The Ravenwalker (2nd Edition): Oceans of Humanity, #1

By W.S. Ryan

Valko, adrift in the open sea, ponders his place in the world amid a sense of longing and guilt. He encounters the swordsman Fenrir, who seems to have an uncanny knowledge of Valko. The pair soon become entranced with one another and their desire takes hold. Through terror, war, and each other's wrath they  come to understand how important one has become to the other. So too have they found a new land and people to call their own. It is a closely guarded possession in a world torn apart by the wars of men and the encroachment of the Fog. Love and peace are hard won victories, and there are always casualties.

• Language: English
• Publisher: W.S. Ryan
• Release date: Nov 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386632313

Book preview

To be frank my dearest reader, I never understood until now that the complexity of humanity is an ocean, that I am attempting to navigate in a rowboat. I hang on for dear life at the smallest wave, the simple churning machinations of the ocean, its very nature being fluidity and movement. It scares me, the vast untold depth and expanse that I may never know the boundaries of and that fear fills me with pain because I know that my little rowboat keeps me separate and distant, yet in a position of total helplessness as I am thrown about. How I wish I could simply plunge into the waters of humanity, but I've always had a revulsion of large bodies of water.

The bitter salt water halts me from further exploration. Best to keep a distance, at least as much as can be afforded by my vessel. What is truly dreadful is the thirst, biting and gnawing at me until I drink and am left with a greater thirst. Perhaps this voyage was foolish, yet my options were limited. Whether the island that nourished me, sheltered me, was invaded or sunken I do not recall, in either case it was taken from me, fifteen years. It’s a little humorous this constant search for a land of my own. I am reminded of the ancient name Riku, meaning land in some tongues, and at times I feel as though I am trying to find a person rather than a location.

Oh Icarus, how the sun's unyielding rays must have driven you to madness as you soared amid clouds of condensed imagination. And here I am, thrown about by rogue waves, manifestations of sudden shifts in the ocean, rooted in rage and despair. At times I glance up and watch the zipping and zooming of all manner of flying machines, I am envious of the seeming effortlessness of the pilots, how I wish I could focus as much as they, enough to construct my own flight capable contraption. Heights concern me less than the bottomless seas, at least when one falls the end is sudden and quick, drowning is terror filled and can take minutes as you fight and struggle instinctively, with a fall there is no fight, just gravity. I remember floating in a balloon once at twenty feet, the fall only wounded me, permanently.

So, the voyage continues, destination obscured in the lingering fog on the horizon. The swelling of the seas and the vast open sky, no less turbulent, are mirrors of thought and emotion. With those ironclad facts held close to my heart I realize that my vessel is leaking, cold water soaking my feet, I watch them swell and split, the pain hardly registering. I know I cannot fight the current, nor can I construct while embarked, so the only hope is to bawl as I am carried against my will, hoping my tears will not sink me. The seas carry me north to Reason, a frigid and unforgiving realm.

I take up the small pail that had held my hopes for so many years and begin bailing salt water from my half sunken vessel. I pass by others as I drift with only a general destination being thrust upon me. They urge me to abandon the vessel and simply swim with them, ensuring me that I will not drown, still, it is difficult to abandon years of obsessive habit. I can only sit in my rowboat and shake with anger and frustration at my inability to alter my own course. My bailing becomes more frantic, nearly a panic, I have to succeed, though I no longer know what that means anymore. I suppose I should mention the blond man that came to be sitting across from me.

The silence that would have befallen us was kept at bay, a hungry lion that lingered at the edges of my hearing, by the ocean's calm waves lapping at my vessel, my own racing heart and the rhythmic grinding of stone on steel as the man ran a whet stone across the massive greatsword. The sword appeared longer than the man was tall. He was young in the face, early twenties no doubt, but had the eyes and dour expression of one who'd seen war, taken lives, those sapphire orbs were fixed on me. I was sure I was to be his next kill, another notch on the sword as the notion goes.

