#13. SKULLER II
It was a bad day for Skuller and his crew.
Three days earlier, they had learned that they Leyline to Djirama had been closed due to “instabilities,” whatever that meant. The Leyline Portal, which shone brilliantly most days, was absent now. The city, Gerrick, came to a standstill after those first few days as stock wore thin at every merchant and store. By the time the second day was done, ninety percent of the city was out of materials. There were few warehouses in Gerrick that had planned far ahead, and as the needs of the people grew, their stocks thinned out as well.
It was the fourth day now, and the crew was miserable. Their perishables had run out already, the only thing remaining to eat were twelve sacks of barley and six sacks of oats. Their lamps burned low, barely enough oil inside to keep their base lit.
Lastly, and most dire to them, was that the liquor had ran out the night before.
Sculler was lying underneath the table, arm draped over his eyes to block out the light streaming in through the port windows. His head was aching, and already he could feel chills running up and down his arm. Soon, they would turn to shivers.
“A blasted existence,” he thought. He wished he would have stopped drinking when Tasha had first recommended it.
He tried to distract himself with thoughts of other realms, but his mind always returned to the closed Leyline. Djirama was a desolate swampland in every direction, a realm of wet humidity and storms. What few explorers had attempted to see all of the realm had been forced to admit that it was wetlands and sea as far as one could travel. Gerrick, and the small town of Riphos to the south, were the only marks of humanity across all of Djirama, and the wetness of the world meant that only the native plants would grow there.
Every soul in the realm depended on the Leylines for survival, and they had all been cut off.
Skuller wanted to curse, to shout and scream and destroy everything around him. But his temples throbbed, his hands quaked, and he knew that in less than a day’s time he would be in deep trouble.
He propped himself up, looking over to Tasha lying by the door. She was not so bad off as Skuller so she was only feeling a stinging headache this morning. And when she looked to Skuller, her eyes were sharp and clear. Her rancor with his statements had disappeared in the light of their current predicament, but despite that he could feel a pointed nature in her gaze that left him feeling pricked.
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Any ideas about where we can go to get some food?” He meant booze, and she knew it, but it really was all the same.
She shrugged, turned to look back up to the ceiling. “Hard to say, we are a bit slow on the jump for looting. Whatever useful supplies we could have found in Gerrick are most likely long gone, or under protection.”
Skuller nodded and crawled out from under the table. He was pitiful, and as he moved his head throbbed harder, causing a groan to escape his lips. He sat there, looking at her with obvious pain in his eyes. “You have any friends you can call on?”
Again she shrugged. “I think your fence is the best bet we have.”
He nodded, knowing that it was a solid bet. He reached up to his neck and yanked a small amulet from it, the necklace coming undone. It was solid gold, and worth a decent more in historical value. He waggled it and she nodded, smiling.
Their world had a simple language.
**************
“I am sorry, gold is less than useless to me now.” The fetch, Yarim, stood with his arms crossed. Though he did not strike an imposing figure, the look of dismay and anxiety on his face was as damning as if he was about to walk Skuller to the gallows.
Skuller slowly lowered his hand, the shiny amulet glistening in the torchlight. “What can I offer you for…. anything… at all?”
Yarim was obviously trying to think about what he could ask of Skuller that might make an even trade, and soon the silence grew deeper as he thought harder. Skuller looked around the room, squinting against the torch. It wasn’t very bright, but any source of light was hard to bear then. They were in a stone barrow, hidden in a rare bit of dry land in the Harrow Bog. Racks of stuff lined the walls, and between them a counter with various papers, items, and mechanical parts.
Finally, Yarim spoke. “I do not ask this to humiliate you, but because I know you can part with them.” He pointed down to Skuller’s boots. “I need those, the cobbler’s store went up in flames yesterday.”
Skuller looked to his boots, smiled in surprise. Of all the things he had never expected to pay off now, a plethora of boots was at the top of the list. He nodded and immediately began to unlace them. Soon, he stood shoeless, the boots on the counter.
Yarim nodded, turned to a rack and pulled out a wooden crate. He dumped the contents onto a sparsely covered shelf and put the empty crate on the counter. Then, piece by piece, he filled the crate with supplies that, to him, must have seemed equivalent to a pair of boots. He finished, pushing the crate over to Skuller.
Skuller reached out and his hands were shaking. Unlike before, barely a shiver, now he was feeling entire tremors rocking through his hands. Yarim watched this with accuity, placed his hand on the crate’s lip a the same time as Skuller to prevent him from taking it yet.
Pointedly, he reached into a rack of bottles and pulled out a large, clear flask. He gingerly put it inside the crate, said, “Dilute it with a cup of water, it will dull the worst of the symptoms.” He sighed, letting go of the crate. “Please, use it sparingly, and only when you need it. I will not have more the next time I see you.”
Skuller couldn’t help the flush that came to his face, and he wanted to deny the bottle then. But as soon as his eyes fell upon it, knowing that there was some type of liquor inside, his mouth filled with saliva and he was nodding, saying, “Thank you, Yarim. Thank you.”
Yarim was nodding, pulling the boots away and tucking them below the counter. “If you have more boots to spare, I may be able to keep you fed… for a while. Even my stores will become exhausted without the Leylines.”
Skuller nodded, grinned. “Gnarl and Barl have a fondness for eating the Skarigi on the coast. It’s a gritty fish, but it will fill your belly. I’ll bring some next time.”
With that, Skuller exited the barrow and went quickly to his raft, not wanting to be caught by anyone in the dark. It was unlikely anyone was out there, but in a world with dwindling resources, he would not chance it.
He only felt comfortable again once he was back at sea. It was calm waters today, a gentle wind filling the sails and driving him up the coast.
It took everything in him not to guzzle the bottle that Yarim had given him. Instead, he carefully brought the bottle to his nose, smelled it. “Everclear,” he thought, silently blessing the kind fetch. He took the smallest swig he could, the alcohol burning as he swallowed. But it did not take long for his body’s constant shivering to slow, and after two more swallows, his body was once again under his control.
With all the willpower he could muster, he stowed the bottle. He would go to Tasha as soon as he returned, ask her to help him keep the bottle filled unless needed. They would all suffer without the constant stream of liquor they were used to, and this bottle would be their only saving grace.
For Skuller, he felt it might be the difference between his life and death.
He sailed back to the Grotto with a little more hope than before. Still, it was like a tiny glimmer against the abyss that surrounded him. For now, it was enough to keep it in sight so that he didn’t lose his mind.
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A DARKER ENERGY 