Page 6 of The Warrior and the Monk

Anders, standing beside him, gave a low hum and tugged him back from the rail before he tipped over in his excitement. Wilder glanced at him, a bit sheepishly, but Anders only looked back with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

The rest of the crew began to stir, yawning and stretching until one sailor finally spotted the shore and let out a triumphant whoop. A cheer rose up, filling the ship with a mix of laughter and song as they drew closer to the riverbank. For Anders’s crew, this was a homecoming—an end to months at sea, a return to families, friends, and solid ground. Wilder, watching the joy ripple through the warriors and sailors, felt a bittersweet pang. This was no homecoming for him. Yet he couldn’t help but join in their excitement, his spirits lifted by the energy surrounding him.

As the longship docked, Wilder took in the bustling town rising along the shore. Smoke curled from chimneys, carts rattled over cobbled streets, and a crowd had already gathered to meet the returning crew, their voices carrying across the water. Horses stamped their hooves, cattle grazed, and fishers hauled nets from the river with practiced ease. It was all so alive, so grounded in a way that made Wilder’s heart ache with nostalgia for a home he’d never known.

Anders disembarked first, turning and extending an arm for Wilder to follow. Wilder hesitated, eyeing the gap between the ship and dock. He lifted his robes, bracing himself, then made an awkward leap. His foot landed unsteadily on the dock, and he would have slipped if Anders hadn’t steadied him with a firm hand, pulling him upright before releasing him onto solid ground.

And then he laughed, giddy with relief, feeling the earth beneath his feet, sturdy and unyielding after so many days at sea. He spun in a small circle, arms outstretched, feeling like a child at play. But his laughter faded as he caught sight of the townsfolk watching him. They stared at his strange clothing and his joyful antics with open curiosity and suspicion. His face flushed, and he forced himself to stand still, painfully aware once more that he was an outsider.

A gentle peck at his ankle broke the silence. Wilder looked down, surprised to find the hen at his feet, clucking as if she belonged nowhere else but by his side. He scooped her up, stroking her feathers absently as he scanned the crowd for her owner. On the ship, she’d always managed to escape her pen, sneaking away from the sheep and goats to perch in his lap, unbothered by the rocking of the waves.

A warrior woman with a pack slung over her shoulder spotted him holding the hen and made her way over, greeting Anders with a nod before turning to Wilder. She pointed to herself and then to the hen. “Mine,” she said, a faint smile on her face.

Wilder’s own smile faded. He looked down at the hen, sadness creeping over him. She’d been a comfort on the ship, a small, constant companion amid the overwhelming noise and unfamiliarity of his journey. “So you have to go home too,” he murmured to her, running a hand down her back.

The warrior reached to take the hen, but Anders put out a hand, stopping her. He gestured toward her with three fingers, a silent offer. The woman raised an eyebrow, her gaze sliding to Wilder and then back to Anders. She laughed, nudging Anders in the ribs, but shook her head. Anders grunted, raised his hand, and added a single finger to the offer. At that, the woman agreed, laughing as she shook his hand.

From a pouch at his belt, Anders withdrew three copper coins and one silver, handing them to her. Wilder watched the exchange, puzzled. He wasn’t sure how much that was, but it seemed a generous price for a chicken. Not that he had any idea what things were worth to these people – he'd been traded for a sword, after all. Still, he didn’t understand fully until Anders turned back to him, gesturing toward the hen still nestled in his arms.

Wilder looked down at the hen, realization dawning slowly. She was his now—a gift, a purchase, he couldn’t say which. She clucked softly, unfazed, nuzzling her head under his chin. His chest tightened as a strange feeling of gratitude welled up. He glanced up at Anders, who was already striding ahead, his back to him, as if embarrassed by his own kindness.

They were in a strange land, surrounded by unfamiliar faces and a world that seemed as alien as the sea had been. But now, holding the hen, feeling her weight in his arms, he had a piece of something stable, something that was truly his. He hugged the hen close and followed Anders, feeling a little less like a stranger in this strange land.

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Wilder had expected Anders to linger in town, to celebrate with his warriors, to bask in the warmth of familiar faces after so long at sea. Surely he would want to drink with old friends, share laughter and stories with the townspeople, and visit family. But instead, Anders gathered his belongings with a brusque efficiency, gave a nod to a few smiling comrades, and started out through the town, his steps purposeful as he led Wilder straight into the dense forest beyond.

Wilder followed, clutching the hen close to his chest as he took in his surroundings. The monastery had been barrenby comparison, situated too close to the harsh saltwater winds for trees to truly thrive. There, only a few twisted, stunted trees clung to life along the shore, their branches thin and fragile. He’d tried to climb one once as a child, and it had snapped beneath his weight, sending him tumbling down onto the cold, rocky ground. But here, the trees loomed large and ancient, towering over him like guardians of the land. The forest floor was carpeted in fallen leaves, and with every step, they crunched and whispered beneath his feet, releasing earthy scents into the warm air. Wilder occasionally nudged a pile of leaves with his toe, watching as they scattered, fluttering upward like startled birds, while the hen clucked her disapproval at the jostling.

It was a long walk, and Anders moved with a long, steady stride that Wilder struggled to match. His robes, so practical in the chill of the sea, now clung to him, stifling in the warmth of the forest. His breath grew ragged as they climbed a gentle incline, and every now and then he glanced up at Anders, marveling at the man’s seemingly inexhaustible energy.

