When Edmund stirred awake, he found himself wanting to look for some fresh air. He had a good dream, a VERY good dream in fact, that a tree had grown in his pants just from reminiscing about such a dream.
It was plenty vague, yet also quite vivid. Two women, one bed. He wasn't sure who these women were. Perhaps it was Joan, or perhaps it was one of those sirens he spotted back in his trip to China.
Nobody believed him, but Edmund knew what he saw. The golden tail was clear as day. It was a pity that he will never see such a thing ever again in his life, as they have set sail to the Arctic now, and would probably stay for a while.
After calming himself down, he went out to the deck to get some fresh air. It wasn't that cold yet, just relaxing cool weather.
To no surprise, he found his first mate there. Scribbling on his notes alone, compass in hand.
Edmund had decided not to let his presence known and just observed his most trusted crew member, as well as his most trusted friend. Every morning, he would find Henry lost in writing down notes while staring at the sea. As if frantically trying to locate something, or some place on this Earth that he knew not what.
The pallor on Henry's face would often worsen in a state such as this. He wore the face of death itself, and more than the physical death….
There was something far deeper, something that corrupts one's spirit to turn into an unsatisfied beast deprived of something. But deprived of what, he always wondered.
The dissatisfaction mixes with melancholy, a sickening pain right deep within the bile. He would often wonder if he was sick with fever. And when he did place his hand on the man's skin, it wasn't hot, but instead very cold.
Colour would soon return to Henry's cheeks the moment he noticed he was being watched. He would stop scribbling, and go on to greet him with a warm smile like nothing has ever happened.
"Captain." His gaze was shiftier than usual, frazzled. "I did not expect to see you here so early in the morning. You should make yourself some tea or you'll catch a cold from the breeze."
"That won't be necessary." Edmund chuckled. "I have thick skin. I bet I can survive in the arctic naked for a while."
Henry just made an amused sound, but did not say anything to this.
Edmund decided to pick the conversation starter. He went with the most recent thing in his mind.
"We have just left England, and yet I find myself getting the morbs already." He said, sighing. "I find my heart being torn apart between staying by the British Queen's side of the world, while also pursuing the Ice Queen of the North. Ah, being stuck between two equally tempting ladies is difficult."
"So you are here to wallow about women. I see how much you miss Joan." Henry placed his compass and small journal in his pockets.
"Oh, to be sure." Edmund went by his side, watching the toiling seas below them. "How about you? Is there no one to be missed by the great Henry Clerval?"
His first mate shook his head. "I am more happy to join the Ice Queen's side than to stay in the most tedious place in the land."
"Hah, come now. Only the bourgeois experience tedium, Soho is good when you're looking for some nanty narking. Wouldn't you agree?" Edmund grinned.
Henry shrugged. "I suppose so. Soho has peculiar people like you."
"You call me peculiar?" Edmund placed a hand on his chest, pretending as if he had just been stabbed there. "Why, I'd take 'charming' and 'more handsome than the Devil himself' as a compliment, but not peculiar!"
Henry snorted. "Aye, aye, you are truly more handsome than the Devil himself, Captain. And also more boisterous and prideful."
Edmund gave him a fake punch to the shoulder, and Henry returned it as well. And just like that, they found themselves laughing like two little rascals again. Just like when they were children.
"Even the Devil must set his heart on something, I believe." Edmund suddenly said, his gaze far into the sea. "I am not a believer myself, not raised to be a church-goer. But when I heard that the Devil was cast into the pits with nothing but himself to be in misery for his deceit, I thought what an awful fate that must be."
Henry's brows furrowed. "Why so?"
"Would you not be miserable after isolation? Especially if you bear an attachment to something or someone?" Edmund asked.
Henry thought about it. "That is true. But who or what is the Devil attached to? Didn't they portray him as nothing but a vain, selfish and envious entity that tried to overtake his Creator himself?"
"I do not know either, since I am not familiar with the belief. But you are knowledgeable in many different religions besides Christianity, so I would like to hear your insights about it." Edmund asked.
Henry shook his head. "It is not my place, people would find it rather blasphemous…."
"And there are no other people watching us here. No one will throw stones at you for such a grave crime of blasphemy." Edmund insisted. "Just go at it, mate. As an Indian friend of mine from America would say, 'Don't judge a man until you have walked a mile in his shoes'. So let us put ourselves in the shoes of the Devil."
Henry was hesitant, but eventually gave his piece on the matter:
"You see, the Devil was said to be an angel or at least a benevolent spirit, depending on what sources you hail from. Some would even describe him as the 'most beloved', the morning star, the one who demonstrates perfection, wisdom and pure beauty. But this was also the cause of his ambitions to overtake God. He tried to start a revolution against him."
"And then?" Edmund just leaned on one chin.
It was always a delight for him to listen to Henry's stories. He especially loved listening to them before going to sleep together as children, whether it was in his own grimy bedroom or Henry's large and opulent one.
Yet as they grew older, their sleepovers became less frequent and he realised now how he missed them. But that's another matter to think about for later. For now, he must focus on Henry's words about the Devil and God.
".....And then as you know, he was cast into hell to be banished for eternity, from God's light. There, he will be with the sinners and the tormented." Henry gazed far away. "It is a wonder that if God was all powerful, why would he not just erase a traitor like him from existence?"
"Maybe he still felt compassion for him. He still sees beauty in him, and so he gives him some mercy." Edmund tried to guess.
Henry shrugged. "What I do know was that the Devil had all the affection and praise, yet it wasn't enough. Perhaps it was because…. Well, he was just one of many."
"What do you mean?"
"One of God's many beloved creations. Though he was most treasured, he was never enough. There are the other angels, and the creatures of the Earth... And of course, humans."
He clenched his fist. "I'd feel rather miserable too. Imagine if a painter had a Muse who he treats as if he was the only one that mattered in his art. And yet, new Muses came, and though he was still a subject of his arts… The Muse had to remind himself that he would never be enough for this painter, and that what mattered to his Master were the watchers. The ones who will see the painting."
Edmund doesn't know why, but he could sense so much subdued anger radiating from his tone. Like dark clouds that make you anticipate storms, lightning and thunder.
Henry's eyes were bloodshot. "What mattered most were the humans, never the 'brightest star'. The ones who consume the creation. The audience that spectate and dictate what they believe is 'good' and 'not' based solely on what they 'want' and 'don't want'—"
He then stopped himself, and shook his head.
"Well… That is all I have to say about the matter of the Devil and God. It's all falsehood, talking about how lonely the Devil must be.... and I bet believers would have their blood boiling from the nonsense I'm speaking. I….. I'm rather parched, I'll get some tea."
He left before Edmund could call out. This left him wondering what this whole tirade could be about.
But more than that….
He somehow felt that he had just reopened a large wound in his friend's heart. This caused him to toss and turn that night….
And he found himself having a peculiar nightmare about men in robes and a demonic cult sacrificing a maiden.
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