You're searching too, I can tell by the way your face is...well, pained. I've been searching for years now, alone, but never quite by myself. I thought it might be nice to have some like company for a while. I'm...sorry if I startled you, but you seemed lost as I passed you and I thought I should at least give what help I can, I can leave if you want. How to describe his voice? It was calm like the sea, and gentle as the breeze, but laced with a hardness, a finality not unlike the steel sword he held. What made me smile then? I hadn't in so long I was certain my muscles had forgotten how to contort in that manner. He gave a small smile, one of comfort and understanding, it was gone in a few seconds and he focused back on sharpening the blade. We sat allowing the ocean to carry us away aimlessly, there was no need for words, we simply enjoyed having each other's presence, the rhythmic grinding was met with my sudden urge to hum. I think my companion liked that.

The sounds both natural and manmade joined together in a kind of rudimentary symphony, not complex enough to be the center of attention at a music hall but conveying all the essential emotions of the mood. Morose, was the only way to describe how everything was at that time. My heart spoke through the quiet keening, dripping with white hot pain. I wanted there to be only an emptiness, for there to be nothing to feel any longer. However, I learned in that moment as I wished to be an abyss rather than a person, even should I succeed in mining every speck of humanity I would be left with unstable walls that would collapse, burying me.

You’ve begun traversing your path. The air around you now has a warmth to it, subtle but there. What was it that caused this shift?

The realization that even were I to become little more than a shell, devoid of any semblance of emotion, I would collapse. Hadron's bridge would fall the fuck down, get it? I had to shake my head, the voice that sprang from my throat was a bestial growl, pure anger and hate, such a contrast to my former kind and warm childhood vocalizations. My words struck a chord as the blond turned his head to gaze at me with melting icy eyes, he laughed, genuine and hearty, but short, although a novel of humanity had just been read to me, even lost and in immense pain, humor could, if temporarily, allow a small blanket of comfort to wrap itself around a person. I laughed a little too.

The air went chill as we drifted north into Reason. I gave a slight glance to the ocean and I noticed how the water turned a darker blue exhibiting the darker intents of this domain. The blond swordsman across from me looked around with a warrior's trained gaze, searching for danger. Fog had nearly engulfed us, I had failed to notice it creeping ever closer to us as we drifted. This was most troubling as fog was quite dangerous without a light to guide oneself.

The Fog, capitalization intentional, is far different from fog. Where the latter simply obscures vision the former overtakes it and supplants it with an image of its own will. Therein lies the second difference, The Fog has its own will, while fog is simply a natural occurrence within a set of specific weather conditions. The Fog is nearly tangible, enough to interact with objects that it chooses to, whilst ignoring those it doesn't want to touch it, armies have been smashed in this manner. And, at some point I realized that the north was where the Fog had come from and was largely regulated there. Though with the realm of Reason divided, that may no longer be the case in the near future.

I could not help but delve into the worries that had sprung up within me. Reason had fragmented some time ago and warred as much within as without. The Kingdom of Duty had split from the Republic of Reason and the hundreds of independent villages, towns and cities that made up the Free Faith lands, free only in name. Invention as well had split from its home nation to form its own Kingdom. These events were concerning though I had only heard partial conversations during my time adrift. It was not clear to me how extensive the divide was then, but as fortune would have it, I would be thrusted into the midst of a series of events that would set Reason aflame.

A bell dinged snapping me from my introspection with a growl on my part. It sounded again and again, at set intervals, waiting a reply. It was drawing closer with each ding and I could only reason that it was another vessel lost in the fog. With luck, they could take us aboard, at least the distraction of argument would fill the air with something other than the clingy fog. The Swordsman stood, the boat rocked with the shift in weight, he nearly toppled, he clearly wasn't a mariner. I did grab the nearly rotten bench for balance myself, despite the fact I remained seated.

A Dutiful warship. What I wonder, are they doing so far south? We've hardly entered the seas of Reason and the ships of Duty only patrol the coastlines. Something isn't right. I knew the Swordsman was filled with a strange panic, he was fighting his own sensibilities, he had to know full well there was a simple explanation for a warship being further south than expected, the wind could see to that easily enough. My companion was off, I couldn't place it, but I did feel as though he had an uncanny knowledge of a warship he had yet to see.

