How does one describe the sea? To us it is merely a facet of life. To anyone who lived on the Isles, the coast is but a day on foot. We are raised on salt and fish; we wake to the shriek of gulls. The ever-present fog and the grey northern seas shape us into born sailors. Every child of the Isles who keeps the covenant knows instinctively where the Lighthouse is. That is how we alone can navigate the Ghost Sea with any degree of accuracy, we beat the Æsc’s on that count. That is why we and not they are the best sailors in the world. No, I am not bitter that they drove us from our homes and killed our gods. Shut up Marcus, your Free Cities are no better than the Reich. You both play pretend with the corpse of the Old Empire. This is all history and should remain as such.

My first impression of the sea was overwhelming. The roaring tides and racing gale struck me how insignificant our endeavors were before the deep. The Bright Lance cut into the grey nevertheless, and through wind and muscle we rode the waves. There is very little space on a ship, even less on a single deck vessel. Even with gaps in the rowing banks the whole ship was a packed frenzy of action. Everybody who was not otherwise involved in the running of the vessel were manning the oars. Despite what you may think, good oarsmen are a rare commodity. Here in the south you fill your galleys with convicts and slaves; there is more to the act than muscle and the lash. Wulfric had paired each bank with a seasoned hand and a new hireling. We all fell into a steady rhythm set by out counterparts. It’s like marching, there is a knack to it. I got my first blisters that day, my hands were soft, and nothing makes calluses like rowing.

We were bound for the western archipelago; the scattered islands and natural bays were nursing grounds for the newborn calves. The mothers would not abandon their young when we came with our cruel harpoons and greedy knives. They were also good staging points where we could land the cooks and butchering teams. Working in pairs, the Red Smile and Bright Lance would drag fresh carcasses to the shore. There we could methodically strip as much flesh and fat as we wished. A cruel profession? Why yes, it is, but so is farming and gods forbid soldiering. Have you considered the monstrous form of slavery we enforce on cattle? Or how many women and children were put to the sword by the flower of chivalry? I jest, this is sophistry, forgive my humor.

For the first time in my life I saw the Lighthouse grow distant then vanish from sight. It is a strange thing to describe the light houses influence to an outsider. We departed before sunrise. As the predawn light cast its nascent illumination, we made haste to set sail. I parted with my family at our doorstep. They had wanted to walk me to the ship, but I had firmly refused. It would have just been more ammunition for Hass and his cronies. I had enough problems as it was, I did not want to bring my family into this. Perhaps I was scared that my father would not allow me to go. I thought it would have been demeaning for him to be there. Pride, we all have it, but it is at its worst when you are young.

How was the voyage you ask? In truth I remember very little. I was so focused on not failing at the oars I saw nor did little else. Wulfric himself had his arms around the tiller as he steered us through the grey wake. I remember a lot of grunting and the all-consuming crash of waves. My hands were rubbed bloody and my whole being exhausted.

With an Isle navigator and well-seasoned crew, you can make landfall in a day from Lighthouse Keep. Nobody except us and the Northmen spend their nights at sea. Getting lost out in the blue and even worse the grey is a death sentence. Most of your continental ships hop coast to coast or ply the well-known sea routes. We are a little bolder in our endeavors, we navigate between the Lighthouse and the stars. Still nobody wants to spend a night on a cramped long ship, that was a sure way to stiff bodies and stiffer attitudes. I remember a skin of water being passed around and there probably a bite to eat as well. The water was sweet, I remember that clearly. I had lived a privileged life thus far my friends. It speaks well of my father and little of me.

Time flew. In between my dogged rowing and the occasional glimpses of the grey, I had realized that the sun was setting. The sun is strange in the north, on many days it was only in the evening that we saw any of its golden rays. It is stranger still in the frozen ash lands, there the sun lasts for days without end. Anyhow I felt a wave of inexplicable relief as the looming shadows of an island emerged from the perpetual fog. We would spend the night on solid ground with a chance to stretch our limbs. Off the boat there was the prospect of a fire and a hot meal. Despite the hot work at some point I felt a chill set into my bones. I relished the coming end of the day, I looked forward to the rest.

