Raiders of Uecketev Part 5

Year 22840

Month of Nevemme

Passage to Verra

Durkquire Marks (age 18)

Raiders of Uecketev pt. 5

The market sounds quieted as he followed Pierre inside. The eatery was sleek. Clean white walls were decorated with local artist depictions of the city. Flower arrangements were perfectly placed atop long buffet tables and in the center of each of the smaller tables designated for eating at. Durkquire felt underdressed. The smell had his mouth watering, and the casual conversations of the few inside filled the absence of the market transactions.

“How are you two fellows doing this fine day?” A young woman asked openly, but more directed at Pierre.

“Just wonderful. Could we get a spot for two?” Pierre answered.

She nodded and waved a hand for them to follow her to a table. Durkquire mirrored Pierre’s actions, following and taking a seat.

“Have either of you been here before?” the woman asked.

“I have, and would like two plates with a combination of your meats and vegetables, and extra gravy.” Pierre seemed very comfortable.

Durkquire on the other hand, felt out of place. He looked around while Pierre spoke to the woman. There were a few other small groups of people and some single eaters enjoying their meals.

One of them caught his attention. Durkquire was sure he had seen him at one of the Verran stands outside when they were passing through the market. He sat alone, had dark skin, bright golden earrings and ear cuffs, a claw-strung necklace, layered vest over a long-sleeved tee, and what appeared to be tieneere boots with thick pants tucked into, mid-calf, fur-topped rims. His short hair was messily presented, as though he hadn’t bothered to brush it after waking. This man looked just as much out of place as Durkquire felt.

Over the following hour, he and Pierre ate and talked. It was more of Pierre talking and Durkquire listening to the facts about the city. If he ever needed to take a history test on Solesstriane, Durkquire was sure he would pass it now.

His gaze kept shifting over to the Verran. The man was finished. He stood and left the appropriate amount of clovands and a few runds. The man passed by, and Durkquire lowered his gaze to his nearly empty plate.

He may be willing to take me.

“Durkquire? What do you think of that?” Pierre’s directed comment recaptured his attention.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Durkquire rubbed at his neck.

“Your clothes are, well, not in great condition. I asked if we should go find you more suitable clothes?” He repeated.

“Oh.” Durkquire looked down at his torn, sleeveless shirt. Blood stains were still easily seen, despite how he had tried to wash it out during the first week following the attack on Uecketev. His pants weren’t much better. The cloak he wore, was better off, but had a chunk missing from the lower left edge. It was the piece he had torn off for his lure. “I could probably use a change of clothes.”

“I’ll just pay for this, and then we shall go see what we can find for you.”

“Pierre, are you sure? I don’t have any money to repay you? I may even be leaving soon.” The continued generosity was adding a layer of indebted guilt.

“Your company has been well worth it. I’ve missed having someone to converse with.” He waved off Durkquire’s concern and fished through his coin purse for the appropriate amount, leaving it upon the table. “Come, let’s get you out of those rags.”

They returned to the open market streets. The crowds had indeed thinned some, now that it was noon. And while it wasn’t as packed as it was before, they still had to work their way through pockets of crowds.

He followed Pierre, like a child in a new environment. Looking at all the merchandise, Durkquire found interest mostly in the exotic plants. Pausing at one of the stands, he took in the national flag hanging from one of the tent posts. Allvelore. The emblem was a depiction of an ocean wave around a two-prong spear. As one would have guessed, their colors were aqua and a pale sky blue.

Even more impressive was the atle manning the stand. He was over nine feet tall, broad shouldered, with blue-tinted skin. His neck held three defined ridges on both sides. Gills. He had pointed ears like an ethrean, but they were a bit taller. His hair, at least the portion atop his head that hadn’t been shaved, was woven back into a thick braid that fell past his shoulders. Durkquire thought he spotted a few fish bones woven into it.

The atle wore tightly fitted clothes that had a leather-like sheen, but looked to be made for cutting back on friction when swimming. He smiled and conversed with a couple to Durkquire’s right.

Spread across the table were various types of potted plants that Durkquire had never seen before. Leaves that were thick, almost as though they were a fruit, and bright flowers that reacted to touch. He noticed the few children giggling every time they touched one of them and watched the petals curl inward for a few seconds before falling back open.

