The Smuggler

TW: Natural Disasters

The ocean is coy today. The channel flows gently, daring me to mistake the sleeping beast for a lake. It’s not hard; the barnacles and sea stars decorating Ingar Island are concealed by high tide, but no such obscureness are required to hide life on the mainland we approach.

“Where are we docking?” I finally ask. I’d been sitting on this question for the better part of an hour, hoping the answer would reveal itself to my untrained eye.

Tomor barks a laugh without interrupting his practiced strokes. This laugh, crinkled and weathered like the man himself, also emerged when I tried to help him paddle, before he claimed I could get this canoe there and back before you could get it out of the bay.

“Right in front of you.” He gestures vaguely. “Marna warned you the damage was extensive. We can look for a shallow slope when we arrive, but I think you’ll be wading.”

The rough black shore bulges out of the ocean in sleek, pillowy forms. Completely devoid of plants, animals, or even dirt, the porous basalt is streaked with salt where the waves once sprayed.

I rub my thumb along my watch strap and try to resist the urge to pop the dial in and out. I won’t have a chance to set it again. I attempt to focus on Tomor’s steady strokes, watching water drip off his paddle like my resolve is slipping out of my hands.

_

The current carries us south as the steep, bulbous shore prevails. Eventually, as the noon wind is picking up, Tomor finds a spot waist deep where he can let me out.

I take a full breath. This is my last chance to turn around, admit defeat and go home. But I did not cross an ocean to let my pathetic swimming skills stop me now. I jump overboard.

The ocean is much colder than at home. I find my footing, shaking off my hands. Then, Tomor carefully passes me the bag, heavy with maps and tide charts, that will serve as my only lifeline on this trip. I hold it high above my head as I stumble to shore.

To my surprise, Tomor waits until I pull myself ashore using the globular rocks like stairs. I never expect others to watch my back.

“Take care, kid. I want to see you again someday.”

“You will,” I promise. “And when you do, you won’t be able to call me kid anymore. I’ll be a proper adventurer.”

“Of course,” he mocks, but his chuckle is wistful.

I follow the coast south most of the afternoon. As dusk falls, I start inland. Uniform basalt extends before me in every direction and the waves fade until only the sound of my footsteps remains. Quiet invades, amplifying my fears. Two murmur louder than the others: you’ll be lost out here forever, and someone will beat you to the castle.

_

Darkness swallows me without wood for a fire. I lie on my bedroll, soaking up the last bit of warm summer air, and studying the stars.

Astronomy was supposed to be my life. Wasting away watching the stars remain constant, smothering my wanderlust and attempting to catalogue an endless sky. A government job, like is expected of every eldest child in the Balorne Empire.

Most of the constellations I drew thousands of times aren’t even in this sky. See, Father, studying astronomy was useless! I want to scream into the void... and now I can. So, I take the time to get off my bedroll and holler.

“I WAS NEVER GOING TO MAKE YOU PROUD AS AN ACADEMIC, FATHER! I CAN BRING WEALTH AND RESPECT TO THE FAMILY AS AN ADVENTURER, MOTHER!”

I’m here. You never thought I could get this far. But I saved up my wages, studied maps, bought rations and stowed away on a ship and travelled farther in three weeks than you did your-

“ENTIRE LIVES!”

I was the one with the gall to capitalize on the catastrophic volcanic eruption, I was vulgar enough to relieve a dead kingdom of their riches.

But from the depths of the night, my parent’s voices echo back.

“As the eldest child, you will serve our family by joining the public sector and you will do your duty to this family, Ethan!” My mother’s voice was stern.

“You are our daughter, and we raised you to respect our wishes. We only want what’s best for this family.” My dad was so surprised when I said I was going to make us rich by gallivanting away from your family and responsibilities to find buried treasure.

Well, I’m not a girl anymore, it’s not buried, I’m hiking, not gallivanting, and I know exactly where it is, so... take that!

“TAKE THAT!”

The words disperse into the night along with my anger. Yet, screaming at the idea of my parents reminds me how I was never courageous enough to tell them I was suffocating under their expectations.

_

On day four, I reach the first tear in the ashen scenery. After walking down more step-like globules, I stop to hike up my pants and tie my shoes to my pack; I am entering the salt flats.

This is the only feature on the map that matches the terrain so far. Marna explained it was high tide when they saw ash clouds race off the continent, skim the water, and finally die short of the village on Ingar Island. This massive basin, gated by a dead coral reef atoll, floods on the highest half of high tides, once a day, every day, for two weeks at a time. Lucky for me and my sore feet, the lava flash cooled when it entered the water and piled up instead of covering this landscape too.

