Raiders of Uecketev Part 6

Year 22840

Month of Nevemme

Passage to Verra

Durkquire Marks (age 18)

Raiders of Uecketev pt. 6

Ocean spray wet his face as he looked over the railing. It felt wonderful against the heat his body had built up. The sun wasn’t yet at its peak, adding to the cooling effects of the air and ocean spray. Frumar was taking full advantage of him. His work felt endless. Durkquire knew it had an end, but that didn’t change how it felt.

They kept him so busy that he rarely saw Pierre until the end of the day. Once so far, they had put him on night watch. That had been a LONG night.

“Boy!” one of the crewmen called. Nobody other than Frumar called Durkquire by his actual name. His name was “boy” for most of the crewmen.

Durkquire turned around to see a large rag and bucket held out to him.

“The engine room is next.” The man passed off the items to him.

The bucket held some of the cleaning pellets he’d used before. All he needed to do was add water and the pellets would dissolve.

Durkquire followed the man to the center of the deck and down the stairs. Within the cargo ship the sound of the ocean echoed from the outside walls through the halls. It had taken Durkquire a few days to get used to the way the ship swayed. The nausea of the first day was gone and he found himself enjoying the trip, even with the work.

So far, he had cleaned the mineral build up from the captain’s cabin windows, learned about navigation, and been repeatedly on deck maintenance and cleaning. This was his first time dealing with the engine room.

Few turns were made through the metal halls before they were at the engine room entrance.

“Bean will tell ya what needs clean’n.” The crewman left him there.

Bean? He wondered if it was the man’s actual name.

With a shrug, he stepped inside.

There was an immediate change in environment. Durkquire began to sweat. He could see the heat waves coming from an active coal burning furnace at the far end of the room. There were no more than a couple feet between the large pipes and pumping cylinders. Large tank-like barrels of metal gave off the sound of boiling fluids.

A form began to move out from between two of the large systems. He wore a dark side-tied vest over an oatmeal tinted long-sleeved shirt. His tooth ornamented necklace swung and tapped at his collar bones as he stood. The short brown hair of his head was disheveled. His cheeks were slightly hollow and his nose round-tipped. He had the dark Verran skin and the same tired look on his face that he had from the eatery in Solesstriane.

The man looked his direction and his brows pinched. Whether he was concerned or annoyed was hard to tell. His eyes drifted to the bucket in Durkquire’s hand.

“Do you have water?” his voice barely carried past the gurgling boilers.

Durkquire shook his head.

“There’s a spigot to your left.” He sounded annoyed.

The spigot was a bit stiff. Mineral build up made it hard to turn the handle. Water poured out into his bucket. The dissolving pellets foamed and hid the water level with the bubbles. Durkquire turned off the water based off how full the bucket felt. He took the rag and draped it over the edge of the bucket.

“Where do you need me to start?” he turned back to who he assumed was “Bean.”

“Burner two.” He pointed. “Empty the ashes, clean the glass.”

Following the instructions, Durkquire set down his bucket and found the ash bin and shovel. It didn’t take him long to pull all the ashes out, but by the time he finished scraping the ashes, his shirt was soaking with sweat. His exposed skin was stinging with the heat from the active furnace next to him.

The silence began to eat at him. He worked quickly, clearing the ash and dumping it down the chute to be processed. Durkquire wiped the sweat from his brow and watched Bean work.

Bean moved between each of the systems, checking the pressure valves, adjusting bolts, and taking notes. He barely looked Durkquire’s direction.

Is he trying to ignore me?

Durkquire wiped his hands clean and set his soap bucket down next to the empty furnace’s open door.

“So, uh. Bean was it?” he called out.

The Verran stood up, a little stiff and looked his way. “Bien. Bien Arnauv.” Bien corrected.

“Ah. I see how they made that… right. Bien. Have you spent many years working for Frumar?” Durkquire dunked his rag and began wiping at the burnt-in ash on the glass.