Moving on, he caught up to Pierre who stood at a clothing stand. The cheery man smiled and opened his arms in presentation of Durkquire’s choices.

“What suits you?” he asked.

He looked over the options. He picked up a leather vest. It had a fabric, sage green, hood attached. The sage green fabric hung off the bottom two inches as an illusionary layered tee, and had a zip-up front enclosure.

He smiled and picked out a bright blue shirt and gray pants. Durkquire could see the cost adding up and chose to keep his tieneere cloak. With new clothes in hand, Pierre guided Durkquire to a stall nearby where he could change. Pierre left him to tend to the cost.

Durkquire smiled as he stepped out wearing the fresh clothes. Pierre was there waiting with something extra draped over his arm.

“Those suit you.” Pierre nodded with approval. “You forgot a coat. Tieneere is just a few months away.” He handed it over.

The coat was dark, an off shade of black. It had several sealable pockets and a high collar. It zipped shut up the front like his leather vest.

“Now, I know you mentioned that you may be leaving soon. Where are you headed?” Pierre inquired.

Durkquire thought of the Verran man he’d seen in the stands and at lunch. “I was going to seek passage to Verra.”

“Verra?” Pierre looked highly confused. “Why would you want… oh. Dear boy, don’t tell me that you plan to find those raiders?”

Durkquire’s hands clenched into fists. He did plan on finding them. He planned on killing them.

“Pierre. I’m thankful for your kindness.” Durkquire looked away, his eyes fixing upon a waving Verran flag. “But my mother is out there. I’m going to find her.”

“Your mother? Didn’t you say they killed everyone?”

Durkquire nodded. “Everyone they deemed worthless.”

Pierre sighed and rubbed his face with one of his thick fingered hands. “You think they took your mother?”

“I know they did.” He thought of the hours he had spent burying the charred bodies of those the raiders had burnt in the bon fire. “They took what they wanted, and burned the rest.” His anger was still just as potent as the day he had woken to the mass killing.

“What was your plan to get into Verra?” Pierre pulled him aside, away from any open ears. “They may not be closed border like Jushosh, but you’d stick out worse than a snow storm in the middle of tummimar! You’d be lucky to get through a day without being shanked.” Pierre’s previously positive attitude was gone. He spoke with real concern.

“I can defend myself.” He only half believed his words.

“And your plan to get there?” An eyebrow rose in speculation.

“I was going to ask one of the Verran vendors. Work for stay and passage.” He felt it was a fairly solid plan.

Pierre nodded. “You’ll need a convincing story. No Verran will take you across the Zemin Sea to their homeland if they catch even a hint of why you’re going.”

“You travel. What would you suggest I say?”

Pierre hummed, “I’m not sure there is much you could say that would convince them by yourself. And I’m no fan of lying.”

He felt the slim hope fade.

“However, I do know that they still respect their elders. How about you take me to see Verra? I’ve not made the leap to the outer nations, and it is something I’ve wanted to do.”

Durkquire stared blankly. “You want to come?”

“You can be my escort. A hired guardian.” Pierre’s jolly smile beamed across his face. “I’d love a few new stories to tell, and I don’t know if I’d enjoy traveling solo across Marmeada for a third time.”

He wondered if Pierre’s motivations were deeper than stated. If he felt responsible for keeping Durkquire out of trouble. The idea of Pierre traveling with him, did ease some of the fears he had over doing so.

“Isn’t it expensive? I don’t want to waste your money on something you never planned on doing.”

“Oh nonsense. I planned on seeing all of Marmidon. That includes Verra.” He waved at the air in front of his face, like swatting the opposing view away.

Durkquire thought on it. It may be easier to get into Verra with Pierre. But I don’t plan on just finding my mother. We’ll have to part ways at some point.

“Would you be able to get back to Marmeada on your own?” Durkquire had to be blunt.

“I would. I may be old, but I know how to get a ride when I need one. Are you that set on finding those raiders?”

“I am.”

Pierre looked down at the paved walkway they stood upon. He rubbed at the crease of his doubled chin as he thought.

