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Dearest Readers, our journeys are often narrow and winding, but we are streams finding our way to the river, and eventually to the ocean.

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THE HIDDEN SWORD

Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 44: Tributaries

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Irse breathed in and stepped into the light in a ready stance, hand flying to the hilt of the sword.

And feet abruptly stalling to a skid as the intruder turned around to face her. Blinking, she stood frozen, regarding the other for a moment, finally huffing at the sight.

"I'm sorry," she said with a chuckle. "I thought you were a blacksmith, not a cook."

Aproned at the waist, hair gathered in a kerchief, sword sheathed at his side, Okami tapped the soup ladle on his other palm, shrugging. "And yet it feels as if I have been doing more of the latter these past years," he said dryly.

Securing the blade once more in its scabbard, Irse straightened herself, raising an eyebrow at the starkly evolved state of the galley. Before, its shelves only housed cobwebs and jars of half-mold-half-something-else-in-another-life, seeing as how the crew used the galley rather haphazardly to make their own stew, a suspicious slog but at least warm and plentiful compared to the Blackmaul's cold and dry rations.

Suddenly now this small nook in the ship sang of order and tidiness, every wooden surface scrubbed to near polish, unused pots and pans neatly stacked in a ledge and dry not with dust but with spotless sterility.

This must be a dream, the mocking of hunger pangs, and sleep deprivation from bunking in a cabin with an all-hours chorus of ardent snorers.

Blinking yet reluctant to dispel the moment, the elf approached, a questioning finger slowly pointing in suspicion.

"What are you doing here? No, don't answer." She poked at her temples, exhaling, eyes shut tight. "You're just a figment of my imagination, aren't you? My conscience come to haunt me and make sure I don't accidentally destroy anything."

"As with what you did with the Sashenstars' tower roof?"

Wait, not even her own conscience ever acted that smug.

"And if I am but a mere apparition, then how could I give you this?" he said.

Okami reached into his pocket and deftly tossed a small object at his former apprentice. She caught the adamantine, taking a moment to examine the piece. Indeed, how could she have forgotten about it so easily? Perhaps caught up in the haste of packing her things or set aside in the hopes she would return soon to work on her planned meteoric butterknife.

The elf turned it over in her palm, the lamplight reflected on the dark surface in minute bands of color. Seemed solid enough in her hand.

Only one way to find out.

Irse made to bite at the chunk. Alarmed, Okami swiftly seized her wrist.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

"Making sure I'm not imagining things. If I'm truly dreaming right now, then my teeth should sink into a biscuit and not metal," she reasoned, pulling her hand from his and wagging the adamantine, pouting.

"Could you not simply pinch yourself?"

"Right," she said, frowning. "Or…," Irse added, both pointer fingers up. "I could do this instead!"

Giddy, the elf reached over and pinched her former mentor's forearm. Okami made no move to resist, merely staring her in the eye and waiting. Seconds crept by, Irse twisted harder and harder, her own jaw clenching with effort.

"Still not hurting?" she dared, thumb and forefinger starting to ache from the pressure.

"I am feeling nothing but agonizing pain," he replied, deadpan.

Abruptly Irse let go, grinning apologetically as Okami nonchalantly examined the reddened spot.

"Well, that proves you're real, all right. Because the dream you would've been screaming my name and begging for mercy," Irse needled, fingers curled into cruel claws.

And in that dream, she would laugh and laugh and laugh and tear into a whole chuck roast while ignoring his pitiful pleas. Sweet and savory revenge for never letting his apprentice win a practice duel against him.

Lost in the fantasy, Irse sniggered with half-lidded eyes and knuckles on her waist. Only when the other cleared his throat did she snap out of her fancy, sheepishly scratching the back of her neck.

Shrugging, Okami returned to the pot on the stove, removing the lid to sprinkle seasonings into the stew. On a wooden stool Irse parked herself by a narrow ledge fastened to the wall to serve as a makeshift counter.

"Why, if it isn't my favorite bigger sword!" Irse gasped in pleasant surprise. Upon the board, the tachi lay sheathed and swaddled, the hilt peeking out of the cloth like a sleepy newborn.

