Three Months
by Lara
March
2006
Do not archive, translate or otherwise use this fic without permission. You are welcome to link to this page.
All publicly recognizable characters, settings, plot, etc. are the property of C. S. Friedman. The original characters, settings and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with C. S. Friedman and no copyright infringement is intended. This work is an amateur fan effort and no profit is being made.
Three months at sea. Three months of unexpectedly adverse currents and winds either too strong, too weak or from the wrong direction. Three months of much-needed rest and of soothingly repetitive days, of sleep without nightmares and of guilty relief over this.
Three months of wishing that they would sail faster, that the winds would finally turn in their favour, that Karril was wrong.
The journey to the east had been difficult enough already for Damien. He didn't like ships, especially when Working was impossible and the sea was as rough and unpredictable as it was now. Travel overland was not always pleasant either, but at least there was less risk of drowning without at least putting up a fight. Here, a storm could be enough to overturn the ship and leave them all beyond all hope of rescue.
It was that helplessness that made him uneasy, paired with the knowledge that every day they spent at sea meant one more day for Calesta to work his malice unopposed. They couldn't arrive in Faraday soon enough. At the same time Damien dreaded their return – there was no knowing what they would find. He wasn't certain how much damage Calesta could do in a few months, but any guesses he could come up with were less than reassuring. And there were personal implications as well – how had the Patriarch reacted to his last report? What would he think of what Damien had to say now? His standing with the leader of the Eastern Autarchy was precarious enough already without some of Damien's choices added to the equation.
Impossible to know what to expect. And it would remain so for at least another three months, at the very best, and an unknown time if they had to do what Rozca had mentioned a week ago, and were forced to take the route around Novatlantis. Unknown waters, unknown dangers. They could not even be certain there was a passage there; nobody had explored these regions before, and there might be whole continents blocking their way.
Or maybe not, since Tarrant had not opposed the plan. Damien was not entirely certain, but he suspected that the Hunter owned more surveillance maps from the Landing Crew than just the one they had used in the rakhlands. Still, it would be a delay and Damien felt a sick dread that they could not afford that. They needed to hurry, and every day of waiting without knowing what was happening was grating on his nerves. If only Karril could have shown himself here to keep them updated; but the Iezu travelled on currents of fae, not water, and he could not be summoned here. He knew that Tarrant had tried, and the subsequent irritation and edginess, paired with the dread of the Unnamed, had been enough to make him avoid the Hunter's company for a few nights, as much as that was possible on a ship. Another fear, another uncertainty.
Three months at sea. And at least three more months to come.