“Best way to get aboard a Verran ship would be to ask around the docks for the shipmasters.” He stated.

Durkquire nodded and turned towards the north, ready to go find a shipmaster.

“Let me grab a few things from my wagon, pay for my horse’s keep, and then I’ll meet you at the docks.” Pierre nodded as though he were reassuring himself of his decision.

“I’ll go find a shipmaster.” Durkquire waved lightly at Pierre and left.

He was glad to still have the city map on him. It took him a half hour to make his way to the north-east city exit. There was the occasional stare at him, being one of the few ethreans here. Durkquire had seen a few others, but they kept to themselves, no more than a smile and light wave was exchanged.

The thick smell of salt water hit his nose as he walked out to the open coast. It was interesting that the city wasn’t built down to the docks, but gated more than a mile away. From here the watery horizon stretched out as far as he could see. It was like the views from Uecketev. He smiled and headed down the worn road to the pier.

The sound of the waves put him at ease, even with the bustling about of several men across the dock. The thick planks were made of terrywood. The light toned hue of it mixed nicely with the green moss growing between each board. He could feel the tap of the waves underneath.

The dock was ten, maybe fifteen feet wide and a few hundred feet out to sea. It had several diverting docks upon each side where several ships were docked, and their gangplanks down. Most of the ships were large cargo carriers.

Each of the massive metal ships were painted the colors of their nation with large, house-sized national emblems painted near the fronts.

Durkquire counted the different ones he could see. Dershja had two ships at this dock. He recalled that this wasn’t the only port.

Oh no! Does Pierre know which one I went to? He began to worry, but looking back towards the city it would have been a stretch for him to go west. He could barely see the north-western gate.

Choosing to stay calm, he looked back to the docked ships.

Verra had three. Narimond had one. Jushosh, he counted three, and one from Kern. There weren’t any ships from Allvelore and the more he thought on it, he realized they probably didn’t use ships. What they did use to transport goods, however, was a mystery to him.

The sudden hollers of men covered the air about the dock. Large, gray squawking birds flitted above and the clapping waves against the various ship hulls added to the noise.

He focused upon the first of the Verran ships. Durkquire had to be careful where he stepped. Moving shadows grew upon the docks, and looking up, he found large metal structured beams were lifting and moving pallets of cargo. It carried them off the ships and down to the men servicing the dock’s various crates and barrels.

Looking between all the men that went about their work, Durkquire struggled to pin which was a shipmaster and which was just a crewman.

“Are you lost?” a man gripped Durkquire’s shoulder and turned him around to face him.

“Uh, no. No. I’m looking for the shipmaster of this Verran ship.” He answered.

The man released his shoulder and rested his hands upon his hips. His face sneered as he looked Durkquire over. He had the dark Verran skin, a shade or two lighter than wet dirt. His matted hair was drawn back in a messy fix and tangle of symbolic beading. The man wore a loose vest and pants with sandals.

“What would an ethrean want with a Verran shipmaster?” He scoffed.

“I’m looking for passage to Verra for myself and my,” He paused for a moment, thinking back to Pierre’s suggestion. “Ward. I am his sentry.”

The man’s dark eyebrow rose. “A bodyguard? You?” he didn’t sound convinced.

Have I already messed this up?

“Who is the shipmaster of this vessel?” Durkquire inquired more directly, trying to sound confident.

“I am.” The man responded.

“Can I find passage with you on your ship? I can work.” He didn’t feel confident that this man was willing.

It was confirmed as he shook his head. “I’ll not be found bringing in a pale ethrean. It wouldn’t be good for my business.” He turned him away.

Durkquire sighed and moved on to the next one. It took a little longer to find the shipmaster of this one, but it was the same result. He was turned away.

There was only one ship left.

Durkquire squared his shoulders and approached with full confidence. Even though the last two had not wanted anything to do with him, he had learned what not to say.

He found the shipmaster, directed by one of the crewmen.

“I seek passage to Verra.” He was direct and firm with his words.

The shipmaster looked him over. This man was broad shouldered, boasted a curly brown beard that rested halfway down his barreled chest, and a polished bald head. His skin was lighter than most Verrans, but still within the tones they bore. The clothes he wore were natural toned shades that complimented his skin. They were still lightweight for the chilling air, but easy to layer.