I can see no ship, I would think it best to keep from assuming. The open waters have a way of playing tricks on the mind. And with fog this close to us, we should be cautious. More importantly, we should find a way to reply to their bell, otherwise we may be swimming the rest of the way, and I'm not much of a swimmer in cold water. Why was I so cordial all of a sudden? It was as though I cared about the Swordsman's opinion. How strange the feeling was when I realized I had tried to deescalate the man's fears and return him to a sense of normalcy, if such a thing exists.

Nor I. Hand me your pail. Blinking absently, it took me a moment to realize that I had indeed kept up my bailing this whole way and the metal was still warm from my hands, the same hands that were reddened from the lack of heat in the air and the sting of cold water, frostbite would be unpleasant, but a welcome break to the standard drudgery. Handing the pail over I watched the Swordsman with a smirk as he held his sword across the length of the boat and hung the pail from the sword's hilt. Tossing me his whet stone he held fast as I gave a few vigorous hits to the pail. I had to grab the hilt and handle to ensure the pail didn't fly off into the water.

We were poised there returning the dinging from an unseen vessel with metallic clanks for minutes, if felt as though the ocean was keeping us from one another intentionally. Yet, the dings grew closer and closer, heading straight to us. Pirates perhaps, would we be taken prisoner and forced to join the crew? No such excitement I'm afraid. It was a merchant ship from the Isles of Charity, there was no doubt we would be asked by the Captain to board the ship, it was their way, they had the tendency of being rather aggressive with their generosity and would accept no refusals.

Ahoy! Ye lads seem lost. Come aboard and we'll see to it you're fed and safely to port. The Captain called from the upper deck, I caught only a short glimpse, but I could see the massive bicorne, teal and laid with golden braid, was at least twice the normal size and I had to stifle my laughs. It was of course no disrespect to the Captain, but it was a rarity that a large man with a deep voice wearing an oversized, brightly colored hat shouted at me. True to form the Captain was very insistent in his generosity, I could have said it was concerning, but at least it was an interesting event.

A moment later, a ladder was lowered down to us and we began climbing on the rocking vessel's side. It wasn't far up to the deck, the ship was fairly small, no larger than a brig, though Charitable merchants preferred smaller ships, they are much more maneuverable and require smaller crews to operate. I was shivering by the time I hit the deck. I hadn't noticed how cold it had gotten and I felt somewhat weak. I felt someone grab me as the deck got dramatically closer to my face, no doubt the Swordsman had done so.

Blankets and a change of clothes now! The Captain bellowed with authority only attained by those with years of being seasoned in danger and stress. I was taken to a room, it was simple but quite nice, a desk and chair were set in front of windows that were flanked by lilac colored drapes, there wasn't much gaudiness to the room from what I could tell, but my vision was going between blank and nearly over vibrant. I felt light and warm after a bit, blankets were pulled over me and I could swear I heard a call for water to be heated, my hearing was not too clear.

Hypothermia no doubt. Was he actin' funny at all?

He was shivering as we climbed the ladder, before that I noticed his hands were red and swelling, but he wasn't complaining so I didn't think to ask him about it. We've only met recently, I didn't want to impose, it was his vessel after all.

Impose? Are ye fuckin' kiddin' lad? It’s cold as a frog's arse out there, I know ye can't be feeling it with that coat of yers, head to toe in Dutifully made leather and linen, you must be cozy in yer fuckin' armor there. Christ, I think you may have stolen this from 'im.

Call me all the names you want, I am no thief. I know enough honor to never take what is not mine, or fairly gotten.

No need to get so worked up lad, that's me job. I just want to see this lad well, my apologies for insultin' yer honor.

No need. I could hear the tension in the Swordsman's voice, he was hurt by the Captain's words. I wanted to yell myself and call out all manner of insults at the implication that my companion was responsible for my situation. If anything, it was my fault entirely, the true weight of those words was lost on me at the time. I was too far gone to really think straight, or diagonally for that matter. My body tired beyond knowing, how long had I simply neglected my body's messages, urgent and unrelenting, of danger and fatigue? Pain was too distant for me to truly comprehend anymore so I simply shrugged it off most of the time, now I was reaping the result of that.

