Ferry on the Danzig

  6th Day of Harvest,

  766 Karloman’s Peace

  Audomar and Florentin busied themselves negotiating passage across the Danzig River with the ferryman while Ekkehard and the rest of his family rested on the riverbank.

  The ferry crossing had a single pier occupied by a wide, oval-shaped raft with a squat wooden cabin at its centre. The boat, lacking sails, relied on a hand-lever-operated rudder and oars, manned by the ferryman and his two guards.

  Gerwald, Evroul, and Bavo worked steadily, unloading supplies from the horses onto the ferry while Ekkehard and Auriana focused on Aldedramnus, tending to his worsening wounds. A deep gash on his flank had been festering for over eight days and left him feverish and barely clinging to consciousness. The relentless pace of their flight had reopened his wound repeatedly, preventing it from healing. As Ekkehard replaced Aldedramnus’ soiled bandages, Auriana attempted to coax water past his cracked lips.

  “This isn’t good,” Auriana whispered, her voice tight with worry.

  Auriana’s sudden words startled Ekkehard—she hadn’t spoken in days. Although the group had barely spoken over the last half cycle, Auriana’s silence had been particularly pronounced. Not a single word had passed her lips since they left the ruins of their home, and Ekkehard had begun to worry that she would never speak again.

  “What isn’t?” Ekkehard asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

  “He’s not taking water,” Auriana said, her voice edged with urgency as she continued tending to Aldedramnus. “His fever is strong. Without food or water, he won’t survive much longer. We need a proper healer, and soon.”

  Ekkehard glanced down at Aldedramnus’ wound, his stomach churning at the sight. It was a sickening mix of black and red in its depths, ringed with yellow pus that oozed from the inflamed edges. It bled sluggishly, the crimson streaks mixing with foul-smelling fluids.

  ‘You’re right,’ he replied. ‘We should have dealt with this earlier. We'll find a healer in the nearest village once we cross the river. I’ll tell Audomar.’

  ‘Wait,’ Auriana said softly. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘What?’ Ekkehard asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

  The question caught Ekkehard off guard—he hadn’t given much thought to his own state. He rubbed his eyes, their weight dragging down his face. His body ached, his head throbbed, his lips cracked with dryness, and his hair was matted with dirt. The wound on his cheek had festered into an ugly scar. Though not infected like Aldedramnus’, it was crudely sealed, and the stitches were uneven and jagged.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Ekkehard answered quickly, seeing no reason to worry Auriana.

  ‘You froze,’ Auriana interjected, a hesitant tremor in her voice, ‘back there with the guards I mean. Are you okay?’

  Ekkehard studied her before answering. She was as worn as he was—dark circles under her eyes and dull skin mirroring his own exhaustion. The haunting visions clawed at the edges of his mind, threatening to resurface. For a moment, he had to fight to stay composed before regaining his focus.

  “It’s just the fatigue,” he said, brushing it off. “We’re all exhausted.” He turned his back on her, his shoulders stiff as he walked toward Audomar, Florentin, and the ferrymen.

  “Audo!” Gisla’s urgent voice rang out as Ekkehard made his way across the pier. She had been patting the horses, saying her goodbyes—they couldn’t board the ferry; it would not bear their weight. “Audo!” she shouted again, her frustration mounting. “Audomar!”

  “Not now, Gisla!” Audomar snapped before turning back to his heated exchange with the ferryman. Panicked, Gisla ran to her brother, grabbing his arm with trembling hands.

  “Audo!” she shouted once more, pulling at his arm. “Look!”

  “What?” he barked, spinning toward her with fury.

  His eyes widened as he followed her finger. A cloud of dust rose on the horizon, a large party of horsemen racing toward them. “Enough! Name your price, but we leave now!” Audomar shouted, desperation in his voice. The ferryman licked his lips greedily, his beady eyes darting toward the approaching riders over Audomar’s shoulder.

  “Now, now,” he drawled smugly, “prices just went up. How do I know you can afford it?”

  'You wanted twenty Imperial Ducats? We'll pay thirty––but we set sail now!' Audomar demanded.

  “Oh no, friend, that won’t do,” the ferryman said with a smug tut. “It’s going to be at least double that now.” He gestured lazily toward the galloping riders. “Look, I’ve got plenty of eager new customers heading my way. If you expect me to leave them behind, you’ll have to pay for the business I’ll lose.” The fat little man chuckled, his exposed belly jiggling with self-satisfaction.

  Audomar's eyes narrowed. His expression was menacing enough to cause as the two guards standing behind the ferryman to reach for their swords. They were not the only ones to notice the change in the negotiators' tone; Evroul had crept up behind the guards, dagger drawn, poised for the kill.

