Artemesia Family/Jeherad/Diary of Night/01

Part 1

I am Garret Artemesia, born Galahad Artemis, transcriber of the entire contents of this diary. I will try my best to keep the original text, but in cases where such is not possible, I will note my edits, and what the original content was.

April 18, 952 (Wait, I thought he made landfall on that date! Could I have misread the original smeared text wrong?): My name is Jared Artemis, formally known as the commoner herbalist Jeherad Wormwood. The circumstances of my nobility are obscured by history now, but all that matters is that I am the founder of the Artemesia family, and my two sons Nathan and Lorn have sealed this path. Why do I write this? Even now, I am on a voyage across the great ocean, but the captain has told none whom I asked where we are headed. I know this will almost never reach my home, but I feel that at least this way, my words have a chance at preservation.

The men came last night, waking Katrinn and I. They were calling me back to service as hero of the people. Ah, how sad a career, being a hero. Once you act like one, they expect you to be one always. Nevertheless, I heeded the call, and before Katrinn awoke the next morning, I went aboard this ship that is rocking in a bothersome manner. But I at least know that Nathan has progressed very well in his military career, and Lorn has graduated from the scholars' academy with excellent recommendations. My only regret is not being able to see my grandchildren grow up. Lorn has assured me that he will name his firstborn son Jared, in honor of me. I find it quite touching, but I told him that was unnecessary, and that there were far better names than Jared.

Well, the ship is a medium-sized clipper. Though I have no idea where we are bound, it seems that wherever it is, we are in a hurry to get there. All five sails have been catching the strong easterly winds, and the galley crew have been at the oars rowing since sunrise. It is now early evening, if you must know. I do feel somewhat sorry for what those fellows have to endure down there, but there really is nothing I can do about it, I suppose. Besides, the captain has specifically ordered all passengers like myself, to refrain from talking to any of the commoner crew. By passengers like myself, I assumed he meant nobles.

The sun is setting, and it makes a wondrous reflection on the open waters. I feel surrounded by the deep crimson-orange, and the glowing red orb of the setting sun. The ocean has changed color from the dark blue during the daytime to a rich red. It reminds me a bit of my younger days when I still had time to act the part of the romantic hero and bring Katrinn with me to beautiful places to see breathtaking sights. Alas, I will never see Katrinn again, it seems. But I can feel the wind beginning to take its evening chill. I will soon go back inside my cabin, and sleep upon that sad excuse for a bed.

April 19, 952: The morning air was crisp and salty. I had never been accustomed to the salty air, as my home in Commonyr was inland enough to be separated from the coastal air. I never traveled north to the coast, or south to Fontan City either. But my fellow passengers, some of whom have obviously a great deal of sailing experience, tell me that I will soon get used to the smell, and the constant rocking. They tell me that I am lucky I haven't yet gotten seasick. Seasick? Bah! I have survived ten years of battles, both against man and beast, both large and small, pitched battles, disorganized skirmishes, and even nighttime ambushes. I have survived all that, so what would seasickness be to me?

That afternoon I ate a rather strange dish I had never seen. They said that it was sea turtle, but if it was, it certainly did not look like a sea turtle anymore. The flesh was soft, unexpected, because I thought it would be tough and leathery, like how the land turtles I had seen appeared to be. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the meal. Afterwards I once more went abovedeck to breathe air. Anything to get away from the stuffy air inside the ship. I wonder when we will arrive, because the less time I need to spend on this wooden trap the more time I can breathe. Breathing is very important for an old man like me.

This evening was somewhat cloudy, and the sunset was less grand than yesterday's show had been. The wind is still as strong, and from what I overhear from the crew during lunch, they are most delighted. I still have no idea where we are going and when I ask my fellow passengers, they give me a strange look. So for the time being I have decided to stop worrying about the destination. I have lived this long already, and as a hero, no less, so the fact that I am still alive is a wonder in itself. I really could care less at this point if the captain were trying to sail directly into the maw of the Leviathan.