“I’ve been with Frumar most my life. Why do you ask?” He still sounded annoyed.

“I just had some questions about Verra.”

Bien stopped his work and faced him. “Why do you of all people want to go to Verra?”

Durkquire paused, his hand half held up to the glass. The soapy water dripped down the cloth and into the bucket. Each drip hitting his ears with the reasons he had.

He had to find his mother. He had to kill the men responsible. Durkquire needed to feel peace and put his people at rest. Each night he barely slept as the nightmares returned. Pierre had even offered several types of herbal teas to help him sleep, but nothing was helping.

Avoiding his reasons for going, he asked, “What is the port like?”

It was a question he felt wouldn’t arouse much suspicion.

Bien’s eyes narrowed as he looked away, returning to his work. Durkquire’s lips curled in as he shook his head. He resumed washing the glass.

He either doesn’t like conversation, or is totally blowing me off.

The next half hour passed as the first. Quietly. Finished with the furnace, he shut the door and took the bucket of dirty water with him. The water sloshed as he set it down to open the door.

“The port has a lot of pick pockets.” Bien suddenly spoke from behind.

The sudden answer to his question made Durkquire jump a little. Facing Bien, he noted that he stood just a few feet from him. The same look of disgust was across his face.

“I’ll remember that. Thanks.” Durkquire tried to ignore Bien’s apparent distaste. “Do the raiders hit the port?” This question held reasonable concerns, while also helping him understand where to start his search.

“Sometimes. They run Verra. Each city is run by a different group. Again, why does someone like you want to go?” He added a glare to his displeased look.

“What do you mean, ‘someone like me?’”

Bien folded his arms and looked away. “Ethrean.” He didn’t sound remorseful at all. “Verra isn’t kind to your type.”

“Noted.” Durkquire pushed the door open and took the bucket.

He left the engine room without looking back at Bien. His mind was now reeling through everything that could go wrong upon docking at the Verran port of Feaerre.

They don’t like ethreans.

He dumped the water and returned the tools to the maintenance room.

Well, that’s bound to make this trip memorable.

Durkquire noted the time and chose to take his break. He returned to the small room that Frumar and lent him and Pierre for the trip. The room was empty as he entered.

Inside, the walls held latched cupboards to store their belongings. There was a desk beneath a bunk on either side with a three-foot-wide isle and a round porthole. He had taken the bed and desk on the left.

Taking a seat, he pulled out a small booklet of his own. It was worn, and had been soaked and dried a few times, but it was one of the few things he had taken with him from Uecketev. The pages inside were mostly bare. A few drooping notes were scribbled upon the first few pages. They were unreadable. When he had found the book, it was half submerged at the edge of the river near his home town. There was no name that he could find scrawled upon it. At this point, Durkquire wondered if it had belonged to someone outside of Uecketev.

He turned to the first blank page and pulled out a pen. The desk thankfully had a few pens for use by the cabin residents. His thoughts churned over everything he could remember from that horrible day. Every detail burned his heart and mind with stabbing pain to recall. It was a necessary pain.

The ink seeped into the crinkled pages as he wrote every detail that came to mind about each man. Dreggar, with his tangled mess of unwashed hair and messily done braids; Herram, the vile man that had seen to the death of every citizen of Uecketev. His face in particular, with the glaring bald head and nose ring, brought fuming anger within Durkquire’s chest. Lastly, Serrath, his slurred tongue made him sound exactly how one would picture a snake if it could speak.

There were other men, but none of them held as much blame as these three. He watched the ink soak into the crinkled page.

I may have to search every Verran city. The thought was a little overwhelming and filled with his own uncertainty.

If Verrans disliked ethreans, Durkquire would have to be actively aware of every person around him. He put away his booklet and the pen. Lifting the latch to one of the cubbies in the wall, he pulled out his pack. He took inventory of his few belongings. The best way he could think of hiding what he was, would be to hide his pointed ears.