  “Wait!” Ekkehard shouted, panic flaring in his voice as he realised what was about to happen.

  Audomar gave a curt nod, his expression cold. Evroul seized a guard’s head, yanking it back as his dagger plunged into the man’s skull. The second guard, stunned, barely registered Florentin drawing his short sword before his throat was slashed open.

  The ferryman let out a pathetic wail before Audomar silenced him, driving his dagger into the man’s temple. In the space of a second, all three were slain, lying dead at the Reubke’s feet.

  “Why did you do that?” Ekkehard demanded, rushing to the bodies and dropping to his knees. “They were innocent!” he said, his voice cracking with disbelief.

  ‘No one is innocent,’ Audomar replied.

  Gerwald and Bavo rushed to Florentin and Evroul’s sides, weapons drawn, forming a defensive line. “Put those away!” Audomar commanded, sheathing his own dagger. “Load the rest of the supplies onto this damned boat—now!”

  Moments later, the riders thundered toward them just as the party prepared to push off. Gisla shrieked as an arrow slammed into the boat’s cabin, whistling just inches above her head. “Take cover here!” Florentin shouted, dragging Gisla into the cover of the boat’s cabin.

  “Get Aldedramnus into the cabin—now!” Audomar bellowed, his voice sharp with command. Gerwald and Bavo hurried as they carried Aldedramnus onto the boat and into the cabin, it exerting themselves with the effort. The wounded brother groaned weakly, his pale, sweat-slick face glistening under the fading sunlight, filling Ekkehard with unease.

  Arrows rained down in a deadly volley, striking the pier, the boat, and the churning water around them. At least ten riders unleashed synchronised volleys, their arrows whistling toward Ekkehard and his companions. Evroul hurled a sack of supplies into the boat before sprinting back to his horse, where he snatched his bow and quiver from the saddle just as an arrow thudded into the horse's flank. The horse reared with a shrill whinny, bolting and nearly dragging Evroul along with it.

  At the last moment, Evroul yanked himself free. He nocked an arrow, loosed it, and struck one of the approaching riders. The rider toppled from his saddle, his body crushed beneath the pounding hooves of his companions' steeds.

  Evroul dashed back down the pier before spinning to face the attackers again. He dropped to a knee and aimed another arrow. “Hurry up!” he shouted. “I can’t take them all down myself!” He loosed another arrow, striking a rider in the neck and sending him tumbling from his mount.

  Ekkehard hauled a final sack of supplies into the boat, clambering into the cabin and stowing the bag next to Aldedramnus. He grabbed his bow and quiver from within and rushed to aid his brother. From the stern of the boat, he took aim, but his first arrow sailed wide, missing its mark.

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  The attackers retaliated with another deadly volley, and arrows thudded into the boat’s planks like a deadly rain of hail. “Everyone, get on board now!” Ekkehard shouted. “Untie this damned boat before they’re on us!”

  Gerwald sprinted to the centre of the pier, slashing with a sword at the thick rope tethered to a wooden bollard. Florentin and Audomar grabbed their bows and fired at the approaching riders. The farmhands seized the oars, straining to paddle the boat away from shore. Everyone else clambered onto the boat—everyone except Evroul.

  Evroul felled a third attacker while Audomar and Florentin each took down another. Gerwald severed the rope, sprinted to the pier's edge, and leapt into the drifting boat. Without hesitation, he grabbed an oar and joined the farmhands’ efforts to paddle the boat away.

  But Evroul remained ashore.

  The riders closed in rapidly—they would be upon them in moments.

  “Get in this boat, Evroul!” Audomar demanded as the ferry drifted toward the dock’s end, beyond the reach of the pier. Evroul obeyed his brother's command, turned from the foes and sprinted toward the pier’s end.

  An arrow struck him in the left shoulder, driving him to one knee with a pained gasp.

  “No!” Audomar shouted, his voice cracking, his anguish echoed by his brothers’ cries of despair.

  Evroul was stunned, the shock of the attack pinning him in place. Slowly, he tried to turn his head and see what had struck him. His movements were sluggish, his body heavy and stiff, as if the arrow inside him weighed as much as a tree’s trunk. Unable to bear the pain, Evroul turned from his wound and glanced at his family’s stricken faces, a flicker of understanding softening his expression. He managed a final, bittersweet smile at his brothers before turning to face his enemies once more.

  With tremendous effort, he rose, nocked and loosed another arrow, striking a rider squarely and sending him tumbling from his horse as it reached the first planks of the pier. Evroul was not going down without a fight.