"Did you miss me? Who's a good blade? The good-est blade in all the realms?" she cooed while petting and scratching the length of the tachi. Had it a tail, the Kogitsune would've been wagging it in equal delight, she knew for sure. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Okami casting a quick glance, a pensive smile on his face.

Patting at the hilt, Irse looked up, frowning. "Say, why did you leave Dearg? Did something happen to the village? The smithy?"

"Worry not, they are all well," the blacksmith replied, dipping a spoon in the pot to taste his work.

Okami recounted how within the day of her departure from Iriaebor, he made the decision to leave as well. To the village headman, he entrusted the forge and its tools with permission to allow anyone to use them when needed. The morning after, he booked a passage to Berdusk in the hopes of catching them while they stayed in the City. He arrived only today while Irse went out for supplies and Kagain happened to be in the ship for a surprise inspection.

It shouldn't have been hard to convince the dwarf of the benefit of hiring someone he has known for a long time and sure wouldn't abuse trust, someone skilled and experienced in both matters of equipment repairs and combat.

"All for the wages of a cook," the blacksmith confessed, sheepishly wiping his unstained hands on the apron.

Irse raised an eyebrow. Of course, trust the complementary bargaining skills of those two.

"So did you follow me here because you don't truly think I can take care of myself?" she questioned him, eyes narrowing.

Always this endearing yet exasperating habit of his – trailing after his apprentice, expecting her to be poking after trouble.

Not that his concerns proved unwarranted, sometimes. Irse snorted. Well, half the time. Irse twitched. All right, half the time plus a handful and a bit more of the time.

And not that his concern wasn't appreciated at all, but surely at some point he must acknowledge she could be responsible on her own too. And not blow up something in the process.

Okami seemed to read the irked expression on the elf's face for he looked at her intently. "Of your swordsmanship, I have no doubts. However, it is your numbers I do not trust."

Well, he wouldn't be wrong. Back in Iriaebor, it appeared painfully obvious how they might be stretched a bit thin with more rookies than veterans. Not even counting those remaining in their posts at the Gate and Beregost seemed enough to bolster their numbers to fend off bandits seeking to waylay their convoy, a worrying likelihood given the news of increasing attacks on caravans along the Coast Way.

An extra sword hand could only up the odds of them surviving any mess they'd get into. At least now, she could look forward to decent fare along the way. Irse sighed and gazed up at the rafters, narrowing a suspicious eye.

Lord Tethrin sure has an odd way of answering petitions, doesn't he?

"And you think things are going to get hairy out there? That is exactly why you shouldn't have come. It's too dangerous," she scolded him, wagging a chiding finger.

He leveled a disbelieving stare at her. "You say to this to one who has known war in his youth?"

Indeed, what a brilliantly convincing argument. Foiled by his riposte, Irse grimaced, finger frozen mid-wag. Not giving up, yet.

"And that is exactly why you should retire completely from the whole fighting business. Put down the sword and live the rest of your days in peace."

Okami's eyes broadened with affront as he pointed the soup ladle at himself. "Retire? Do not speak to me as if I am ancient. May I remind you - my years are a mere decade more than yours and I was still a child myself when you were yet a nursling."

When yet a nursling, she was already instilling the fear of the hells in the nursemaids, folks at Candlekeep had been fond of reminding her.

Irse slammed a hand on the counter and met his gaze, mustering the necessary defiance. "I know, but you've already done enough for me. I'm doing this so you won't have to."

Words now out of her mouth, she fidgeted in her seat and stared askance at the doorway. Taken aback, Okami pursed his lips, awkwardly lowering the soup ladle.

"You believe this is payment to me."

"The least I can do in return… for everything," she murmured, eyes downcast and tapping distractedly at the tip of Kogitsune.

True, joining the Blackmauls had been mostly to help people while earning coin, and perhaps a chance to see Father again along the way. But not even a day from Iriaebor, sudden homesickness had wrenched at her heart, yet bearable knowing he'd no longer be exposed to the dangers of the road, though certainly there were other dangers in the village. Irse scowled at the thought. No, of course, at least those vultures' painted talons weren't fatal, unlike bandits' blades and arrows. Maybe if she sent Okami back and pay Thadd to stand guard each day at the smithy…

Master of Swords and Bean Curds, since when did the ward become the warder?