Hey, breathe. I'm right here and we're getting hot water for you. We'll get you through this. Just fight and breathe, like a soldier. Don't let anything distract you, focus, just you and survival. Sapphire eyes gazed down at me with a flatly weird mix of emotion, I swear to you I counted anger, fear, guilt and affection mixed in those eyes. He lost someone important to him, of that I was certain. I ignored how hard he had taken to gripping my hand as he shook.

Despite the show of inner torment from the blond, I found his words resonated with something deep within me. Survive. That's all that was needed, no fiddly fucking around worrying about morality, or what happens after death, where we come from and a million other questions far too complex and melancholy to waste energy considering them at the moment. Survive. Just survive. It became a mantra. I was sure they were over estimating the situation by a considerable amount. Yet, a part of me was saying I could no longer be trusted to make those determinations.

Now, when the hot bath came I would like to say it was pleasant, but I also take pride in not lying to you. It was hot, near boiling is how it felt. I hold no qualms in admitting I yelled at the top of my lungs every curse that I could think of. They didn't give me any chance to ease my way in, I was literally thrown in, water splashing about the Captain's quarters. The Captain may be a bit too charitable honestly, so concerned with helping that, that help might not be of the highest quality help. Still, I was no worse for the endeavor and I was taking a hot bath, so I suppose that can be counted as a net gain.

Are you feeling better now?

Just peachy, I'll be honest. This bath is a little much.

Don't be worrying 'bout that, its me pleasure te help.

And I don't want to seem ungrateful, you've certainly helped me a great deal Captain.

Tis me pleasure. Now I'll be needin' to get back, we've been off course for days now and I gotta set it right in a hurry. Which way did ye drift from?

South. Now could you afford the man a moment of privacy Captain?

Calm yer tits soldier boy. We still be on me ship. Don't go mistakin' me generosity for weakness now, I'd hafta bust yer arse.

The Captain, and his rather glorious beard, exited the quarters in a small huff. I had only just noticed that the older man was sporting a waist length beard, brilliant black being overtaken by white. If nothing else the man took pride in his beard as it was well cared for. Surely, he maintained it to help with his aura of determination and strength. I was beginning to garner a clearer picture of the Captain, he was a friendly enough fellow but was by no means a weak man. He was in charge of his ship and was no doubt an inspiration to his men. Teal hat or no, he would take charge when work needed done and he would see it through. I found that I admired that quality.

I'm sorry if I hurt your hand.

No reason to be. You were worried.

I...yes. Still, it was strange of me.

Do you want to discuss it?

No...but I need to.

I'll listen. As long as it takes.

God, you don't know how much that means. I'm so tired, let me grab a chair.

I watched with apprehension as he slid a small armchair across the room to where I still occupied the tub. I should have felt uncomfortable, but for some reason that wasn't the feeling that surged forward, it was concern, for even though I knew this Swordsman for such a short time, I felt compelled to help him. Somewhere bells were going off, some warning me that I was making a huge mistake and others saying I owed him for helping me. I didn't know which ones were true or right, but I knew what I was going to do.

I will begin by saying this: I was drawn to you because you remind me of my little brother. I see him grown in you. I...was a soldier in the Dutiful Kingdom. 3rd Beidhanders. I was good, great according to some. My captain in the 6th company put me in for a sergeant's promotion after a bad ambush on our scouts. I led...fifty, maybe sixty men to their aid. Me, with two years as a soldier leading a half company to the fray. He smiled at that, it was no doubt a fond memory for him, if not a pained one.

You seem the sort who knows what to do immediately when the moment calls.

Thank you. I...ah...accepted the promotion, though I thought I was not ready. It was my duty. Turning down a promotion is a high insult and I decided that I needed some help, just to make things a little...smoother I think was my intent. When I was home on leave, I asked my brother, not old enough to train as a soldier without a sponsor yet, if he wanted me to sponsor him in the Beidhanders. Even though he was a foot shorter than required to join, he leapt at the chance. We were one of the most prestigious regiments and we saw fights almost everyday.