I start trekking across the thin layer of water coating white sand and clear salt. Grains peak above the water in rims of cracked hexagons, yet overall, it looks like I’m walking on water. The change in scenery lifts my spirits, especially once hissing evaporites and hollow splashes disband the stifling silence. It was barely dawn when I walked down the basalt, but now magenta clouds decorate a brilliant orange sky that is reflected below.

A few hours later, I can barely see the dark landscape I left behind. I watch the clouds pour into the sky like water will spill into the basin next week. Tomor urged me to cross quickly, but I don’t feel any urgency until the first raindrop falls.

I tuck my pack under my waxen cloak and pull on my hood while the drops multiply. In seconds, it feels like I’m standing under a waterfall, something I only first saw last week on Ingar. At least the rain is warmer than the ocean.

I continue to follow my compass as water wails against the ground and reduces the world to a soft grey bubble. I relax into the same calm evoked by watching the ocean dance around Tomor’s paddle. I am at the mercy of a force much greater than myself or any man.

It’s freeing.

_

It's still pouring when my next step sinks into deep briny water. I instantly backpedal, but my foot’s stuck and I tip forward, sloshing into the water.

I claw at the bank. The current is dragging me left. Scrambling for purchase, my foot strikes a buried rock. I instinctually pull back, and change of weight launches me into the current proper.

Water rushes into my eyes and fills my ears as I disappear under the ripples. I’m pulled down backwards by my bag, deeper and deeper. My lungs demand air. I’m swept along even as I kick and thrash.

The few seconds of struggle cost me, but not as much as my next decision. I squirm out of my backpack. There’s a moment where it tangles in my cloak, so I abandon them both.

Once they sink, I start slowly floating upwards. Muffled, rumbling water presses in around me. I’m out of energy and on my last dregs of air, but I squint for the surface and wait.

My mother’s voice crawls back out of the void. “Ethan, you are not strong enough to ride on horseback with me into town. No, Ethan, you are not old enough to go on the stargazing camping trip.” She never had to say you are too weak, young, and unprepared to succeed out in the world.

I’m still floating up, but the surface is nowhere to be found and I need to breathe. I rushed. I was reckless. I don’t have the instinct to succeed. Or even survive.

I'm suspended and directionless. Fear claws my chest. I instinctively inhale. Water and air fill my mouth, and it tastes... fresh?

I gulp more careful breaths, and my surroundings become sharper. I’m drifting 10 meters from a bank. How did I break through the surface without noticing?

It takes everything to flounder my way to shore. I pull myself the last meter with my arms, and I tuck my legs below my torso before carefully standing. I sway in the current but remain upright.

I dig my fingertips into the rough salt, never more grateful to touch land. I hack up lots of water before slowly clawing my way up, shaking with exertion.

I lie on my back in the salt for a long time. I cling to the earthy, organic scent masked by the salty depths. Life. Eventually, the rain stops.

I stand. I panic. I was supposed to turn right when I found this estuary and head even farther inland to the castle. Oh, why did I never try to memorise the map? More importantly, which way is right?

I see a light gray band far on the horizon perpendicular to the estuary. It has equal chances of being the bleached coral atoll separating me from the ocean or the pale gray limestone cliffs on which Gonthran Castle stands. I rub the leather strap of my watch and try to reconstruct events.

I fell in the river and started sliding left in the current. Right? I was facing the bank I came from, so that means I was travelling right... but why would the estuary be flowing inland? I don’t know, but I might if I studied something practical. You can look at rivers all the time, not just in the middle of the night!

Ultimately, I have a choice: I can trust Marna’s maps and Tomor’s counsel by heading towards their cliffs, or I can go with my gut and walk farther from what I suspect is the atoll.

Stubbornly, I start walking away from the gray horizon. I forgot my injury in the chaos, and now I am forced to adopt a shallow limp. Sand stings the open cut, but I keep stomping. Fuming. Hating.

Doubt creeps up my throat. I thought I was more competent than this. As if sometime in my wishing and hoping for adventure I developed the skills to survive one. I bargained my way on to a foolish quest then walked into a river!

“Who even does that!?” The sky accepts my words as the sun sinks even further in the sky. Doubt creeps up my throat.

All of my supplies are hunkering down at the bottom of the estuary. Injured, hungry, exhausted… I can’t think myself out of this predicament. I’ll face facts, my gut is a novice. I’m incredulous Tomor and Marna believed in me enough to lend me supplies. But maybe there’s hope for me yet. Their hope.

Begrudgingly, I turn on my heels and trudge towards the thin band on the horizon.

_

Centuries of bird guano decorates the 300 meter escarpment, the first tangible piece of life in nearly a week. All the guano in the sand has washed away, and the estuary mysteriously disappears into the ground a few meters behind me. In the fading light, I search the rough stairway carved into the rock, and, sure enough, lichen and moss compete in the cracks.