Evidently too tired to argue, Okami merely sighed and resumed his work, stirring at the pot in stiff silence. Sulking, Irse hunched over the counter and fiddled with the cord of the Kogitsune's scabbard. After a while, he poured stew in a pair of bowls and set then upon the ledge. As his custom, he bowed and gestured to the meal.

"Supper is served," he said. "Please, eat."

Irse slid the bowl to herself, sullen yet no less avid in attacking the stew. Slower and more deliberate, Okami raised the bowl to his lips and slurped fastidiously at his portion. They ate in silence for a while until she made to get up for a second helping.

"Allow me," Okami offered, taking the bowl from her and rising from his seat to return to the pot at the stove.

"You need never compensate me for teaching and sheltering you these years. Since you were my apprentice, you have labored enough."

"Yes, but you still paid me wages," Irse countered. Were it Kagain in Okami's stead, he would've made her pay him. No discounts, too.

Okami paused as if remembering something for the first time. "It would seem I have," the blacksmith agreed while he ladled stew.

"Very well, I have considered," he said, a good while after handing back the bowl. "If you insist on doing so, then I shall ask of you only one thing, a simple request."

Irse perked up, spoon between lips.

"And that is for you to bring me to Candlekeep for an audience with your Father."

She bit on the spoon, puzzling out why.

And then it hit her. Of course, he'd ask to meet her Father – how blinkingly obvious!

All through these years, he must have been keeping a ledger of her infractions and gaffes and blunders, scheming and biding his time for when he might finally tell on her to Gorion. Surely, just one ledger? - her conscience mocked.

Irse panicked. "Wait. What. Why would you wish to see him?"

"Why? Would not anyone be curious to see what manner of a man endured the antics of this fox for a decade and a half before she left him in peace?"

Irse narrowed her eyes, a low growl in her throat. Should've chained him to a bedpost before she sailed off.

"Well fine, I'll take you," she muttered, petulant. "So long as you stick to your job and stay out of the front lines and danger, Mister Cook."

With a quirk on his lips, Okami placed a hand on his heart and bowed low and obliging. Pacified, Irse dipped a spoon in the stew, then stopped by the remembrance of something odd earlier today.

"I went to Amberside this afternoon," she began, pausing to word the question carefully.

How to tell him of the vision in the market, of the certainty it could've been none other? Would he think her having another episode as with the harvest rite years ago? Yet what is there to fear in asking when here now he sat before her with the odds greater of it having been truly him?

Okami looked at her expectantly, awaiting the rest of the tale. Seeing the elf's hesitance, he spoke up. "I remember the place. I planned to go there myself to acquire provisions, but here in the docks there were already sellers of produce. It saved me much time and effort."

"Ohhh," Irse murmured slowly in realization.

"Did anything unpleasant happen to you there?" he followed-up, taking on a worried tone.

"No, nothing bad happened," she replied. Quite the opposite, how one might look at it.

"What I meant to say is-," Irse added, reaching into her pocket to take out the goldenstar, sliding the delicacy towards him. "I bought some of these again. You can have the last piece. Already had two. I know you don't mind not having seconds."

Okami picked up the goldenstar, smiling and nodding his thanks. Irse observed him as he meticulously unwrapped the pastry and took a bite, chewing deliberately. Satisfied, the elf finished the last of her stew, leaning back with a contented muffled belch.

Well then, perhaps this journey's going to be a picnic after all.

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Last day in Berdusk, final preparations to sail before noon occupied every soul in the ship, though strangely the Captain had yet to return. Upon the weather deck every Blackmaul stood at attention as instructed beforehand, for despite the city being prided as lawful and peaceable, Kagain certainly didn't want to take a chance on a possible ambush during onboarding.

Neither would Irse. The elf made the rounds on the main deck, then climbed down the ladder into the hold for a quick peek at the rations. Always check for rats.

"Who d' you think you are? You'll regret this, foreigner," a man shrieked from somewhere close to beneath the stern.

That could only mean one soul in this whole ship. Fighting the sudden panic yet not wasting another moment, Irse dashed through the passageways to reach the afterhold. There, one of the sailors stood backed against a crate, hands up, Okami's blade at his neck.

