Kaniu's hands were frozen with cold. His eyes hurt so hard did he strain to see ahead. His boat moved slowly but constantly, pushed away by some secret wind. The water was eerily quiet. The only sounds he heard were the water lapping against his aging boat and the occasional creak it gave as the boat moved. It seemed as if the haze was frozen, making a thick shroud that hid everything that may have existed in these parts - these mythical, magical waters of the Rinayars.
Kaniu had never experienced this extreme cold or seen such misty waters. His heart fluttered with fear. Something is bound to hit my boat. It's only a matter of time before the old thing's shattered. He was convinced the boat would not survive another blow. It had taken a significant beating from the roaring waters of the Macareth sea. It was a miracle he had made it so far in the boat.
But nothing happened. Some unknown force was keeping his path clear. The old boat kept moving into the unknown, cold mist. It kept getting colder every few strides. Now his teeth chattered, and he crouched awkwardly, wincing and writhing in pain as his back felt a sharp tinge of spasm. This is it. I am dead. All of a sudden - by a flash of survival instinct- it occurred to him he still carried the shawl gifted to him by the old painter back in the city. It definitely looked warm. Now was the time to use it.
He fumbled for the leather bag his father had packed him as he left. Bread, a few coins, a change of clothes. And the old shawl. But all he could see now was faint silhouettes of things around him. It must be here somewhere. He tried mumbling, but his lips were so cold the words hardly came out. Unable to stand, he rolled down from one end to the other of the small, creaky boat, trying to feel for the old leather bag. Every time he reached his trembling hand out, all he could feel was the cold touch of wood. The whirling motions he earlier experienced while crossing the sea of Macareth must have thrown the bag into the open waters.
Kaniu began losing the hope he felt a few moments ago. Now, he pulled his knees close to his chest. His whole body ached and pained with the cold. He could feel something hard and sharp pierce through his left foot, but the intense cold had numbed his feet. Pictures flashed in front of his eyes as he tried closing them. His father's weak, ailing face. The vague contours of his dead mother. Their home. The wooden toys his father had made him when he was a child. Lecki. Her beautiful, comforting smile.
I must be dying. He thought as his mind jumped from twig to twig. Dying people see their lives flash in front of their eyes. He had heard old people in his town talk as they drank and smoked and told stories of bygone times.
Several moments passed. Or probably hours. Kaniu must have fallen asleep. He came to, feeling something resting against the back of his head. With great effort, he stretched out his hand. He could feel the touch of leather. He yanked the bag to his side and pulled the shawl out. Aching, paining, and wincing, he managed to pull the shawl over his cold body. The soft wool felt comforting. Soon, he began feeling the warmth. His body no longer shivered. The shawl was working magic. This old, tattered gift was probably going to save his life.
Hours went by. The pain numbed by the cold this time had reared its head back under the warmth of the shawl. Kaniu came to with a sharp pain in his left foot. He pulled himself up, feeling and fondling his way to the side of the boat. The mist was still thick, but now he could see what was nearby. He had probably sliced his foot against the sharp edge of an old iron hinge. He must have been bleeding. He could see faint blobs on the cold floor.
Soon, there were voices coming from beyond the mist. Drums? Some weird music - rhythmic beating and thumping. This felt strange but also mythical. Somehow, though, Kaniu was no longer scared anymore. He felt a reassurance.
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