Afeallan

"Chapter" Twenty

Créda climbed down from his perch. The water in the cove was still. The ship seemed far too massive in comparison to the scenery, casting a shadow across most of the water. The sails were down. Créda, with nothing left to lose but acceptance, swam to the boat. He scaled the helm ladder. There was a cabin. Inside the cabin was a man, his back to Créda. He was smoking a pipe. Créda began to bubble inside. He shook his head and began to laugh uncontrollably.  The man smoking the pipe heard Créda and turned around to face him. He cocked his head, stood from his seat, and unlatched the door to let Créda inside. “Who are you?” asked Rýnelic.

Créda couldn’t speak. He stifled his laughter into a giggle, and then let it all explode out of him again. Rýnelic smiled, confused. Créda gazed up at him through water in his eyes. “Come in,” Rýnelic said, and Créda came inside the cabin. “Take a seat. You thirsty?”

Créda nodded. Rýnelic gave him a drink. He looked different from how Créda remembered. Smaller, for certain. His face was more haggard, unshaved, and the wrinkles had found their way to his eyes. But he seemed more at ease. “You hungry?” Rýnelic jumped Créda out of his concentration. Rýnelic was already ladling soup out of a pot before Créda could answer. He sat down across from the other, playfully watching, as the other ate. “So,” said Rýnelic, reclining in his captain’s chair, “I never caught your name.”

“Créda.” His voice was less wobbly, more controllable, now. He spoke as if his words were required but given freely and in confidence.

“What brings you this far out?”

“I was looking for you.”

“I doubt it,” Rýnelic chuckled. “Who do you think I am?”

“You’re Rýnelic.”

“And why were you looking for me?”

“To prove you are real. That you actually exists.”

“Was there ever any question?” He said this not in the arrogance he used to exhibit, but in earnest.

“There is,” Créda croaked, sorrowful that the fact should have to be stated.

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone has forgotten you were ever in Afeallan.

Rýnelic started up, almost violently, then calmly reclined once again. “That’s probably for the best.”

“You have to come back with me!” Créda said, clutching at Rýnelic’s arm. “Things just aren’t the same. It’s getting worse.”

“What’s getting worse?”

“All of it. All those things you stood against, they’re starting to come back. Léas has forbidden any mention of you. I don’t know. No one’s seen anything. It’s just a feeling I get. Like an impending darkness.”

Rýnelic relaxed again and lit his pipe. He thought about it. “What’s so bad about that?” he concluded.

“It’s insanity, for one. He mentions you one day and the next you never existed. We’ve lost all control. We need you to balance him out. No one else sees that.” He paused. “May I tell you a secret?”

Rýnelic exhaled slowly “sure.”

“I would never have found you if I hadn’t climbed that cliff to,” he gulped “to jump off.”

Rýnelic sat up but maintained his composure. “Why would you want to do something like that?”

“Because there’s nothing to go back to and nothing in between. It’s madness everywhere.”

Rýnelic reached across the gap between them and poked him on the shoulder as he said “Why don’t you change it?” He emphasized the “you.”

“How am I supposed to change anything?”

“How did I? Everyone said I made some great change, stood for some greater cause or justice. I didn’t do anything.” Rýnelic reclined, reminiscing.

Créda looked both proud and dejected. Disillusioned. Rýnelic noticed and ran his fingers through his hair, not knowing what else to say.

“Can I stay here, with you then?”

“Why?” he chuckled. “I thought you were the only sane one left in Afeallan.”

“That’s why I want to stay.”

“You can’t run away from your problems, kid.”

“That’s what you did, isn’t it?”

“How is the Owner of the Tavern?”

“He’s dead. That gambling machine he bought, it killed him. A man lost all his wages and stabbed him. Said it was rigged. Léas had him hung.”

Rýnelic stiffened. “And Byldan? How’s Byldan? Do you know?”

The tone shifted back to one between mentor and pupil.

“I don’t know, to be honest. She stays locked up in that castle of yours.”

“What castle?” Then Rýnelic remembered. He was about to say something, then changed his mind. He said instead “Do you think you could deliver a message?”

“I can try, but no guarantees. What do you want me to deliver?”

“Just a note.” Rýnelic scribbled some words on parchment.

“What does it say?” Créda asked curiously.

“Remember me.”