Not hurt, sweet relief, the Shining One be thanked. "What happened here?" she demanded of the other man.

The sailor frantically pointed to the blacksmith. "Your crazy cook tried to kill me! I was just checking these crates like I should, 'cause I ought to secure them before we sail."

"By cutting through the seals to look inside which is forbidden to all of us?" Okami countered, sword still held up.

As it happened, Okami had gone down for supplies and caught the sailor in the act, crowbar in hand and already reaching into the crate. Diplomatic as usual, Okami had gently reprimanded the man. Transparent as usual, Okami also told him Kagain would learn of this. Perhaps a ninnyhammer as usual, the sailor mistook the katana in Okami's sash for an overgrown kitchen knife and attempted to stab him instead with a dagger.

"Of all the dumbest things to do," Irse said, clicking her tongue. She searched around and grabbed at a coil of rope atop the barrels. "Tried to shank our cook after he caught you dipping your sticky fingers in somebody else's pot, huh? Mister, you better thank Tymora I've already had breakfast before this," she groused while roughly binding his hands from behind.

They marched him up to the helm where Old Salt suggested they tie him to the mizzenmast to await judgment. Right then the Captain arrived, gallivanting onto the deck.

"Friends! I didn't think you would all be this excited to fly from so fair and fine a city." With a puzzled expression, he gestured at the sailor. "Hmmm? Why is Mister Klay bound like so?"

Old Salt explained the situation. Oddly, the Captain remained calm, even appearing bored by the report. Irse furrowed her brows at his demeanor.

"So this man here," the Captain said, waving at Okami in a condescending manner. "Took it upon himself to assault then detain one of my crew without my permission?"

"He is unharmed, but he overstepped his bounds when he tampered with our guest's property," Okami said.

"Aren't you the one overstepping your bounds, Cook? Obstructing my man from performing his duties."

"Which doesn't include trying to hurt one of our ours and stealing cargo entrusted to us," Irse interjected, irritated. If her voice had hands, they'd be wringing this man's neck.

The Captain exhaled, a show of feigned assent. "If a Blackmaul says so," he said with simpering grin, and motioned to two of his men to approach.

"Mister Kurts and Mister Bren, take this gentleman to my quarters. I myself will get to the bottom of this trite misunderstanding." He leveled a challenging gaze at Irse and the others. "Alone," the Captain insisted coldly.

They led Klay to the stateroom and the Captain sauntered casually until he closed the door without haste.

"I don't like this," Irse whispered. Neither would Kagain, for sure.

And he didn't. As expected, the dwarf threatened to chop the entire boat into itty bitty firewood while still afloat when he learned of what transpired. Klay, the sneaky sailor, had been let go mere minutes after his misdeed, never giving the Blackmaul leader the chance to interrogate the man for himself. An argument ensued at the helm, Kagain's threats of painting the sails red with blood eventually notched down to taking his guest and his troop to another ship.

"You will do no such thing, Master Kagain," the Captain said with infuriating confidence. "My ship is the sole vessel trusted to convey him to the Gate, as commanded by none other than the lad's own father, whose position and status I should not have to remind you. Of course, it didn't hurt I came with recommendations from their new and powerful friend."

Kagain growled, rubbing his knuckles, clearly keeping himself from splitting the Captain's mug like firewood with his axe. Indeed, changing ships at the last minute would only serve to throw suspicion on them with such deviation from the plan.

"Fine be it then," Kagain grunted, relenting. "But from this spot on, none cannae sneeze nor piss in this boat without me knowin' or by Vergadain I be flayin' ye' from head to toe an' stretchin' yer damned hide o'er the mast."

Plainly unperturbed by the threats, the Captain responded with a flourished bow and walked away, displaying admirable gall at loudly commending the two men who escorted their fellow off the boat.

For now the incident was pushed in the aft of everyone's minds as they made to depart from Berdusk. Everyone settled into their routines, the crew to their tasks and the Blackmauls to their watch, the passenger and his manservant once more sequestered in their cabin.

Now with the galley up and fitly operational, the elf found a new past time far more productive than pining over imaginary meals – pestering the ship's new cook for pre-elevenses.

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