Let me begin this chapter with an apology. It has been 3 weeks since I posted an update to the book. I live in Texas, and several weeks ago we suffered from SNOWMAGEDON. That first Friday we working from home and locked down. I was preparing to be snowed in and looking forward to a week at home with chapters every day. Then the snow hit, and by Saturday we had no power and no running water. We had to escape to a relative's house for warmth and security. It was 5 days before the power came back to our house and another full 24 hours before I knew if I had water or broken pipes. After that week I spent the next two weeks dealing with insurance and so forth. For 4 weeks I have been slowly writing this one chapter. It's not what I had imagined it to be but this one chapter represents a period of my life where everything went sideways.
Anyway, a more regular posting schedule will continue while I finish out the rest of this Arc of the story. Thank you for sticking with me.
Hector and the others had floated out beyond the horizon, it took days but they made it safely out to sea where they could take the risk of unfurling the sails and making a heading north. They knew which safe-house they were going to meet in. The ship expected that their captain to take his time as he made his way north.
Only Hector really knew that their boss was part merfolk, and therefore far faster in water than any boat or man. He could travel the coastline and make his way to the northern lands in a matter of days instead of the months it would take his boat. When they made it to their cave all they found was a letter and an empty room. Hector informed them that he had just moved on slightly before them and was making preparations for them at their next port.
His ancestry was the secret that had made him the pirate he was today. He could scout and sneak up on victims before they realized he was there. He could fly through the water and approach before anyone could prepare a response.
Even among his own kind, the way he used his skills was considered taboo. Most merfolk used them only as a way to avoid all other races. They deftly kept to themselves. Much like the giants they remembered the great war between humans and the demi-humans. The merfolk had options though. The land-based races had to fight for a home. The merfolk simply picked up and swam away.
Only sailors ever came in contact with the merfolk, and them very sparingly.
For Dirge the fact that only one person knew his secret kept them all alive. Many different groups and races would love to get a Mer of their own.
The fact that this fat sanctimonious religious ass knew about his secret bothered him. He kept his face still and smiling. If he wasn't a skilled poker player, his emotions would have shined through and belied his feelings.
The Dirge had made his way all the way up the coast in a matter of days. He could normally swim swiftly but his anger fueled him and drove him to go faster.
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On the beach where The Dirge was heading was a large piece of driftwood. The sea had washed the log clean and sanded it before depositing its beautiful creation here at the edge of the world.
One man sat on the top of this log. He was straddling a branch and using it as his easel as he drew pictures of the sea with coal and pressed paper.
He dressed in the way that suggested he spent his money elsewhere. It gave the impression that fashion was something beyond him and his mind was focused elsewhere.
His whistling could be heard up and down the coast, carried on the breeze like soft petals. He was having a moment of bliss by the sea.
The dirge heard the tune long before he saw the man. Noise travels longer through water than it does air. This happens even after it crosses over from the air into the solid.
He had no way to avoid the man. He had stared at him from a distance that should have prevented him from being seen among the waves. To him, the man looked innocuous enough. He decided to do a nice backstroke and pretend he was out on a nice afternoon swim in the ocean.
The dirge played his part in the deception and swam up to shore before standing up and walking the rest of the way up to the beach. He stopped to wring water from his shirt before walking further up towards the beachhead.
The man on the log didn't even look up from his work as he stopped whistling and started speaking. "You know I have sat here for years staring out at the sea." He slowly dragged his charcoal across the sheet to emphasize the path of a wave. "I have stared and waited and finally you walked onto the shore."
"Excuse me?" Dirge looked over his shoulder. His face still plastered with forced indifference. However, after everything that happened with the last visitor at his beach he was becoming annoyed at his secret getting out.
"I have studied everything in the histories about your people. I have read fiction and non-fiction alike. I know so many people consider me insane. I knew this was the beach your kind walked off into the ocean from and now you have come back."
This was a fact that not even Dirge was aware of. "I think you have me mistaken for someone else. I just swim for exercise and I am heading to a town further down that way." He pointed in the direction of a village he knew to be nearby.
"You can lie to others but I know what you are." The man put his charcoal down and swung his leg over the branch before dropping to the ground. "Your hair isn't even wet."
Dirge reached up out of reflex and touched it. No one had ever noticed that he didn't get wet on his skin from the ocean. He normally slicked it so it stayed wet looking, all of his swimming had washed out the grease. "I think we've had enough time for me to dry off now. If you'll excuse me..."
The man walked over and tried to block the path. The Dirge ignored him and shouldered past him as he continued to speak. "When are they coming back? Why not now with the new prophet? Does your dick have scales also?"
The last question caused The Dirge to lose his footing as he stepped over a branch trying to make his way up the hill and away from the sand.
"Look leave me alone," The Dirge displayed his best poker face. Deep inside he desperately wanted to simply murder this man and be done with this problem. Anyone knowing about his mixed ancestry was a threat to his business model.
"Do you do every stranger this way? Do you sit out here at the beach and harass everyone who walks off the shore? And no, it's pink soft, and fleshy just like the one you might have had if you weren't so slovenly!" The Dirge shouted slowly leaking his anger out.
The man took two steps back, suddenly caught in the vitriol and regretting pushing. He was a scholar, a self-prescribed expert on all things merfolk-related. His interpersonal skills were lacking compared to other people.
"I... I... I'm sorry. It's just been my life's journey..." he stammered before he tripped on a branch and fell flat on his ass.
"Then if you aren't...."
"I'm a damn pirate all right. Do you think we don't have ways to protect ourselves from the water? I've lived on it for 30 years... I rarely get affected by water or the sea." The dirge pulled up his shirt to show the scars and signs of battle and age. The hair on his chest was white in the center, this was a trait of his mixed blood but he wasn't going to release that information to this man.
The scholar shuffled backward, hoping to escape the sudden turn of events. He couldn't get his brain to react fast enough to the information that was flowing into it. "Please pardon me. I meant no harm... You don't plan on killing me do you?"
The Dirge sighed internally and was silently pleased he didn't have to kill this man. His murderous lust was currently fixated on one fat religious zealot. "No, I don't plan on killing you. I really just want to get home." It was a partial lie, they were the best kind.
The scholar got himself up on his feet finally and relaxed knowing he had survived one more day and one significant mistake. He had no idea just how close to his doom he had come.
The Dirge nodded at the man and then walked up the hill. The scholar watched him walk up the hill and over the edge of the waterline. He debated watching to see which way he disappeared. Deep inside he KNEW he had met one of the people he was looking for. His internal voice was telling him to chase this quarry down. The part of his brain that wanted to live was considering taking up a job in ribbon making or art. There was safety with things that didn't want to kill you.
He walked back to his branch and sat back on his perch staring out at the sea. "Are all Merfolk this bloodthirsty?" He mused to himself as he stared at the water. He considered the ramifications of his research. Maybe their desire to leave was because they knew what kind of blood lust they possessed. Maybe they left because they wanted to suppress it?
He pulled a new piece of charcoal from a pocket and began drawing lines of waves on his discarded page. He quickly went back to his drawing and daydreamed of meeting real merfolk. The longer he sat there the quicker his brain dismissed the whole encounter and wrote it off as a fluke. His brain rationalized it off, he didn't learn that day to fear what might come from the sea.