Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4-7 2019 | Page 70

innkeepers would bring out ale after ale for everyone, for the bill was cleared and paid for every morning. The
most eloquent of these guests would be at the centre of all attention, telling the tales of all the extraordinary things they
have seen, with the occasional exaggerated or inappropriate comment by a drunken sailor or captain.
Tales of faraway lands with strange people and peculiar beasts, and of strategically laid out battles and
unexpected fights. There were people that particularly adored putting spices into their food, so much that they
themselves reek of their spices, who rode on steady beasts that drank from their noses instead of their mouths. Xiàng , as
they were called, had elongated canines that were always shown bare to ward them and their riders from troubles. Then
there were the battles that small nations would have lost if not for the assistance of the fleet, and the spectacular festivals
the royalties would hold in thanks.
Night after night he drunk on these tales, thankful for the reprieve they provided for they distracted him from
the soreness of his muscle from the day of work, and occupied his mind lest he start dreading the day ahead. They spun
out tales as smoothly as a spider would with her silk, and he’d spend hours merely listening, entranced by the images
that filled his head. Then, when he would trudge down the small trek back home, his feet always felt lighter than they
had been the night before.
When they had announced they were to leave, a mixture of unwillingness and yearning bloomed through his
heart so unexpectedly that he jumped at its fierceness. Between one heartbeat and the next, he was ready to leave this
place he had called home for all the years he had been.
But now, he could not help but wonder if it were all alcohol-induced fantasises, for in the past weeks he has
seen nothing but the endless stretch of sky and sea, and all he would hear were the gentle splashing of waves and idle
chatter of mundanities among the clatter of deck boys and serving girls he dared mingle with.
That was another thing he discovered, aside from the utter unimportance of his presence. Those who had
basked in the admiration and luxuries provided by the villagers were only a handful among the throng of men and
women this fleet was armed with. The decks and hallways were more often crowded with servants and to-be sailors
such as he, than any of the faces he has come to recognise from nights of intent gazing from across the room that had
seared their features to his memories.
The day he had left, a ship carried them to the fleet that merely appeared as a speck from the harbour, and he
had gawked at the sheer size of the armada from up close. When he looked back, the clatter of shacks from his village
had blurred into a patch of brown amidst the green of their hunting grounds. He saw his hometown from a view he
hadn’t before, for his family did not deal with waterstuff, and it was his first time at sea. From the distance, its miniature
form seemed inconsequential, forgettable. It was only then had he realised why no more than a dozen of these ships had
come to their village, for their shallow bay could fit no more.
Afterwards, he and a few others from his village were assigned to respective ships, and gone was the last of any
linkage he had to home, his mother’s cakes already devoured during short trip there. He was transferred to a moderate-
sized ship in the middle of the fleet, its beat-up hull telling enough of its age.
He had wondered then why the men had come. They certainly didn’t lack supplies, not any that could be
provided by his village, nor by the many even smaller ones they later stopped by. It was first among the many other
questions he would have of the inner-workings of this fleet, which remained unresolved as he saw a few ships deviate
from the fleet now and then with trunks of treasures and return with heaps of mediocre garments that they certainly
didn’t bother using. (It wasn’t until much later that he finally learned that the fleet was tasked with handing out portions
of the riches they carried to famine-stricken villages, on behest of His Imperial Highness. Then, he’d finally discovered
that the war had ended a year after the conscription, and why no men ever returned to his village.)
Sometimes, when left to his own devices, he would wonder if the easiness of giving and unwavering charm
back at his distant village were all a ploy, to amass spiritually and literally hungry youths to join their fleet. But the
moment the thought appears he’d scoff at its silliness – what use were he and a few others of, to a fully self-sufficient
fleet filled to the brim with royal treasures?
What was he here for?
Days, weeks, and perhaps months dragged on, though it would be probable that it was just his impatient mind
warping his perception of time. He had no idea where the fleet was travelling to, for he had never heard of places that
required the long months of travelling they were going through to reach. Chattering with his usual crowd yielded
nothing, for nobody ever told deck boys and servants anything beyond their duty.
He ceased to care if he were not delivered the exciting exploits he thought was promised and resolved that this
was a pretty good life. He had provided for his family, who would be better off with the money than starving with him,
he told his traitorous heart that missed the gentle caresses of his mother and the chime-like laugh of his sister. How
fares his brother, who has now taken his place as the man of the house and must shoulder the burden that comes with?
The very responsibilities he had loathed for years, thinking he would be glad to be rid of, but has now left a gnawing pit