Finally, Wilder could go no further. “Wait a moment, please, my lord,” he panted, stumbling to a halt. He leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree, grateful for its solid support, and carefully set the hen down at his feet. She pecked eagerly at the dirt, unbothered by his struggle for breath.

“Water?” he managed between gasps, reaching out a hand. He’d quickly learned how to request basic needs in Anders’s language, and it had become his lifeline during the journey. Without a word, Anders passed him a waterskin. Wilder took it eagerly, bringing it to his lips and drinking deeply. The water was cool and fresh, a balm against the heat and exhaustion. When he’d finally had his fill, he lowered the waterskin with a grateful sigh. “Thank you.”

Anders took the waterskin back, but didn’t move. He simply stood there, watching Wilder, his face impassive yetunreadable. Wilder could feel the weight of his gaze, but if Anders had any thoughts to share, he kept them to himself.

Wilder let himself relax against the tree trunk, savoring the unexpected pause. Here in the heart of the forest, a hush had settled around them, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and distant bird calls. The air smelled sweet, infused with the earthy aroma of damp soil and decaying leaves, so different from the salty tang of the sea or the cold, stone-scented halls of the monastery. It was peaceful in a way that tugged at Wilder’s heart, yet a creeping unease soon followed.

The isolation here was absolute. Wilder hadn’t missed the way Anders had navigated the forest without hesitation, taking seemingly random turns and trails that Wilder, unfamiliar with this land, could barely follow. The trees all looked the same, with no distinct markers to differentiate one stretch of forest from the next. No boulders or peculiar shapes stood out, no streams or patches of unusual flowers to serve as landmarks. He had tried, fruitlessly, to commit their path to memory, but his mind spun in circles as they twisted and turned. He couldn’t shake the sense that he was entirely dependent on Anders now, that if he strayed even a few paces off their path, he’d be hopelessly lost.

Could he even find his way back to the town? And if he did, would he be safe there? He’d stick out at a glance—his robes, his language, his very presence marked him as an outsider. The crew from the ship would recognize him as Anders’s servant, his property. They’d turn him over without question if he tried to slip away. Even if he could avoid them, he had no coin, no way to barter for passage. He clenched his jaw, pushing the thought away.

Lost in these uneasy musings, Wilder’s gaze drifted down to the hen pecking at the earth, blissfully ignorant of his turmoil. Her presence was oddly grounding, a small reminderof familiarity and companionship amidst the strangeness of his surroundings. Gently, he scooped her up, smoothing her feathers as she settled against his chest. He looked up at Anders, who was still standing there, impassive but watchful.

“My lord? We can continue now,” he said, the words coming out softer than he’d intended.

Anders’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, as though assessing him, then he gave a brief nod and resumed his pace, leading the way deeper into the forest. Wilder kept close, falling back into rhythm, yet with each step, he felt himself sinking further into unknown territory, surrounded by vast, silent trees that seemed to close in around them.

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Once, a great beast had washed ashore near the monastery, its massive body sprawled across the sand like an island in its own right. The older monks had called it a whale, a leviathan of the sea, and to the young Wilder, it was both terrible and beautiful. Even in death, the creature had a strange dignity, its long, gray flanks glistening in the dim light. He could only imagine what a magnificent sight it must have been in life, gliding effortlessly through the depths, a great heart beating within, lungs swelling as it sang its haunting songs beneath the waves. But that glory was short-lived. Over days and weeks, its body was gradually stripped away, scavenged by men and animals alike—the seagulls and foxes, villagers and monks, and even the crabs that crept up from the water’s edge. Bit by bit, all that remained of the once-grand leviathan was a skeleton of towering, bleached bones, stark against the sand like the ghost of a dream.

Now, standing outside Anders’s dwelling, Wilder thought of those bones, the silent remnants of something oncefull of life. The land around the house was lush, green in a way that seemed to drink deeply from the earth itself. The river shimmered nearby, sunlight dancing on its surface, and the grass was a richer green than any he’d seen at the monastery. Trees stretched overhead, tall and strong, their leaves swaying gently in the breeze, creating dappled patterns on the ground. Anders’s home had the same rough beauty as its surroundings. The long, thatched building looked more like a hall than a simple house, with sturdy walls that had clearly weathered many seasons.

It must have been lively once, Wilder thought, gazing at the structure. But now, it seemed lonely, too large for just one man. It was clear that Anders had been on his own for some time; though he’d patched the walls here and there, the repairs looked like temporary fixes, meant to hold off nature’s relentless advance rather than maintain the home. The house felt empty, unadorned by the warmth of daily life. What might have been a garden beside the building had grown wild in Anders’s absence, overtaken by weeds. Wilder could imagine the kind of work that lay ahead of him here—chores and labor to fill every day, much like at the monastery. He sighed, the sound escaping him before he could catch it, and he was already picturing a future of endless tasks, his life swallowed by drudgery.

Anders noticed the sigh, and Wilder stiffened as their eyes met. Anders’s brows drew together, and a faint flush crept up his neck as he scratched the back of his head, looking between Wilder and the house as though he, too, were seeing it with fresh eyes. For a moment, Anders’s usual stoic expression softened, something apologetic or uncertain flickering in his gaze.

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