He pulled at his beard and looked down the dock. “I’m bet’n you’ve already tried Gerra and Jupeth.” He sighed. “What can you offer?”

Durkquire’s hopes swelled. He had a chance. “I am willing to work however you need! I can weave well, mend and fix broken machinery. I’ll do hard labor if it will pay for my passage.” He tried not to sound too eager.

“Is it just you?” the man looked to be seriously considering it.

Pierre is coming, will that jeopardize my chances? He wasn’t sure, but he had to be honest. Pierre would be coming to the docks soon. After all the kindness, Durkquire couldn’t leave him behind, even though he had to part with him at some point. Pierre sounded so excited to leave Marmeada too.

“My ward will be accompanying me. He is a Marmeadan elder seeking to travel across all Marmidon. He wishes to see Verra.”

“Ah, good on ya lad. Is he ethrean?”

Durkquire shook his head. “He is a good friend, human like yourself.”

“I will take you both.” He lifted one of his hands. “Name’s Frumar.”

“Thank you!” Durkquire took his hand. It was thick and calloused from years of hard labor. “When do we leave?”

Frumar laughed deeply. “Eager, no? We still need to finish unloading our goods and take on our merchandise. I’d say one full day.”

“Durkquire!” Pierre called from afar off. He was hobbling his way down the dock.

This Verran ship was at the very end of the pier.

“Durkquire? Quite the name.” Frumar noted aloud.

He felt his cheeks run warm. Durkquire had never thought of his name as being all that odd. But it was in part because all those around him had similarly unique names. Ever since Pierre had noted the oddity of ethrean names, he was noticing when others pointed it out.

He lifted his hand, waving to Pierre.

“You know Pierre?” Frumar boasted another laugh. “He’s a good customer of mine. Is he your ward?”

Durkquire nodded. “We met at Yunedale.”

“He’s been saying he’d get off this mainland for over a year now. Looks like he’s finally gonna do it.”

Durkquire looked to Pierre expressing his surprise with raised eyebrows. He watched the thick old man as he walked the last stretch and stopped next to him.

“Frumar, are we taking passage with you?” Pierre’s face widened with his smile.

“Aye, this lad did well to secure you a spot.”

“That’s good. I’ve got my coin purse with me. How much do I owe you for this?”

Frumar looked at Durkquire. “Nothing. Durkquire here has offer his strength to my crew while we sail. I’ll be making good use of him.”

Pierre tucked away his coin and rested his hands at his belt. “Well, I’ll be cursed. You did secure passage through work.” He almost sounded like he thought it wouldn’t have worked.

“It will help to keep busy. Sailing across the Zemin Sea will be a good long week, plus a few days.” Frumar noted.

“Come back t’morrow afternoon. We’ll be leaving two hours past midday. Won’t wait much past that, or the sea will give us trouble.” Frumar gave a nod and returned to his ship and crew.

Pierre slapped Durkquire’s back. “Atta boy. I knew you could do it.”

“You knew Frumar would take us.” He glared at Pierre a little. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew a Verran shipmaster?”

“I’m not going to be with you much past porting in Verra. I’m sorry if it seems like I’m keeping information from you. I wanted to see if you could manage on your own.” He looked out at the ocean waves. “For one that’s never left his hometown. You did good. That comforts me.” He then reached into his pocket and pulled out two small booklets. Pierre offered one to him. “This is your passport.”

“My passport? Don’t they need to see me?”

“Not if I’m your guardian.” Pierre winked. For one that didn’t like lying, this was surprising.

“But you said you—”

He held up a hand. “I know. But it isn’t untrue right now. I am in a way your guardian.”

He reminds me of my father. Durkquire smiled a little. He let go of his frustration, taking the small booklet. He opened it and looked inside at the official stamp of Marmeada. His name was at the top, miraculously spelled correctly. His birth date was off, but that wasn’t Pierre’s fault, Durkquire had not mentioned when his birthdate was, for this, it was of little consequence.

He tucked it away in his pocket and sighed, staring out at the Zemin Sea with Pierre. Tomorrow he would leave Marmeada.