For a disconcerting moment, Arn’s eyes fluttered open and stared at the wide expanse of blue overhead in confusion. Where was he? When he sat up and looked at the bright blue waters all around them, his disorientation did not immediately fade. It simply changed from the question “Where am I?” to a different question altogether.
The waves rolled larger and larger as the spec that was Razaad faded behind the raft. Arn swayed up and down each, climbing higher than any hill he had climbed before, it seemed.
Shar was already awake, dragging at the surface of the Deep with one of their two oars. He peered over at Arn, squinting against the bright sunlight. “How were your dreams?” he asked, hoarsely.
It had been so long since Arn had seen the Dreamworld. He opened his mouth, but could only croak. Shar slid him their water-skin. Arn allowed himself four drips from it. The Deep could be endless, for all they knew, but the contents of their pack was not. “I don’t have dreams, these days,” he said, quietly.
The cripple must have worked hard to recover after his injuries for his muscles bulged as he pulled them through the water. He looked as strong as he had before the two had nearly killed each other. Arn smirked at the irony. Shar told him, “I dreamt of a water scale fighting one of those screechers. Do you think that means the tribes battled today?”
Arn shrugged. “A screecher would kill a water scale in its sleep,” he said. He rubbed his neck and winced. Though their white skin was tanned from their days under the sun on Razaad, the water reflected light at them from all different directions. Their chins and underarms were red and blistered after their week travelling the Deep.
They didn’t speak for a bit. The spray of salt water did little for the heat, and soon Shar put down his oar. As he laid back, the worn man reflected absently, “I was so resistant to you.”
“What?” Arn paused, trailing the oar against the surface of the water.
“I thought you were going to be our destruction,” Shar said. “Some ruthless youngster who was feeling bad about all the lives he had killed and wanted to be a fisher instead. But it was never about fishing or feeling bad about the way the schemes of Razaad played out.”
Arn didn’t see the need to say anything.
“You really did want to do something for the tribe,” Shar said. “And it wasn’t until I lost my usefulness that I realized it.”
“I wanted to prove that there was more out here than just our little island,” Arn said.
“You did that,” Shar pointed out.
Arn waved his hand toward the bleak horizon as they crested another wave. “Nothing out there, that I see.”
Shar was quiet, at that. Salty waves buffeted the thick sides of their raft. After a few more minutes, Shar awkwardly climbed to his knees and started rowing as well. He used his shirt as a pillow for his bad leg. Arn smirked and kept rowing. Lost at the edge of the world, the cripple and the nose-less man kept on their way toward madness.