April 20, 952: Yes, only three days into the voyage, and already I feel bored. Maybe it is the old memories kicking in. This new prospect of adventure on the open seas has no doubt fired my mind into thinking it is a youthful hero fighting for honor, for his lord, and for his beloved. But I remind myself that my body does not lie, and indeed, it is an old man. That puts my mind back in its place, usually. Still I feel excited, or anxious, or both, for some unknown reason. Maybe it is true that one never stops being a hero until one dies. Even after death, though, would some heroes' legacies still be so great that they continue to be heroes? Who knows. I am rambling now it seems, and wasting some quite precious ink (So am I, and so I have omitted the rest of this date's passage, because all he says is what he had for lunch and something else about the wind and such.)

April 30, 952: Would you believe it? Almost a full fortnight now and still we have not reached whatever destination we seek. Exactly how far is this land? Are we even sailing towards land, or are we on a mission to sail around the world? But, again, the captain and his crew have been silent and they watch the eastern horizon with increased tension everyday. For the past five days now, anytime I have spoken to a member of the crew I was met initially with a startled jump, as if the fellow was deeply engrossed in something. Always, it would be when they were looking eastward. We are sailing westward, so why are they looking behind us? Are we being pursued? By my honor, have I mistakenly joined a band of privateers? I pray I have not.

May 2, 952: To drown my increasing paranoia I spent a long time in the ship's makeshift bar. The crude port was horrible, and burned my throat, but it did its job. My body has lost much more stamina than I had thought. All day yesterday I had been nearly disabled in my sorry excuse for a bed, though I did not vomit. Ah, how my body has become the victim of time.

When I went abovedeck today I saw why the crew was so apprehensive this past week. Although it was midday, far into the eastern horizon gray clouds and lightning could be seen. They say that the easterly winds came from the storm, but that the same winds that made our ship travel faster also came from the storm, which was also heading westward. I see now, the crew was scared that they wouldn't beat the storm to their destination. Still, I did not gain any insight into our destination.

(What is with Jeherad and his obsession with sunsets? Seriously, this is the third entry in the first four entries that he devotes considerable time to describing the sunset. I will not waste ink writing all his descriptions. If I omit any further descriptions of sunsets, I will no longer make a note of it.)

May 3, 952: I can hear thunder, rumbling. I do not know how far away the storm is from our ship. I would much rather not think about the prospects of being shipwrecked in the middle of the ocean.

I went outside this morning but it was dark. Gray clouds hung overhead, and the wind felt fiercer. The five sails were straining in the wind, but the captain wanted to make full use of the wind. It has been over a fortnight! Where are we? Where are we going? I fear I will never come to know the answer.

May 4, 952: The rain pelts the deck. Even below, in my cozy cabin, I hear it. They sound like the hail of arrows striking the ground. It brings back nightmares, and I am rather ashamed of this. I, a hero of hundreds of campaigns, frightened by a storm? But now I am outside my element. I do not know how to handle myself aboard a ship, nor how to survive in case of shipwreck.

The captain sent some members of the crew to assure all the passengers that we would be safe, that we were making good progress, and that we should continue to outpace the storm. All the rain hitting the ship would have suggested otherwise, but the crew member I spoke to assured me that this was quite normal, and that heavy rain usually occurred quite a ways from the actual storm.

May 5, 952: This afternoon there was a horrible snapping noise, and a thunderous crash. The crew tried to keep all the passengers in their quarters, and succeeded. Still, a few of them were overheard talking about how our main mast had snapped in the wind. I decided to keep silent about this knowledge lest the passengers all panic.

Will we still manage to outpace the storm? I can only hope that we do.

May 6, 952: AsIwrit ethi s I ambei ng violll ently shaken. Th ship is ca ughtinstorm. Cant holdpenstraight. KatrinnNathanLornIloveyouall.

[Garret flipped past the current page he was transcribing, but found that the rest had not yet been restored. When was Bai Yan due to visit him again? He could not quite remember.]