Part 1

The morning sunlight forced Borden to cover his eyes with his hands. This infuriating solar radiation imposed a sufferable, squinting inconvenience. He truly lost track of time inside.

He shook off jitters from being indoors for too long and followed the path north. Riverine, for all its perceived faults, was easy to traverse. And at this time in the morning there were little signs of its populace. Borden found the stone wall that led up to the castle. The terrain inclined. All the Dyson’s Brew caught up to him and Borden stopped after a few steps. His head swelled and the urge to vomit was strong but he held back. The only true remedy to cure a hangover was to obtain more drink. He overcame the laborious trek upwards with promise of his severance. Captain Morter, the city guard commander, held captive his severance. The promise of more ale with his final pay prompted Borden’s increased pace. This mission was a rescue mission, along with a humanitarian objective to relief himself of this wretched aching in his head.

Borden finished the climb and found the castle’s south gate. The guard present, Ezenk, scowled at Borden.

“We thought we got rid of you,” he said.

Borden scowled back, “You’ve always been a bastard, Ezenk.”

A group of older men on their morning walk overheard this exchange and scoffed at this undignified remark. No matter what Borden did, Riverine would not let him win.

He walked the dirt castle grounds, as he always did, and found the entrance to the Captain’s quarters as he’d done numerous times over the previous years. Down a stone staircase, Borden found Captain Morter alone and smoking a pipe with some tobacco.

Borden quipped, “Busy?”

Morter replied with a snarl, “No.”

He always found Borden’s underhanded remarks to be most annoying. On the surface, the words fumed with proper etiquette. But everyone around him noticed his inner disdain. According to Morter, Borden and Riverine never saw eye to eye. They were two philosophers with radically different opinions. Borden despised Riverine’s attachment to solitude. Riverine never accepted him as one of its own—the eternal visitor.

Morter rose from his chair, pipe still in hand, and walked over to his wooden chest and took out a bag of coin. “Don’t drink all of it,” Morter said, stewing on his pipe.

Borden wanted to leave his former Captain with one more snide remark. Instead, the misery had ended after he accepted his bag of coin. He turned around to leave but his hopes of a quick exit were gone once Morter opened his mouth.

“Borden. Just don’t be a problem for someone else,” he added.

His headache kept Borden’s mouth shut. He thought to use the words “supremely divine bastard,” but he stayed on mission and left Morter’s quarters.

As Borden retreated downhill to the Monarch Inn, more easily now, the shopkeeps and blacksmiths were now waking up. Everything was normal on this morning. But as he came close to the docks, a commotion stirred. He followed a group of villagers down to the water’s edge and saw something astonishing.

A whale had washed ashore. It was a massive animal. Big, gaping mouth. Swollen body. It was 20 feet long at least. And serrated across its belly was a 6-foot bite mark. A pool of blood streamed down from the wound to the water. The townspeople were shocked. Borden jumped down onto the sand. He approached the whale with focus on the bite mark. What could have done this? He thought. The whale’s internals had nearly vanished. The bite mark showed large jagged teeth had punctured the cartilage.

Hyle, a guardsman, entered the situation and ordered the curious crowd to move back. “Even you, Borden,” he said to his ex-colleague.

Borden returned to the dirt path and kicked off some sand that had caked to his boot. He never saw a fish like that before. He’d only heard about them in stories. For once, in a long time, Borden was worried. That whale was large, but there was something larger out there. All he could think about was the arrival of that merchant ship. When it arrived, he would be gone.

Borden just stood from a distance, examining the carcass. The word had traveled fast. Crowds ran to the docks to see it for themselves. A woman next to Borden entertained a thought with her friend, “What sort of monster would do such a thing?” Borden found the woman’s unchecked penchant for mysticism annoying—“monster.” What an annoying word. There were no monsters in the world. Whatever did this was an animal.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” the other woman joined in on the conspiracy, “We could all be in danger. I take this as a bad sign.” Borden convinced himself to hold his tongue in telling these women to stop assuming. But he knew that would have been a lie. For once, he shared something with the people of Riverine—worry.

The butterfly sign was in sight. Drinking time. This event demanded he drink. Coming in through the door, Borden convinced himself there was nothing to worry about. Other, smaller animals probably fed on it for some ravenous feast.

“Dyson’s Brew and keep it coming,” Borden barked at Samkee as he took his regular spot.

Borden took out some extra coin and spoke clearly enough so Samkee would understand, “And this is for some peace and quiet.”

Samkee exchanged pitcher for coin, and some extra, without a word. Borden sipped from the pitcher. Only a few more days, he thought. So did Samkee.

Part 3 to come…

Artwork by Jeff Ward (stungeonstudios.com)