Standing Steady in the Storms: Ch. 20

Notes: so begins the part with angst. Hopefully this gets approved.

Another thing: any weather systems mentioned are not actually there. They're figurative. It might sound weird now, but I PROMISE it'll make sense soon.

Part II: Shattered

Drifting on a Sea of Anguish

Janner faced the open sea, his face set in a blank expression that occasionally flickered in grief or guilt. The water before him sparkled, shimmered, and danced, the sky soared above him, cloudless and blue, the sun glowed brightly, and the breeze gently blew his hair into his face. 

He saw none of this. All Janner saw was Kal — Kal when he had started crying in the forest, Kal when he had fled from him out of shame and grief, Kal when he had been carried away by the Bat Fang because he hadn’t been able to protect the King like a Throne Warden was supposed to. Not only that, but he was the one who had driven his brother away, right into the enemy’s clutches. 

It was Kalmar’s face when Janner had told him to leave and never come back that showed itself again and again and again. The looks of sorrow and guilt and confusion, Janner had seen all of those many times. But it was the terror on Kal’s face, the terror that was there because his brother had betrayed him and thrown him out like a piece of waste, that seared itself into Janner’s memory. 

To make it even worse, he heard the words echoing constantly in his mind. Janner heard what he had spoken out of grief and fury so many times that he felt as though it would drive him mad. There was no other way of seeing it: he had shattered, trampled, and slaughtered the very code he had been taught to live by all his life. He had done it mercilessly, and when Kalmar had told him that Galya had died too, had he listened? Had he been understanding? No, he had not been. He had as good as told his brother that he had it coming to him. That if he were hurting because his wife and child died, Kalmar should be hurting, too. 

Janner couldn't stand himself for what he had done. He had betrayed his brother, his family, Anniera, the call of a Throne Warden, and the very blood that ran through his veins. Why hadn’t something in his mind told him to stop? Why hadn’t it told him to quit speaking and yelling? Why hadn’t he shut his mouth when he had had the chance?

He had defied his life’s purpose. He had defied everything he had ever known. Back on the Enramere, Janner had caught a glimpse of the Throne Warden’s curse: guilt. He had seen what it had done to his uncle. At that moment, he had thought he understood Artham better.

The guilt he felt when he saw Kal’s furry Fang form was nothing like the abiding shame and self-loathing he felt now. It consumed his entire being. He couldn’t move or breathe or cry or speak without thinking of Kalmar. Even when he wanted to think about Sara and their baby and how lost he was without them, he couldn’t. His mind would always pull him back to Kalmar, back to his shame, back to his guilt, back to the words that he had spewed forth from a mind singed with fury. 

It wasn’t until evening came that Janner realized there was no food or water on the raft. He had his sword and his guilt. Nothing more. It doesn’t matter anyway, he thought miserably and he lay on the wooden beams. A dark blue sky covered him now, but Janner barely registered it. I have the sail up. The raft is pointed in the direction the Bat Fang took Kalmar. If I catch up to them in time, then maybe I can right my wrongs. If not....

Janner didn’t sleep that night. The pain in his heart was more than he could bear, and it kept him from rest. His mind wouldn’t sleep. It throttled forward, shrieking at him constantly. When his eyelids finally drifted close, his brain screamed curses at him again, startling him awake. You are supposed to be a Throne Warden! Your King was kidnapped and taken by Bat Fangs because you screamed hatred at him, and you think you can sleep through it? NO YOU CAN’T! Selfish, hateful monster. 

And you call yourself a Wingfeather.

He stopped trying to sleep after that.

Morning came, and Janner felt exhaustion threatening to overtake him. The voices — now he knew what Artham meant when he talked about the voices — spoke constantly. They wouldn’t let him do anything without reminding him of what a self-centered failure he was. They came on suddenly and without warning, like a storm at sea. You were foolish to think that your grief was greater than Kalmar’s — he held his pain in for three weeks! You couldn’t hold yours in for three minutes. You’re supposed to help him stay strong, not the other way around. He owes you NOTHING. Yet he sacrificed his own comfort and relief to spare you from the misery of knowing your family was dead. Worthless, narcissistic, fiend. You don’t deserve to be called a Throne Warden. 

Janner knew that every word of it was true. So he never bothered to rise from where he lay on the raft, he simply stayed where he was and let his mind destroy him. It was just that way. He couldn’t have rest. Rest was selfish. Peace was selfish. Thinking about anything other than what he had done to Kalmar was selfish, too. 

The second day passed into night and when morning came again, Janner was still on the raft. Now, though, he sat up, hunched over with his arms wrapped around his shoulders. His lips trembled and he cried, but no tears came. The iron fist that clenched his stomach was now accompanied by hunger. Sometimes there was a lapse in the screaming voices and Janner would say to himself, this is no different than it was in the Fork! Factory! when I was in the Coffin for three days. I didn’t have any food or water then. Then he remembered he had had the apple. No, I don’t deserve an apple now. This is just the same as that. I’m thirsty but I’m not dying, I’m hungry but I’m not starving. 

BUT YOU ARE GUILTY, AND IT IS EATING YOU ALIVE! the voices hissed as thunder rumbled. Janner flinched and hugged himself tighter, whimpering and waiting for the onslaught to pass. 

