I crinkle my nose at the light touches, tiny fingers tickling my face, tracing my beard.
"What a curious boy he is," I think, my eyes still closed.
Wait...boy?
I fly up, my spine crackling at the sudden movement. I visually explore the area around me- a beach, it seems- but I am alone.
Touching my cheek, I can almost feel the other fingers still. Though my eyes had been closed, I just...knew that there had been a small boy with me.
My other hand, holding my torso steady, clenches. It almost closes, but for the sand entrapped in it. Bringing it closer to my face, I blink, adjusting still to the daylight.
The sand sparkles; black, red, brown.
"Strange," I murmur to myself. From other experiences with this material, it is usually much lighter, closer to gold in colour. I let it trail from my fingers onto my leg, flowing afterwards down onto the ground, joining its countless bretherin again. As the last few grains leave my hand (save for a few small sections caught in my sweat), I become aware of my overall soreness, and have to lie down. My whole body feels like it was set ablaze, and does not want to shift, lest the fire restart.
My mind slowly runs through yesterday's events, and the small tears that escape my eyes re-moisten my ears and hair, washing some of the salty ocean's kiss from my flesh.
Kamini
What of my wife? And the men? I watch the clouds crawl across the light sky, and pray to the gods that I am not the sole survivor.
Am I even a survivor, though? My mind is cruel. I must be alive, I reason, from the soreness I feel. "There is no way this is Valhalla." I speak aloud, my usual low tenor raspy and crackling from thirst.
The sun grows hot on my face and I decide to move, at least a little, if just to get out of the burning light. It will do me no good if I stay so exposed to the weather, anyways. As I sit up, (slower than last time, now feeling each bruise on my torso) I peel off my soaked tunic, and undo my remaining boot. The tunic is full of small cuts, and when I prod one, it joins with another to create a larger hole. Even though I know better, I poke more and more of the holes, until the front of the garment is nearly splt in two.
My cloak went down with the knarr, so I drape my tunic over my back and ease into a standing position, steadying myself on the uneven and unstable sand. As I shift side to side, the sun's reflection on the water shifts, and illuminates something by the waters' edge. I make my way over, each leg gradually adjusting to the feel of pulling itself from the sinking ground.
The ocean tickles my toes while I dig the item loose: I am rewarded with my sword, scabbard included. I am lucky that the ocean did not claim it- the final gift from my father, before he grew ill, and could no longer work his forge. He took such care when making it, tracing a defensive rune into the base of the blade, and working a small emerald into the hilt. I almost couldn't accept the gift, seeing the burn marks on his hands when he presented it to me, though he tried to hide them in his sleeves. I finger the green stone now, and cannot help but smile, remembering Father. I hope Valhalla equipped him with a sturdy forge and all the materials he could ever want for his work.
Instinctively, I reach to tuck it into my belt, but then remember it did not make it through the storm, and have to carry my sword in hand.
I turn my back to the ocean, and take in the land- the dark sand, which, after looking at the water for so long blended right in as though I was standing on the waves, ascended slightly, then fell into a dark forest, seemingly sinking into the earth. Looking to either side, I see that the land curves around a bend on either end of the beach, dissapearing behind the turns.
I look to the sun, and decide to travel to the closer bend, that stretches to the north-west, if the sun's guidance tells me anything. I trek along, my head facing forward, but my eyes constantly checking the water and the land, for any strange movement, hopefully that of a comrade.
-0-
-0-
I hear the men before I see them, and I quicken my pace, recogising the tongues that are wagging. I had been walking for a while, and, once the trees had not offered danger, gave me shelter from the Sun. As such, the men did not see me until I spoke.
"Krusa! Bernhold! By Odin it is good to see you two!" I call, my voice breaking a little, still dry from the ocean.
"Halfdan? Is that really you?!" Bernhold drops something from his arms and comes running in towards me, and the two of us envelop into a hug, clapping each other's backs. My soreness has lifted somewhat, from the excercise, which is a relief, else this would have hurt more.
"We thought for sure you had not made it!" Krusa picked up what Bernhold dropped- one of the supply boxes from the ship, I think- before coming over. While Bernhold seems mostly unharmed, Krusa has his left arm tied up, bound to a wood plank with a shred from Bernhold's tunic, the cloth's colour giving it's origin away. Krusa sees my gaze and makes a small move to hide the injury.
"It is nothing. Just a scratch." His grey eyes divert, looking out to sea. "Have you any news of the others?"
"None." I taste the tartness of the word before it even crosses my lips, and we all grow silent as it settles, sending us into our thoughts, wondering how many more had made it to shore.
"We had best get out of the sun," I break the silence at long last, feeling the heat on the arm I have around Bernhold's shoulders. "We will have time to find everyone once we have rested."
-0-
It is only when we are settled into the shade of the forest (which proves denser than I thought, the trees clumping together in an entanglement of trunks and branches), that I remember my vision of the boy, and I realize I am touching my cheek, ghosting over the flesh.
"I hope the locals are kind," I murmur, which Krusa catches.
"Locals? You mean there are more people here?"
I glance over to Bernhold, who has gone further into the foliage to relieve himself. He is very exciteable, and has, on more than one occasion, gone running off at the mention of treasure, a few of those times in the wrong direction. I don't want to mention the boy in front of him, but I decide he's far enough away to not hear me telling Krusa about my morning.
"When I awoke," I lean in closer to my companion, who reciprocates my movement. "Before I opened my eyes, I felt someone touching my beard. A boy, I think. When I opened my eyes, he was gone."
"A boy?"
"Yes, quite young, maybe three or four years old, I believe."
