Chapter Thirty-Six

The northern sun felt cooler, more tolerable the further north She Wolf travelled. The wind carried a briskness that forced both Franque and Krist to purchase a heavy coat from the quartermaster. The newcomer, Sven Nielson, found himself hopelessly indebted to Ben Thompson, the thieving bastard, as well. The trio wondered but never discussed with each other whether his price on jackets had gone up closer to Fjorik.

Franque watched from his task of patching sails while Krist scrubbed boards with Sven. The pair seemed to be enthusiastically enjoying their newfound friendship. Krist’s desire to learn more about his roots proved insatiable, while Sven equally enjoyed teaching about his homeland. It all bothered Franque immensely, especially considering Krist told Sven who their grandfather was.

“I swore him to secrecy!” Krist promised after his brother called him out.

“It doesn’t matter. It was a mistake! What if the rest of the crew finds out? Or worse, Boats? They’d flay us!” Franque had argued.

But so far the man had kept his agreement, but that hadn’t curbed his eagerness to teach Krist all about the northern kingdom. Unfortunately, he also brimmed with stories about the All Father. Headmaster and the other historians of Andalon had their story wrong, it seems. Skander Braston, the younger of the two princes, had been the one to invade the cities united under Estonian rule. He had discovered a dark secret kept close by the Esterling family and committed to righting their wrongs.

“He was a liberator,” Sven said of the King of Fjorik. “He discovered rooms in each of the cities he invaded, each filled with emotants who the crown had been farming to steal power for Falconers.”

“You make this Skander sound like a good guy,” Franque said without looking up from his sewing.

“He most certainly was! He became a father to those he rescued, not like his brother, Braen, who ripped ships apart with his mind,” Sven insisted.

This version of events caused Franque to cringe, thinking of how he would have done the same to the immigrant vessel. Braen really is my father, then. I would have ripped that ship apart, too, if I could have. Like father like son, I guess.

“How did the younger brother become king, then?” Krist asked.

He’s got no idea the king was his father, Franque thought angrily, sticking himself with a needle.

“Braen Braston could not wait to be crowned, and Krist Braston stood in his way. So he murdered his father in his sleep, barring him entrance to the Heavenly Hall. Skander tried to catch him, but Braen fled like a coward.”

Wonderful, Franque thought, my father was a lunatic, a murderer, and a coward!

“Well, coward or not, Braen is our father and I wish I could have known him,” Krist admitted.

“Which of you is oldest?” Sven asked.

“Franque is,” Krist said, “by only a few minutes.”

“Well, Franque, that makes you the king of Fjorik.”

“Quiet!” Franque set down his mending. “Both of you shut up right now! Someone will overhear!”

“C’mon, Franque,” Krist urged, “don’t you want to be king?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Well I do! Sven, take me to Fjorik and crown me!” Krist said with a laugh.

Franque suddenly had a thought. “Who is in charge of Fjorik?”

Sven turned thoughtful and a bit sad. “It’s provincial, really. Each noble family has a claim, but none can replace the All Father. They bicker and fight among themselves, but the priests know the All Father will return.”

“Return?” Krist wondered.

“His second coming will be his permanent reign,” Sven agreed.

“Second coming,” Franque laughed out loud. “What are the signs of this second coming?”

Sven grew very serious, leaned in, and whispered. “He’ll perform miracles. Our All Father will bring down lightning from the heavens, rain, and snow from the clouds, and even walk on water! The beasts of the sea will answer his call and, best of all, he will be dead and dying, and reborn by water!”

Franque felt a knot form in his stomach and watched his brother for any reaction. Thankfully, Krist only watched with as much interest as he would any other folk story. He doesn’t know, Franque thought, or doesn’t realize.

“That’s enough!” the older brother decided. “We’re Andalonian and don’t believe in any of that superstition!”

“Yet, you have Dreamers,” Sven pointed out.

“I don’t care much for them.”

“Neither do I,” Krist agreed.

“Yet, you believe in superstition, as long as it’s approved by your government,” Sven pointed out.

“I… you’re twisting my words!” Franque protested. “I just told you I don’t care for Dreamers!”

“Have you ever met one?”

“Yes,” Krist replied, “two. They came for our brother Robert a few weeks back.”

“Came for him? What’s his crime?” Sven asked with a knowing smile.

“Okay,” Franque tried a different argument. “So maybe your All Father is a water emotant. That doesn’t mean he’s a god!”

“It proves he is. Water makes up nearly everything in our world. We breathe air that holds humidity, we drink lakes, rivers, streams, and brooks. Our bodies bleed with it when punctured.”

“The Pescari would use similar arguments to suggest the sun is their goddess of fire,” Krist agreed with his brother.

“Yet, you were healed after being dunked in seawater,” Sven countered.

“I wasn’t,” Krist argued.

“Prove you weren’t!”

“I… I can’t.”

“So goes it with religion,” Sven said. “I say you’re reborn by water, yet you disagree. Regardless, you were near death when pirates plunged you into the briny abyss, and you emerged whole. Your heart beats, your mind functions, yet you call it by chance. Krist, you are the grandson of a king, you told me so, yourself…”

“I’m not the All Father,” Krist snapped. I’m a man, nothing more!”

“Brother,” Franque admitted, “I think you might be… I’m not sure, but I think you are more than a normal man.” Then he told them about his night ashore in Eston, and his encounter with Gretchen.