They arrive at the wharf at precisely 8 AM (not that this was planned).
There’s a man standing there, to the left of the boat, appearing to have been setting up and tending to it. He’s leaning against the bridge, now, smoking a nondistinctive brand of cigarette. He’s tanned like Maria but has hair as dark as Áesta’s false form. It wraps around his head, from back to chin and back again, like a fur—thick and almost wild—hiding a scar which barely peeks above the surface… His eyes are as blue as the ocean he clearly loves and they light up a little when his gaze meets Jarl’s own sky blue. He waves a bit excitedly.
They wave back: calmly, respectfully, happily, and proudly.
“This is Cael,” Maria introduces with pride once they’re finally before the man and the boat. “My brother.” She grins pointedly at Jarl with whom she shared a connection with over younger siblings. He smiles back. “He’ll steer for ya.”
“Aye,” the younger man nods, snubbing out his cigarette on the bridge wall before tossing it in the trashcan, “Even bring ya back, if ya want!”
Maria guffaws and slaps his arm, “Patience, lad; let them get Jasey back first.”
~
They load up into the little boat—a tiny white and blue floater—with Cael at the head.
He carries with him a pocket full of cigarettes, as nondescript as the one they met him with, and an ore—supposedly; it looks more like a primitive spear but it probably functions the same. It’s probably required, actually, because they’re heading out in the tail of winter; and while the canal isn’t frozen over, it’s still cold with permafrosted banks that have yet to really start thawing. The sharp end will likely aid by piercing them, regardless of ice and snow still abounded, and providing them with leverage more so than paddling.
In the back of the boat there’s a small compartment, a cooler or chest of sorts, which Cael points them to; they stow away their luggage in it and then watch as Cael ties it all down with a thick blue chord.
Then, they’re off.
~
Jarl sits in the front with Cael who’s more standing than sitting (so it’s easier for him to steer, Jarl thinks).
Manus sits behind him with Áesta, both snuggled into each other’s sides like a pair of lovers. Áesta’s smiling, eyes bright with excitement and curiosity and something else—like he’s being fed (by Manus? perhaps?).
With glowing pink pupils, he looks around them: at the tall grass laced with snow that slowly passes them by, at the leaves that float like lost souls in the dark but clear water, and at the way Cael stabs into frozen earth (like Jarl predicted) to pull them along their way and at small icebergs as well to break the icesheets before they hit the boat and cause them undue problems or issues.
Beside Aesta, one of Manus’ hands twitches with the desire to touch the canal, its water, and play with it. Jarl’s not entirely sure what stops him—Cael being here, the knowledge that he’ll probably freeze his fingers, or something else entirely—but he never actually goes through with the temptation.
Apparently, there ARE desires the mage can say no to.
Not that Jarl didn’t already know that.
~
The scenery is quite enthralling.
The snow has piled up a bit since they were last out but has since stopped (for the moment) falling down. There are clouds still thick in the sky, preventing any sunlight from hitting the snow and melting it away. Thus, most of what they see is white with a matte finish or dark gray slush from heavy foot traffic.
The water in the canal, itself, however, it a very different story.
It’s dark, like the sky itself fell down one night and stretched itself thin along the earth to form a long trench that mimics the fables of old: it’s a river of death and a bottomless pit and Hell itself on earth all in one. But, it’s also reflective, like they’re floating on a bed of liquid glass or a four dimensional line of hot, melted sand.
It looks much deeper than Jarl knows it is.
He tries to not let it bother him.
~
The boat ride only takes them ten minutes.
During it, Cael explains a lot of local things to them, including the use of a pointy-ended stick as an ore and why, exactly, you can go boating even in the winter: it’s mostly for trade between the small communities but also for job commutes and just jobs in and of themselves. People need to get to work and people need work, too, so keeping the canal alive all year-round was just the perfect solution.
“Also lets me keep sailing,” Cael continues; “’S my favorite t’ing.”
So much so that he is actually ex-Navy. Cael explains this to them, voice decidedly cheerful, as he breaks ice; like he’s explaining to them why he’s out here, in the near freezing cold, steering a boat for some strangers.
Not that they asked.
And he doesn’t ask, either. He doesn’t ask why they’re out here in the dregs of winter taking a boat ride when they could have easily waited for the spring to fully melt everything. He doesn’t ask why they’re risking frostbite and sickness (which Manus has already, personally, faced) and maybe even death by cold.
It’s like he already knows—probably: Maria already told him—and that’s why he’s out here, in the cold, too, even though he has no real reason to be: to help them by guiding their ferry through the ice and sleet.
Granted, he could just really love sailing; but Jarl doesn’t really think that’s it.
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