"But, you said your eyes were closed-"
"I can't explain it." I wave my hands a little, exasperated at my inability to explain, to both Krusa and myself. "I did not see him, but...I still saw him. I don't understand it."
Krusa sits back, thinking. Whenever he starts to think deeply, his left eye wanders, shaking in its socket a little, not seeing. I watch the blue orb travel, trying to think as well, but the eye is distracting.
"A vision from Odin, perhaps?" The eye ceases its wandering and looks back to me. "Perhaps it is news of Kamini's survival?" Krusa is hinting at how my wife and I had yet to have any children, something I still long for, a family with my beloved.
I nod, agreeing. "Until we are sure though, I think it wise to keep this from Bernhold." I jerk my elbow to where he had gone, and, from the sounds that grow closer, he must be returning from. "He may get excited and go in search of the child, and we should stay together until our crew is whole again."
Krusa nods, and we turn our heads to spot Bernhold coming into view, some distance away. He must have taken the wrong way back. I call him back when he starts scouring the area, realising he might be lost. He sits down heavily, and we start to discuss our next move.
-0-
I really don't like leaving Kumajiji with America, but it's the lesser of two evils than leaving the cub home alone, so I wrestle the small furry fury out of the car and carry him across the yard and up the steps. I hold him up so he can ring the bell himself- a compromise of sorts- then pull him in close again, waiting for my brother to answer.
Waiting.
Waiiiiiiting.
Waiiiiiii-
Oh come on!
I ring the bell this time, making sure the button pushes all the way down, a faint chiming coming through the mahogany door. Well, at least I know the doorbell isn't broken.
I check my watch. Three minutes. That's all I can give him.
-0-
The five minutes I gave him gave me nothing, so, shifting Kukukajoob to my one side, I go for my keys. Good thing I have a copy of his (Al has a copy of mine, too: the unspoken rule about using them is that we have to ring the bell first, before barging in. Or, my rule is anyways.)
"You could just take me with you, maybe?"
"Better not; you'd get sea-sick, and freak out the crew."
"I'd be good! Like when I pretend I'm a toy on airplanes!"
"You mean you weren't just sleeping?"
I click open the door and push it open with my shoulder, putting the keys away. I slip off my sneakers before wandering into the house, peeking into the living room. It's empty- well, nothing living is in here, anyways. I step around the pizza-box fort to see better, but Al's not in here. I let Kurasai down (it's not like he can get out, right?) and take in the mess. He must have been binge-playing again, by the stack of delivery takeout boxes that compliment the fort.
The room is decorated to look fairly modern, but there are a few old keepsakes hanging around, which a human might take for family heirlooms. One such piece is the map on the wall- only the one side of our continent is actually traced, and very poorly at that. Most of Oceania isn't even on it.
"I remember this," I say to (mostly) myself, and the bear, who's probably not even listening. "This was Arthur's. He brought this with him whenever he visited..."
"England? What's that?" A much younger Canada stood in the doorway to England's study, tucked away in an upper floor of America's house. America had been standing next to his twin, but had walked right in, wanting to know as well (and deciding that coming up close would help).
"Hm? Oh, it's the world, poppet." England, seeming only in his very late teens, pulled back, inviting the 8-year-old (physically, anyways) colonies to take a look.
"This is you two," he wiped his finger across North America, showing them. "And this is me over here." He quickly pointed to his little island, a little embarrassed about the size difference.
"And this?" America stabbed the paper with his finger, making a slight smudge on the map.
"Careful! Where? Oh, that's Spain."
"You mean 'the looting bastard who can't mind his own bloody business'?"
"Erm, well..." England looked uncomfortable as he realized how much he swore around the younger countries.
"What about this?"
England seemed relieved to have an out and quickly looked to where Canada had poked. Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, which were still monstrously large, even then, in confusion.
"That's the middle of the ocean, there's nothing there." He looked to the shorter blonde, wondering if there was something wrong with Canada's eyes.
"No, there," he pointed a little higher on the page, to a dark smudge. It had been, once upon a time, a few lines all swirling, but a spill had swirled them together.
"Oh, that's just a mistake. The currents there are quite bad, so ships tend to avoid that area." England set an elbow on the desk and leant on it, staring at the smudge. "I seem to recall Connor sending a ship out to investigate, but I'm not sure whether they came back. They probably sank, is what happened." The casualness of the statement sent a slight shiver down the North American's backs, and they each grabbed a bit of England, pulling him away from the map.
"That's boring! Come play with us, Iggy! Before you have to leave!" America pouted, using the puppy eyes he knew England could not resist, pulling the Brit's leg, keeping the foot aloft.
"Urgk- all right all right! Watch it!" England hopped along, trying to catch up so he could free his leg.
"Yo, Canadia!" Matthew was jolted out of his memory by the arrival of modern-day America, who pulled off his headphones as he entered the room. "When did you get here?"
"A little while ago- you shouldn't have your music so loud, eh? I rang the bell."
"Sorry bro. 'Noise-canceling'." He gestured to the headphones, then came up next to his brother, looking at the map. "The world sure looks different now."
"Yeah. People know South America isn't a weird rectangle."
"And Greenland has a western coast."
"And Antartica isn't so pointy."
The two shared a grin. "So where are you headed again?" America asked.
"The smudge."
"Really?"
"Yeah. 'Guess I get to see what it really is, eh?"
America blew a small laugh out of his nose. "Probably just some currents. There's nothing there, dude."
-0-
*Connor=Ireland
ff: *stares from doorway* Oh we'll see Al, we'll see what there *snickers while backing into shadows* *trips over something in shadows* *falls over*
America: What was that?
Kumajiro: Some weirdo.