When it had, he was laying down again, his face pressed against the wood as he gasped for breath. If his mind wanted to, it would destroy him faster than anything. It chose not to, though. It chose to let him suffer. He chose to let himself suffer. 

On day four, the voices had quieted a bit. They were a constant murmur, but nowhere near as vivid as they had been before. They let him think about other things, about Sara and their baby and what it would have been like to be new parents. Janner would smile weakly at the thought, feeling his chapped lips burn as he did so. Then he would remember that Sara was gone. The baby was gone. Kalmar was gone. Janner’s life purpose was gone. 

He would remember that he had nothing left. 

His mind buzzed strangely and he couldn’t remember how cotton had gotten onto the raft. It was in his mouth for some reason, and try as he might, he couldn’t dislodge it. Janner didn’t understand why he felt so heavy and cold, especially on such a hot day out in the sun. 

As his eyes drifted shut, all he could think about was how glad he was to sleep, how much he wanted to rest and breathe evenly. But even while he slept, he could think of nothing but how he had destroyed his brother because he had been selfish in his pain. He could feel nothing but the storm.

*****

“Artham, it’s getting late, are you sure you want to fly out again?” 

Artham sighed and turned to look at Greston. In the weeks they had been searching, they had worked out a compromise: three reconnaissance flights between breakfast and lunch, three between lunch and dinner. Three times a week he could choose to make an extra flight, either in the morning or afternoon. He had already used two of his extra flights and it was still early in the week. Greston didn’t want him to bargain for more after he had used his options. “Yes, I’m certain. I will not ask for any others this week, but I feel like something is different about tonight.” Artham stood with left hand on the ratlines, looking out into the sea. The light was beginning to fade, which meant night would come soon. They would sleep and begin again the next morning.

“You’ve said that before,” Greston pointed out.

“Yes, but now I mean it. I don’t know how to explain it, but I just feel as though I’ll find something,” Artham struggled to turn his thoughts into words. It worked splendidly on paper and it usually worked during conversations, but he was having trouble for some unforeseen reason. 

Greston threw his arms up. “Fine. Do what you want. But your time is going to be shortened because of the lack of daylight.”

I know , Artham thought as he spread his wings and launched himself high into the air. But it doesn’t matter. Something is different. I know it is. 

Instead of flying in expanding concentric circles as he had for the other reconnaissance flights, Artham chose to simply fly out, in a straight line from the ship’s bow. This took him in a southward direction, and he knew they had never come this way before. 

Maker, Artham prayed. Please, do not let this be in vain. Help me find them. 

He kept an eye on the water at all times, moving his head back and forth to take in the entire sea that lay before him. Artham’s eyes were strong enough to distinguish between a piece of driftwood and something more revealing, he just hoped they would serve the same purpose in the dark. Night was falling fast, and Artham was worried not only about being unable to see if either of the boys were drifting, but also Greston’s annoyance if he didn’t come back soon. 

He glanced at the stars above him that bravely showed their lights in the early evening. They twinkled joyously, utterly unaware of the tumult that shook Anniera. The seawater below him rolled softly, turning orange and red in the light of the setting sun. They would soon clothe themselves in navy and reflect the beauty of the shining stars that talked softly, murmuring all through the night. 

Artham felt his heart sinking with the sun. He knew he would have to turn around soon, but he also knew he was supposed to find something. Maker, please, show me, he begged, desperate for anything. He paused in his flight forward and beat his wings strongly, hovering in the air. He cast his eyes across the ocean in a sweeping glance. 

Then he saw something that made him stop. It was a small, dark object ahead of him. Artham flew towards it to get a better look, and as he did, he realized that the object was a small raft with a sail attached to it. 

And on the raft was a person. 

Artham’s breath caught in his throat as he approached the raft. He looked at the person on board, pity and anguish filling his heart. 

“Janner,” he whispered, as he wondered what the best way was to bring his nephew back to the ship. He wasn't sure if he could make it back to the ship without being dragged into the Sea — the instance involving Gammon back in Dugtown came to mind — but he also was unsure if he could find the raft again if he went back. He couldn't see anything to tow it with.

Janner shuddered and Artham heard a choked whimper escape from his throat. It was all that was needed to convince him. Maker, help us make it back to the ship, he prayer as he flew a bit lower and gathered Janner in his arms, pulling him close. His heart twisted in surprise when he realized his nephew was fair lighter than he remembered.

As Artham flew back, a a million questions peppered his mind. He wondered what had happened in the past three and a half weeks, how long he had been on the raft, and the question that burned in his mind: where was Kalmar?

Artham knew those questions were for another time, though. Now, Janner needed help physically. When he was aware enough to think, he knew he would need help mentally, too. 

Artham knew that better than anyone in all of Aerwiar.

Notes: Since portions of "Shattered" are like what we saw above (from Janner's section), I try to stay away from Janner's POV because a) it's confusing, b) it's hard to write, and c) he's an unreliable narrator.

The voices are inspired by the voices Peterson wrote in for Artham (I'm thinking specifically of Part II: Skree when it was from his POV). I have this idea that just as every Throne Warden has the call to protect that runs through their veins and gives them strength, they also have the voices that weigh them down and do the exact opposite of giving them strength when they "fail." This ties into the "guilt of a Throne Warden" complex, which is canonical.