  The raft drifted out of reach just as the attackers stormed onto the pier. The landing was too narrow for the horses, forcing some riders to dismount while others loosed arrows toward the raft. The first dismounted soldier charged at Evroul but collapsed into the water, an arrow lodged deep in his eye. The next attacker closed in too quickly for ranged weapons. Evroul cast aside his bow and unsheathed his short sword. He parried a vicious downward swing and drove his blade deep into the man’s hip. The man let out a savage cry, but Evroul struck him across the temple, sending him sprawling into the river.

  Evroul’s body convulsed, his attack causing the arrow in his shoulder to shift painfully, tearing at his muscles. He was left defenceless, his body trembling under the weight of his injuries. Ekkehard’s chest tightened as he watched helplessly, a third swordsman bearing down on Evroul.

  Suddenly, Gerwald shoved Ekkehard aside and lunged for the ferry’s rudder lever. He yanked it back, bringing the ferry in line with the current and causing it to drift faster, pulling them further from the shore and its dangers. “No!” Ekkehard shouted, slamming Gerwald to the deck. “We have to go back for him!”

  “We can’t!” Gerwald cried, clutching Ekkehard’s shoulders and forcing him to meet his gaze. “There are too many of them; if we go back, we all die.”

  Ekkehard froze, stunned by the tears glistening in his younger brother’s eyes. A pained cry wrenched Ekkehard’s attention away, and he turned from Gerwald to Evroul. A second arrow had slammed into Evroul and jutted from his left thigh. He staggered from the blow, his balance failing.

  Ekkehard seized Gerwald and hurled him away from the rudder. “I won’t lose another brother today!” he shouted, gripping the lever to turn the boat back.

  “Neither will I!” a voice like a thunderclap bellowed from behind Ekkehard. He turned, only to be struck in the face by a heavy wooden paddle. Audomar’s blow sent Ekkehard sprawling to the deck, unconscious.

  When Ekkehard came to, the first thing he heard was Gerwald’s ragged sobbing. His younger brother listlessly worked the rudder's lever, guiding the ferry across the wide Danzig River with mechanical, grief-stricken movements. His chest heaved violently with every broken sob.

  Then Ekkehard winced, becoming aware of a sharp stinging pain. Opening his eyes, he saw Auriana, tears streaking her face, dabbing a wet cloth at the fresh cut on Ekkehard’s head with trembling hands. Without a word, Ekkehard gently pushed her hands aside and rose to his feet.

  He swayed unsteadily as he walked to Gerwald, guiding him away from the lever. Gerwald offered no resistance, his body limp and devoid of will. Determined, Ekkehard moved toward the rudder to turn the boat around and return to his brother. Then, his eyes drifted across rippling waters to the distant shore, and he froze.

  The ferry had already drifted halfway across the mile-wide river. Standing guard at the pier, only a handful of riders lingered. The rest had likely ridden off to report to their commander. Two of the six remaining men had dismounted and were hunched over something on the shoreline, cutting at it methodically. One of the men stood, hefting a large, round object in his hands before hurling it into the river.

  Their jeers echoed across the water, the cruel mockery piercing the heavy silence that hung over the Reubkes. For a moment, Ekkehard’s mind refused to process the sight. Then, the truth struck him like a hammer blow.

  The round object was Evroul’s severed head.

  Ekkehard’s hand slipped from the rudder as he sank to the deck, utterly drained. Another brother was gone, torn from him forever.

  Ekkehard could rise again, even if he wanted to.

  The rest of the journey passed in oppressive silence. When they reached the far shore, the party unloaded the ship in grim, wordless silence. As Ekkehard carried a small sack of grain from the cabin, he noticed Gerwald and Bavo about a hundred metres inland, digging a hole. He approached them and inquired about their actions.

  “Audomar told us to dig,” Bavo said flatly.

  “Why?” Ekkehard asked.

  “Aldedramnus is dead,” Gerwald said, his voice hollow and raw.

  Ekkehard was too numb to feel sadness anymore, the weight of grief crushing him beyond tears. Instead, he joined in the meaningless labour, helping them dig. When the time came, he and his brothers carried another loved one’s lifeless body and buried it.

  “A curse upon us for denying him a pyre,” Ekkehard muttered bitterly to those gathered around the grave. “His essence will never rise to fertilise the soils of Spring’s Garden.”

  “We’re already cursed, Ekkehard,” Audomar said curtly. “Better this than leaving him for the wolves.”

  Ekkehard stayed silent, refusing to engage his elder. What does he know? He had left Evroul to die.

