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thewidewideworldThe journey by sea from Thessaloniki to Tyre had not been a pleasant one for Sinric. After bringing him around, the Captain – a laconic, hard faced Arab in Niketas’s pay -- ordered Sinric to stay below and out of sight. The little cabin was cosy enough and food was brought to him regularly by a dark haired boy. A boy who, curious as a cat, had been cuffed by the captain for asking too many questions on the first day.
But Sinric had been sick for the entire voyage. Sick of body and heart.
The drug Castor had given him to fake his death had worked well, but the side effects were hard to bear. Not that Sinric had needed it. After that last kiss, he neither felt nor saw nor heard anything. His world had seemed to end so completely that it had fallen into darkness with Constantine’s last breath.
For the first day and night after being woken from his drugged sleep, Sinric had done nothing but vomit. With nothing in his stomach to void, Sinric’s throat had burned with bile and the strong, coarse liquor the Captain gave him to wash out his mouth.
Even after the worst of it subsided, Sinric had felt ill every waking moment. So he preferred to sleep. He wrapped his grief around him like the furs of Ragnar and Athelstan’s bed and wept till he exhausted himself.
It hadn’t helped that the crossing was rough and the journey made longer by a too busy port they were forced to wait two days to enter.
The delay had cost them the connection with an overland caravan to take him east, but another was being commissioned and well paid to smuggle a disguised Sinric to the trade port of Chang'an.
The first day Sinric was allowed off the ship, he sat on the dock, his hair covered and his face turned up to the sun. It felt like the first time in what seemed an eternity since he'd seen sunlight and it lifted his mood considerably. He sat waiting for the Captain’s messenger to return with instructions and simply basking in the light and warmth of the day.
The door had not come to him, and Sinric missed the people of Milliways fiercely. He wanted to be with Ragnar and Athelstan. To seek out the library and refresh his languages. He wanted to be amongst friends.
But he was free, and his way. The other birds were safe and Sinric was free. And on his way.
He repeated that to himself as a mantra, striving to find positive thoughts in the darkness. Something that was a little easier now he was out in the sun and not throwing up.
How often had he sat on the palace roof, watching the ships sail in and out of the Golden Horn? How often had he dreamt of far off places? Granted his first journey on a boat had not been a good one but he doubted it was seasickness that had driven him so.
But his journey had begun and here in the sun, he was able to look back and see more than just his grief. He would honour Constantine in all things, sing of his kindness and wisdom. He would carry that flame with him across the known world.
Feeling a little stronger as he touched the tattoo beneath his clothes, Sinric closed his eyes and let himself bask.
The captain tapped his arm, holding out the fold of documents that had been waiting with the Harbour Master when they disembarked.
Including a letter from Niketas.
Sinric stared at the page, utterly stricken. This second unexpected blow, it was more than he could take.
The captain grabbed his arm and dragged him bodily towards the shore, his own instructions dropped in a brazier as they passed. "No more delays. You leave with the next caravan." He snatched up Sinric's letter and burned it too.
Never in all his life had Sinric felt so alone.
But Sinric had been sick for the entire voyage. Sick of body and heart.
The drug Castor had given him to fake his death had worked well, but the side effects were hard to bear. Not that Sinric had needed it. After that last kiss, he neither felt nor saw nor heard anything. His world had seemed to end so completely that it had fallen into darkness with Constantine’s last breath.
For the first day and night after being woken from his drugged sleep, Sinric had done nothing but vomit. With nothing in his stomach to void, Sinric’s throat had burned with bile and the strong, coarse liquor the Captain gave him to wash out his mouth.
Even after the worst of it subsided, Sinric had felt ill every waking moment. So he preferred to sleep. He wrapped his grief around him like the furs of Ragnar and Athelstan’s bed and wept till he exhausted himself.
It hadn’t helped that the crossing was rough and the journey made longer by a too busy port they were forced to wait two days to enter.
The delay had cost them the connection with an overland caravan to take him east, but another was being commissioned and well paid to smuggle a disguised Sinric to the trade port of Chang'an.
The first day Sinric was allowed off the ship, he sat on the dock, his hair covered and his face turned up to the sun. It felt like the first time in what seemed an eternity since he'd seen sunlight and it lifted his mood considerably. He sat waiting for the Captain’s messenger to return with instructions and simply basking in the light and warmth of the day.
The door had not come to him, and Sinric missed the people of Milliways fiercely. He wanted to be with Ragnar and Athelstan. To seek out the library and refresh his languages. He wanted to be amongst friends.
But he was free, and his way. The other birds were safe and Sinric was free. And on his way.
He repeated that to himself as a mantra, striving to find positive thoughts in the darkness. Something that was a little easier now he was out in the sun and not throwing up.
How often had he sat on the palace roof, watching the ships sail in and out of the Golden Horn? How often had he dreamt of far off places? Granted his first journey on a boat had not been a good one but he doubted it was seasickness that had driven him so.
But his journey had begun and here in the sun, he was able to look back and see more than just his grief. He would honour Constantine in all things, sing of his kindness and wisdom. He would carry that flame with him across the known world.
Feeling a little stronger as he touched the tattoo beneath his clothes, Sinric closed his eyes and let himself bask.
The captain tapped his arm, holding out the fold of documents that had been waiting with the Harbour Master when they disembarked.
Including a letter from Niketas.
I pray this news reaches you in time.
Castor and Probus are dead.
Probus refused to leave till father returned. Castor fell defending him from Leo. Probus took his own life on Castor's sword.
Knowing you passed out of his grasp, Leo's fury knows no bounds.
There is no place safe for you anywhere in the Empire.
Stay hidden. Stay dead.
Make all haste for East.
Burn this letter, do not come back in his lifetime.
Heaven help Byzantium.
N.
Sinric stared at the page, utterly stricken. This second unexpected blow, it was more than he could take.
The captain grabbed his arm and dragged him bodily towards the shore, his own instructions dropped in a brazier as they passed. "No more delays. You leave with the next caravan." He snatched up Sinric's letter and burned it too.
Never in all his life had Sinric felt so alone.