I limp up the steps, long in shadow after the sun dipped below the escarpment. Carefully placing each bare foot on sea-smoothed stone, I don’t look out over the salt flat until I crest the top. It twinkles behind me, and when I turn towards the sun it’s hiding behind some trees.

Trees. Tall aspens and spruces. Their needles are darkened with ash, and they reach hungrily into the sun, but most are alive. I’m overjoyed when a soft breeze ruffles ash from the needles.

Then, looming behind it all, a sturdy marble castle rises out of the forest. Its straight lines and gleaming faces support two smaller spires that frame a single, stretching tower topped by a lighthouse. I gather the last of my strength and walk into its welcoming shadow.

_

As I approach, I notice the grand doors yawning open to a rain-splattered entryway. Tentatively, I pad inside.

I’m surprised to see the room deserted. Then I notice the thin crack that bisects the castle, running up every wall and across every story I can see.

I limp up the grand staircase, careful to take the one outside of the crack’s path. I keep climbing. Only from the lighthouse do I learn what became of the court. From this height, it looks like 10,000 people are all sleeping.

Ingar Island was safely away from the toxic gasses released in the volcanic eruption, Marna explained. Gonthran was less lucky. I doubt the court would have survived in the castle, but I’m grateful they died away from their goods.

I desperately want to abscond with my treasure. The deceased have been that way for over two months. I am exhausted. Yet, I drag myself down the stairs, find a sturdy chair and a knife in the kitchens, and haul it all to the edge of the clearing where I saw the bodies.

An overwhelming stench of rot and dirt and rain greets me as I place the chair in front of the clearing and press it firmly into the wet ground. Then, I painstakingly carve.

Here Lies the Kingdom of Gonthran

May they return to the valley in peace.

_

10 Weeks Later

Today, the ocean is beating the shore with a vigour I match in every stroke. I feel settled in my looted canoe, packed with carefully selected artifacts, as I cross the channel back to Ingar. Wind dances through my hair, cut short in an extravagant Gonthran guest room, and I wear a warm cloak over my embroidered vest.

It took me longer than I’d like to admit to learn how to sit with the silence of Gonthran Castle. Yet, day by day, my parent’s voices retreated, replaced with my own.

I sat on the escarpment studying the tide by the flow of the estuary, I taught myself to swim and canoe in a small lake, then eventually the flooded basin. I devoured salted meat stashed for the coming winter, foraged new, meagre versions of whatever I saw had already gone bad in the kitchens. The day before I left, I carved a proper, however crude, marble headstone for the kingdom.

Relief fills my heart when I see Marna and Tomor step out onto shore. I flagged down a child a while ago and asked the boy to fetch them. Disbelief briefly fills their faces before they return my wild smile. I carefully navigate up a gentle sandy slope, and they rush to help me pull the canoe in.

“Welcome back, adventurer.” Tomor is shaking his head and ginning. Then, he grows more serious. “I never doubted your return, Ethan.”

I almost believe him.

Before I forget, I pull an intricate sundial, complete with a yearly calendar engraved on the outside, from the canoe.

“Thank you for believing in me.” I can’t put into words how many times they saved me without knowing it, but I can offer them something in return. “I brought more pieces of cultural significance to share with the council, but I wanted you to have this one.”

“I think that can be arranged.” Marna gives me a warm hug when she accepts the dial.

“So this was your one hurrah, huh?” Tomor asks. That’s what I’d told them three months ago.

“I think I lied.” Tomor beams knowingly and Marna rolls her eyes. “I have haughty aspirations.”

Buy a ship. Learn how to sail. Travel to other ends of the Earth. But that can wait. I bought myself the time to figure it out. And-

“I plan to give other destitute, clever, ambitious youth the chance to go after their dreams. Like you did for me.”

“Now, don’t go flattering yourself.” Tomor helps me with some of my pilfered belongings, and we walk to their house for dinner.

_

Many Decades Later

I glance out my ships’ porthole into Staffordon’s thriving harbour. The lava fields have started eroding into a thin layer of soil that gave rise to the continent’s only port town.

“I’m here to speak with Ethan,” rings a clear voice.

“He’s back here.” My deckhand Alex clomps towards my office, and softer footsteps follow.

I smooth my vest, today a deep purple embroidered with gold, and settle into my chair. The door swings open after a quick knock to reveal a tall, warm skinned figure of about 17. She moves gracefully into the study, and I long for the days I could move so fluidly without aches and pain.

“I’m here to secure passage from Gonthran to Balorne.”

“Is that so? And how will you be paying?” Do you have what it takes? I roll my watch dial in anticipation.

The girl breaks into a nervous smile. “A map of current troop movements of both parties in the Gold Valley Uprising so you can plan your ‘trade routes’ accordingly, perhaps?”

I look up from my desk, interests piqued. “Go on.”