He reached up reactively to the thought, brushing his fingers over the pointed tips. His hair was too short to cover them completely.

Bandana or head strap. Either should work.

A knock sounded at the cabin door.

More work I bet.

Durkquire walked to the door and opened it. His back stiffened at the sight of Bien standing in the hall, half turned from the door, his gaze would not meet him.

Bien lifted a hand and offered a folded piece of fabric.

Durkquire stared.

“Well, are you going to take it or not?” Bien finally spoke and met his eyes. “At least with this, you may last a week.”

With a smirk Durkquire took the head strap. “Does Bean care about this ethrean?”

Bien’s nose scrunched with distaste at the sailor’s nick name for him. “I just don’t want to watch you die the moment you leave this ship.”

“It’s that bad?” He tucked the band most of the way into his pocket. “What about Pierre? Will he be alright entering the Verran port?”

“The old man will be fine. Verran’s as ruthless as we may be, we respect the elders.”

“What if I’m an elder?” Durkquire’s smirk widened.

Bien looked unsure. “Ethreans are different. You, you live too long.” He took a step back. “Just make sure those ears are covered before we hit port.”

Durkquire nodded slowly and his smirk slipped away. “Bien, you were different in the Solesstriane market.”

Bien looked away. “That’s because I have to be.”

“So, this is the real Bien. A grumpy, sad mix of someone constantly acting as though they lived in a pit?”

The Verran folded his arms and let out a slow breath. “If you must know, Frumar saved my life. Life has rarely shown me such kindness as Frumar. I'm sure you've experienced events that shape how you look at the world.” He met Durkquire’s gaze again. This time, Durkquire could see the storm behind Bien’s eyes. It was familiar.

He carries the same pain. This realization stabbed at his own recent heartache.

“We dock in an hour.” Bien pointed at the strap hanging partially out of Durkquire’s pocket. “Make sure it’s secured tightly.”

He turned and walked away. The hall repeated the sounds of his footfalls even after he turned the corner out of sight. Overall, it was a strange interaction.

Bien gave off the feel that he would rather not interact with anyone, yet in his market stall, he put on a cheerful face. He thought about the expression Bien had in the eatery of Solesstriane. He had looked depressed. The smile he wore while selling goods was a front.

I wonder what he’s been through.

Durkquire turned and walked over to a reflective sheet of metal that was incorporated into the wall between cubbies. He lifted the strap to his forehead and pulled at the ends, securing it over the top half of his ears. It was just what he needed. Bien’s thoughtfulness betrayed the emotions he showed towards others.

The door to the room opened again and Pierre entered. His expressions were almost always cheerful.

“Are you wearing that into port?” He pointed at the band.

Durkquire nodded. “Bien said I’d have better luck finding what I’m after if I hide that I’m ethrean.”

Pierre nodded. “It is true that they show higher levels of hostility toward ethreans. I agree, that is a good call.” He turned and pulled his own pack from the cubby on the opposite side of the cabin. “Time to pack up. Frumar’s got permission to dock.”

The remaining hour passed quickly. They had their things packed and stood atop the deck as the ship was guided into the Verran dock of Feaerre.

This dock, Durkquire could already feel the difference. Even though the sun was high above them, this port was dark. The shore bore no white sands, no bouldering gray rock. Everything ranged in dark shades of brown and black. The colors of imported goods and the country flag popped out against the dark backdrop.

Durkquire watched the people as they neared. The way people moved about gave off the feel of distrust. Most walked at a casual pace, but a few smaller forms wove and dodged between.

Children?

He glanced across the deck and caught sight of Bien and Frumar in conversation. Frumar stroked his short beard. He was considering something.

“Lad! Look there! Just beyond the port.” Pierre pointed.

Turning from Frumar and Bien, Durkquire searched the dark landscape. He felt his eyes widen.

“Nauxen.” His awed response came out in a whisper.