From the wreckage of a hundred or more ships, I crafted a sturdy canoe, large enough to withstand the crashing waves but small enough that I could hold its sail and its single oar alone. I cut apart the robe that had been given to me at the temple of the dragon, stitching its panels together to craft a sail; the oar was a fortunate find, washed up in a frigid tide pool. Water and weather had split it almost in two, but I tied it together with sinew and rope, and it held well enough. It would get me out to sea.
All the while, the sun rose lower and set more swiftly with each brief, passing day. I worked by firelight. The pilgrims maintained a bonfire of driftwood and animal dung. We ate from our shared stores and from what little we could gather in the tide pools: tiny shrimp and spiny urchins, as well as kelp and seaweed. I harpooned a seal soon after my arrival, and that fed us well for many days and earned me a place among the pilgrims.
How they stared at me, day and night, watching me work. They were a strange, pale lot, with sunken eyes and bodies bent from carrying heavy packs and eating little for months at a time. They had walked, they said, for the better part of a year, almost entirely on foot. When the bitter winter ended, they would make their return journey, carrying with them all that they would need.
Still, when a great squid washed up upon the shore, its dead flesh shining like still water and reeking of the deep, they left it alone. One must not eat the flesh of a god, they said.
Continue reading “Journey to the Water Chapter LXIV: The Gate of Bone”
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