“Steady lads! We want to land her at the beach not crash her!”

Wulfric had us pull up the oars for the beaching. Whilst the Bright Lance and the Red Scar were light enough to be pushed on and off the shingle, coming in too hard would damage the hull. I was wet, tired, bloody, and cramped. When the ship contacted the sand, I was fighting to get to my feet.

“Come on you whelps, get her on to the sand. Unless you want to be stranded when the tide goes out!”

Wulfric had a rope tied to the ship and we all were all pressed into drag it further onto the beach. Oskar and his crew had landed not a few yards away and were doing the same. The day was not yet over despite my wishes otherwise. Here is a good lesson for anyone, look after your equipment before yourself. That way you can trust it to look after you when you need it. A hard lesson to take when your hands have been rubbed bloody and you’re shivering like a wet rat. Still I learnt all the same.

I was like an automaton by that point, I clumsily followed orders with little thought. My place in the line was close to the ship. Gingerly clasping my hands around the towing rope I pulled with the crew. With my feet in the freezing surf I struggled to pull my weight. I was numb and off balance, when a blow came to the back of my knee I fell forward into the sand. For a moment I was choking in a mire of wet sand, then a sharp kick to my side jolt me to my knees. Looking over my shoulder I saw a grinning Hass coming in with another kick to my midriff. Catching me in the gut I heaved and felt bile rise.

“Get up you lazy shit. Too good for working, now are you?”

Everybody’s eyes were on me now. They were hard men and had no pity for what they saw. Nor should they, the weak had no place here. I attempted to heave myself to my feet, but I was tired, and my stomach churned. Instead of rising I fell back down and threw up into the surf. Winston broke from the line and picked me up afterwards. I remember looking ahead and seeing Wulfric at the head of the column. There was irritation and disappointment in his eyes.

We made camp further inland. Wulfric was thorough and made sure we kept a watch. I did not know then, but we were not the only ones to hunt our quarry. The natives and the Æsc’s whaled in these waters too. Any foreign vessel met along the way was considered fair game. The watch was equally for our own safety as it was for spotting targets of opportunity. Far from civilization we are all pirates. Nobody asks too many questions when you come back with silver and spend it generously.

Wulfric invited me to share his fire for the night. That was an order; I had enough sense to know it. I sat in a circle with Wulfric and Winston. Between us was a crackling flame of twigs and driftwood. The Captain had summoned me but had said nothing in our time together. That suited me fine, I was more occupied with my torn hands. They hurt but I didn’t harp on about it, instead I rubbed in some ointment and wrapped them in bandages. Cattails and willow bark work wonders, I was no cirugion but I knew how to patch myself up. Somewhere in the camp was a pot of oats being prepared by Stan and a few helpers. In the north it is more a savory soup than the sweet kind you have in the south. I could smell the fat added to the pot and it was maddening.

“So boy, where are my whales?”

Wulfric was picking his nails with a dagger; he hadn’t looked up to address me. I caught flat footed by his question.

“I don’t know.”

“Hm. Then what do you think will happen tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.”

“The men will leave this island looking for our prey. It will be a long and hard day. We will scour the surrounding waters. If we are lucky, we will catch something, if not we will have wasted a day. I would like not to lose time and resources on a fruitless hunt.”

He gave me a meaningful look and had nothing more to say after that. He expected something from me now. Wulfric was a jolly drunk who took his ease with a bottle. It was easy to forget that he was a hard bastard. Or in my case, not recognize him for what he was. I kept my silence as well. Winston had left to collect our share of dinner and I was left alone with the silent man. For the first time I began wondering if this entire affair was a terrible mistake. I ate my oats ravenously; I burnt my tongue on the thin gruel. Winston attempted conversation but I was far too miserable to engage with anyone. When everybody slept in their bed rolls, I lay awake as my skin itched and pulled taught from the unwashed salt. This was the beginning of my education that would lead me to the continent.