The first days at sea had been disappointing.
The excitement of following the steward to his berth didn’t last after he met his neighbors. The passengers around him were dressed in the most exquisite clothes he’d ever seen, cut to fit close to their bodies.
They perused his oversized clothes, looking to his berth with disbelief before the smiling mask of good manners came over their faces. His neighbors nodded in passing and acted pleasant, but they never invited him to join them.
His heart ached when he thought of how long the Bard must have saved to buy him that ticket. His first week onboard gave him the first dose of loneliness he ever knew in his life.
But that was trifling compared to how he felt when his grandfather died.
He knew the moment the Bard passed on. He’d been at sea a couple of weeks. The morning was lovely with the sun shining through wispy clouds and reflecting a bright wake along the sea.
But the air stung his cheeks and wind pierced through the patches in his wool coat. His mittened hands were buried in his pockets, but he still had to rub his fingers together to keep them feeling.
The other passengers avoided the cold, so he was alone on the deck when a sudden wash of heat crashed over him. He was sweltering and the image of his grandfather backlit by a mountain of fire came to mind.
The vision lingered. The heat absorbed in his skin while the slap of the wind relented to the caress of a breeze.
The Bard had come to say good-bye, but the affection of the farewell gave him no comfort. Knowing his grandfather was no longer of this world dropped him to his knees, his hands clenched to hold onto something that was gone.
A steward found him an hour later.
He was lying on the deck curled into a ball, his eyes squeezed shut with tears frozen on his cheeks.
The steward carried him to his berth, and revived him enough to learn what happened.
After that, he knew the crew kept a close watch on him and even his neighbors tried to be kind. But he neither saw nor heard any of them. He avoided people, leaving his cabin only to descend to the decks where nobody went.
One day, his melancholy was disturbed by the whisper of an unfamiliar voice.
“Hey there, Kid.”
The stranger caught him off guard.
He was too surprised to pretend he didn’t hear and turned toward the stairwell leading to the lower holds of the ship. From the tour he took on his first day aboard, he knew no passengers stayed down there, only cargo and rats.
But there were two men peering at him from the cracked door.
He wouldn’t have seen them but for their bright yellow hair.
The men opened the door wider and he saw they must be from the northern countries. They had eyes in the same deep blue as the rivers of ice covering their land for centuries. But the warmth and sympathy he saw in their gaze melted the freeze of his isolation, and he no longer felt alone.
“What are you looking so sad about?” they asked.
The captain and stewards were relieved he finally came to the dining room that evening and ate with so much enthusiasm. They didn’t see him wrapping breasts of chicken and mounds of potatoes in his napkins to hide them in his pockets.
His presence in the berth was pretense after that day. He stayed in the bowels of the ship with the Northern Brothers, the joy and laughter they shared keeping the gnawing ache away.
His new friends took him in that first year after they came to port and initiated him in the libertine ways enjoyed by wanderers.
They got him drunk for the first time, taught him how to ride in caravans, fight off thieves, and steal aboard ships. But after they bought him his first woman, the days were marked until the one when he would move on.
It was his eighteenth birthday.
The Northern Brothers teased him until he admitted the reason he avoided the brothels when they went. His cheeks were hot when he told them he had never known a woman.
“That settles it then,” they said. “Tonight, you’re coming with us.”
He remembered what his grandfather always said about following his heart and tried to refuse.
The Northern Brothers wouldn’t hear it.
“You may be blind to how the ladies look at you,” they said. “But we’re not, and you’ll thank us for this later.”
His heart pounded as he followed his friends into the brothel. Yet the Wanderer was disappointed with the prostitutes.
They weren’t beautiful with their painted faces and unnatural smiles. On a second glance, he saw one who appealed to him. She seemed more comfortable in her skin and stood apart from the others.
She also gazed at him in a way that kindled something he’d long forgotten. So he went with her and she brought his lust to life.
The Northern Brothers later told him she was considered the best, and the Wanderer had no doubt that was true.
Once released, his desire became overwhelming.
But he lost interest in the brothels, for the women of every day distracted him the most. The leisurely whirl of modest garments made it difficult for him to breathe. The scent of perfume made him wonder how the flesh would taste.
But it was the glimpse of eyes following him that made the Wanderer lose his senses for minutes at a time. Every time he caught a woman watching him, that stopped him in his tracks.