  Half an hour passed before the group, burdened with what supplies they could carry, trudged toward the distant hills under an encroaching darkness. Night fell, wrapping the group in heavy silence. Leger, one of the workers who had joined them, was the first to break the silence.

  “He was a hero, you know,” Leger said softly to Gisla. “A true hero.” She wept silently at his side. “Both of them were and...” His voice faltered as he realised his words brought no comfort. Leger, a tanner with a blemished face like all in his trade, was only slightly taller than Gisla, despite being more than twice her age. His knotted hair, ragged tunic, and looted leather chest guard gave him a rugged, unkempt appearance. “You’re all heroes!” he shouted, his gaze sweeping over each Reubke in turn. “Every single one of you,” he said, his eyes meeting Gisla’s tear-filled gaze. “You saved us more than once, you Reubkes. You were kind to us and protected us when the savages came. Evroul did the same today—he saved us. He was a hero, and so are all of you.”

  “Shut your damned mouth,” Audomar snapped from the front of the group, not even bothering to turn.

  Leger shrank back, his head drooping and shoulders slumping under the weight of Audomar’s scorn. “Don’t mind him,” Florentin said gently, patting Leger’s shoulder. “We’ve been through too much. Thank you for your kind words, but best not say more about it now—it’s still too raw.”

  “I understand,” Leger replied meekly, lowering his voice to avoid provoking Audomar again. “Such deeds aren’t for someone like me to speak of. One day, noble poets will give your family the honour I cannot.”

  Florentin merely smiled in response, and the group trekked on through the night in silence.

  Under the moon’s cold zenith, the group finally reached the first slopes of the Lenzen hills. Exhausted and battered, they forced themselves over the first mound, seeking refuge in the hills’ natural cover. The hills, stretching hundreds of miles and dotted with patches of woodland, were an ideal place to hide.

  “Get some rest,” Audomar ordered, his voice empty and without empathy. “The nearest bridge over the Danzig is days away. We’ve bought time, but not much. We need to move fast if we’re to lose them for good.” He paused, his tone softening slightly as he noticed Gisla collapse, the strain of the day dragging her to the ground. “That means an early start. If we push hard these next few days, maybe—just maybe—we won’t lose anyone else.”

  Ekkehard shot his brother a bitter scowl.

  Audomar’s expression turned dark in response, and as he marched past Ekkehard, his jaw tightened, and he muttered, “Don’t you give me that fucking look, brother.”

  Ekkehard followed, his footsteps heavy, as Audomar led him out of earshot of the others. “And what fucking look am I giving you, brother?” Ekkehard shot back in hushed vitriol.

  “That fucking look,” Audomar growled, jabbing a finger at Ekkehard’s face. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong. I did what I had to do.” Their words came in low, venomous bursts, sharp as daggers. “If you’d had your way, we’d all be dead,” Audomar hissed, his voice dripping with certainty.

  “I get that much,” Ekkehard said, though his voice faltered, the words not entirely honest. He knew he shouldn’t truly blame Audomar for Evroul’s death, but it was hard not to anyway. “I understand it, at least,” Ekkehard admitted. “I don’t know if I could have left our brother to die. I don’t think I could ever do that. But I understand why you did it. I accept it.” The two brothers held one another gaze for a second before Ekkehard continued. “But killing innocents, Audomar? Is that what we’ve become now?” The images of the ferryman’s lifeless eyes and Torsten’s twisted, tortured form flashed through Ekkehard’s mind, searing into his thoughts.

  “I do what needs to be done to keep us alive,” Audomar said, his voice cold and unyielding. He held Ekkehard’s accusing stare, unflinching, the unspoken weight of their losses hanging between them. “You’re going to have to get used to that,” Audomar said bluntly as he squared his chest and challenged Ekkehard.

  Ekkehard dropped his gaze, staring at the dirt as if searching for answers. He knew his brother was right, but the losses under Audomar’s watch weighed heavily on him. He wondered what toll it was taking on those who remained. Ekkehard glanced at Audomar once more. His elder brother, the stalwart guardian meant to protect their family, now seemed as lost as the rest of them.

  Ekkehard wondered if perhaps this journey had already cost him one more brother.

  They made camp under the cover of darkness. On Audomar’s orders, no fire was lit, and a quiet watch rotation was established. Gerwald volunteered took the first watch.

  Ekkehard lay on unfurled blankets beside his wife, their shared pillow offering little comfort as he fought against the restless churn of his thoughts. An hour passed before exhaustion mercifully claimed him, pulling him into the quiet void of sleep.