Your brother wanted to impress you I bet. Were you close? Internally I noted the water had gone cool, yet I was enthralled with his tale.

We were. He looked up to me, he told me he wanted to be like me. My head was filled with all these dreams of being a general, leading armies to glorious victory and all kinds of bullshit like that. I was hard on him, harder than on any other soldier in my charge. I had to be, he needed to learn everything, and I had to show I was fit to wear the stripes. I knew he was too small, too young, but I pushed him. I should have asked he be sent to the Hussars or the artillery. He never complained though and that was enough for me to keep going.

He didn't want to let you down. You were his idol and he knew you were a rising star in your armies' ranks. I'm sure he doesn't resent you for this, he's probably better for it.

No, he doesn't resent me...There was this assault, we were pushing against the Touched, those the Fog has tainted, they had fortified a ridge with palisades and artillery emplacements. It was up to us to do what we did best, crash through all of it. We had three companies of Grenadiers leading the way, they just needed to breach the fortifications and let us go to work. We took losses as we made our approach, luckily, we were smart enough to keep spread out to minimize case shot hits. The Grenadiers broke through and we rushed in. It was not according to plan. We were immediately met with pikes, muskets and grenades. We gained no ground, they kept us in the breach, and we surged against the enemy, only succeeding in stacking bodies in the gap.

Sounds like a bloodbath.

Oh, it was. I can remember all that screaming and groaning. Steel singing and bones crunching. It stays with you. We didn't let up; our duty was to attack. Then, we got hit in the flank by Dragoons. Our push lost all momentum and we were surrounded. It was each handful of men hanging on for dear life, officers and sergeants trying to get some type of organization together. I was one of them. I lost track of my brother at some point, but I had a job to do and that was far more important at the time. The horses whinnying was the worst now that I think about it, something about their shrieking was unsettling, terrifying.

Animals express pain so clearly that it can be a little hard to listen to.

I suppose so. Regardless, I got some men formed up and we started cutting our way out. The Dragoons that laid into us were mostly bogged down and couldn't maneuver, but our vanguard was being pushed back quickly. Then, I somehow picked out a voice calling out that there were Jaegers taking the palisades, it wasn't long before they were firing. Damn, there were good shots among them, they picked off our officers and sergeants straight away, more than once I felt a round zip past me, missing only by a few hairs. I think what saved me was that I hadn't been around long enough to gather all the braids, sashes, and plumes the others wore, those symbols of valor and honor made them easy targets.

Fortunate for you. I'm sure you did all you could.

I tell myself that everyday. I have to...otherwise I'd die. I don't believe it. It was only a few of us that cut through and made a run for it. I was scared, I didn't want to die, I didn't want my men to die, and I didn't want my brother to die. I was leading them all to safety, that's what my duty was, I had to protect my unit from annihilation, our attack had failed, we needed to regroup. I heard artillery scream in over our heads, then Lancers raced past. I stopped my men and I got them formed up. We were so tired, but I wasn't walking away in shame, I called a charge. I think there were a hundred or so of us.

That must have been hard to go back into it. How many men were in your Regiment?

Sixteen hundred footmen, forty sergeants, twelve lieutenants, six captains, three majors and a colonel. We were elite troops. We didn't break, we didn’t run and hide. We murdered our enemies, no qualms. My regiment's reputation was on the line, I had to act like a sergeant. Goddamnit! I lead my men into another bloodbath. The enemy had brought forward their own Grenadiers to smash our formations at the breach. They came too far forward, and we laid into them like devils. I was proud to start smacking heads in and watch the shock on their faces as they saw us bear down. They must have thought we ran because they were wide open on the hill, no support unit nearby, but there were a lot, over a thousand.

That may have been rash on your part. A force ten times your size isn't easy to overcome. He hadn't noticed me watching him. All the ways he would lift himself up, nearly thrusting his chest out when he recalled a moment that brought him pride and then deflating when he remembered something that