Iljian

*…Iljian sat on the plank of his boat; letting his feet dangle into the water. The fishing rod next to him, anchored safely against the railing, served more as an alibi than an actual occupation. In fact, there was already a pan with fish prepared, standing next to the small stove inside and waiting for Liana to return from duty. Overall it was just nice to sit about aimlessly; to sit and appear busy while just hanging after your own thoughts. And today there were a lot of thoughts.

Behind him, scattered over the planks of the deck the remains of his failed report drifted gently in the fresh breeze. After the fourth or fifth paper he had finally given up. The Duke knew all there was to know and he could decide who to tell which parts of the story. The new copies of the Guards’ Handbook lay out in the jail, with an added line to inform them of the death. And that was all there was to it, really. He could have written that he had spent hours running through the forests, draining himself, draining the upset out of him by simply running, searching what had been hinted at in the journal. Running forward in order to avoid any looks back. Not that he had found anything. The way in which she had described the way only left a narrow space among the two rivers, but none of the houses there looked like they had been meant. Or it might have been the river to the south, but he had spent at least an hour searching the jungle beyond for suitable glades… without result. And neither north nor east was a possibility, as she specifically mentioned running through the jungle. So in the end he had returned, feeling worse than before and none the wiser at all. And most likely in trouble from the Duke for having gone off alone.

Now, after a good long swim in the sea and with the determination to write a report finally gone he just sat, staring out at the sea once more. Unfair. Yes, it was unfair. Every stranger coming through the gate received the benefit of doubt and was considered well-meaning by her. Only the guards, that possibly were more worried than anybody else about the wellbeing of the town, only them she accused of pretty much everything bad that could be conceived. Racism, hatred towards this one or that one, towards those groups and them people. Of doing false accusations, of being spiteful, poisonous and whatever else. When, obviously, they were right. To let the drow roam in town freely had cost them another life, another face in the long list of those who had suffered at the hands of criminals. Iljian shuddered violently at the memory of the expression he had seen on the tormented face, the memory of the severed head hitting the ground and coming to a halt before his feet. Was it so bad to worry, to try to protect others? Was it not the own fault of the criminals when they were not given a warm welcome after what they had done? And yes, looks were important too. It just could not be that a guard sworn to the Duke openly supported some of the worst criminals or even worked for them. He had been right, even though he might have been a little less calm than usual, maybe excusable considering all that had happened that night, or maybe not. But he had been right and most of everybody else had said and felt the same.

So why did he still feel guilty?

And anyway, why did she have to go off by herself in the end? Why not just say something, explain what had happened and face the troubles altogether, like they were meant to be? Why keep everything to herself until it was too late, why not speak up before they released the creature from jail again for having no clues, why not show them the lair and all that she had discovered in there? There could not be any doubt that all of the guards would have helped, would have worked together to face the threat, no matter what differences they had had before. So why do it like this, why the useless last stand of the lone hero?

Just to make everybody feel guilty afterwards?

If so, then it had worked. At least on him. He felt horrible. And upset. No matter what he tried to do or say, it just got him in trouble. People would laugh, get upset, accuse him of being pessimistic and grumpy and then, after telling him five times a day that he wasn’t doing things right, wondered why he was still grumpy. Where was the point in it all? The world could probably do well enough without his contribution, so why keep trying. In the end, they would find someone else to laugh at and anyway, they all insisted on doing things their way anyway, no matter what you said. Maybe it was better to keep quiet and to himself again and just pass through duty with as little notice as necessary. Let those sort the troubles that were better at it.

Sunset. Once more he looked up, tearing his gaze away from the hypnotizing waves. No matter what happened, some traditions were just too precious, too good to be forgotten and neglected. The sea was quiet today, as if just for the occasion, just to ensure that it would go far enough. With quick movements he drew the plank in and cast off, setting sail eastwards with the sun on his back. Of course he could not go far from the shore to not attract the monster, but it would be enough, hopefully. From his pocket he drew a patch of cloth, once more reading the few lines inked onto it. Everything that had to be said but could not anymore, everything that he wanted to say and ask, to send along was on there. Neatly written, even more so the harder the contents had been to compose. Fumbling a little clumsily he tied the makeshift sail with his message to the mast of the little toy boat. It was a nice one. Quite big and with carved decorations, even with a small hold, now filled with cookies.

Some traditions were good, good in a way that they made you feel right in your heart. Even if they were hard to do, hard to make yourself do them. Behind him the globe of the lighthouse spread a soft light on the waves as Iljian bend over the railing to put the little boat into the water, giving his last farewell a little push to aim it for the open sea. For a while he watched it go, watched the little vessel dance on the waves before it disappeared from sight. Trinsic waited, Liana would, by now. Time to go home.

Leaving the little boat to its fate he set sail for home. Maybe it would be swallowed by the monster, too, but yes, even that would be only too fitting…