsaken your honour here, on this boat. I think you have violated the laws of common decency, and humane behaviour such as it exists. You simply can’t tell someone you’ve seen the future, have them believe you, and just refuse to elaborate. There are unwritten rules for a reason, I employ one now when I do not throw you overboard.”

Hemwyth laughs, sailors pause and wonder. He leans in close to Dante. “A sad threat, I am no more afraid of the sea than I am of you. But you have a point, a fine thing for a foreigner. You deserve to know something.”

“I won’t tell you about my past, what came to me and how. That is another story, something you will have to find on your own. My future? You can imagine the powerful sweep it sent through my mind, the complete change of direction. You can picture the disorder of my body and heart, feel the fear of what is coming. A new life.

“I have no fear of death, since I know what I will go through before I get there. I do not look to my last days, I let myself forget them and look to the moment that is coming. My destiny waits for me in that village, nothing like the one I dreamed of, much better since it’s mine.”

“Do you not fear that your future lies with the enemy? You know enough about Northmen to know better.”

Hemwyth finds a place to lie down, stars are blooming. His beautiful voice comes out of the darkness. “Tell me how you would do it Dante, what would you do with your knowledge”?

“Where did the knowledge come from? I need to know before I can tell you what I would do.”

“It doesn’t matter; it won’t change what you learn. Trust me.”

“You know though, Hemwyth, you remember, how can you be certain you were not lied to? How do you know if what you were shown was real? Dark magic is very powerful, perhaps you’re under a spell.”

“Simple enough to find out, stick your knife in me and we will see what happens.”

Dante smiles. “It would be a pleasure”.