Chapter 5 — Between Sky and Sea
Mid-101 AC
POV — Third Person
Four months had passed.
The cold beyond the Wall remained relentless, as unforgiving as ever — yet Barthogan had never felt happier.
He could now enter the owl's mind for a few seconds at a time. Long enough to feel the sharp wind high above, to see through the darkness with her eyes. It made him feel different — more awake, more alive. With that change came ideas, many of them, and something even more important: he and the owl had grown close, nearly inseparable. Like flesh and bone.
It had not been easy at first.
During the early attempts, all Barth managed were confused flashes — warped shadows, the wind tearing through the air, the strange sensation of no longer being inside his own body. It lasted only moments before the headache came — heavy, pounding behind his eyes. Still, he persisted. Barth was stubborn. He had inherited that from his parents in that life. They said all First Men were like that: unyielding once they chose a path.
With time, he learned to choose the right moment. To breathe deeply. Not to force it. To let his mind slip.
Now he could see through the owl's eyes for several full seconds, sometimes a little more. Going beyond that still brought pain — a dull, throbbing ache — but it was enough. Enough to observe, to learn… and to feel an intense happiness that warmed him from within.
He had named her Thief.
The name was not affectionate. It was practical. A constant reminder of the plan. And, in a way, it suited her.
Thief was male. Barth noticed that with every passing month at his side, the owl grew — not only in size, but in intelligence. There was a strange, almost instinctive harmony between them. Sometimes Barth felt hunger and thought of hunting; moments later, Thief would leap from his shoulder and begin searching for prey.
Owls were silent, lethal, attentive… and above all, patient.
Perfect qualities for a thief.
The name felt right.
Barth intended to go to the Wall — and beyond it — once the bond was strong enough. And he was almost certain it would be. Not merely to observe, but to steal: information, supplies, tools when possible. Most important of all, knowledge.
He needed to understand how the men of the south — the Manderlys, the ironmen — built ships. Not great war vessels, but something simple, sturdy, capable of cutting through the frozen seas of the North.
Those four months had been necessary to reach the coast and begin patrols. Long journeys, slow and cautious. Barth used Thief to map coves, cliffs, and sea currents. He observed everything.
And little by little, his dreams changed.
The narwhal no longer shared space with visions of the owl. Now it was always him.
The dark sea. The pale bodies of its companions, streaked with darker marks, cutting through the water. The long tusks. Barth began to notice patterns. He started mentally mapping the surrounding regions — both beneath the surface and above it. He knew where the ice was thinner, where the water grew too deep.
The dreams became clearer. And they were no longer accidental.
Before sleeping, Barth meditated. He tried to push the golden thread of his mind as far as possible, feeling he could go far… very far. He never discovered the limit. He always fell asleep first.
He had also learned to exclude Thief from his dreams, controlling the bond. It helped him sleep — the owl was far too restless at night.
For brief moments, Barth felt he could influence the narwhal. Nothing grand. Just subtle impulses. Making it surface a little longer. Keep its eyes above the water. Drift closer to shore before diving again.
It was little.
But it was real.
Now, Barth walked beside Clea, Magnus, and Crester toward a frozen bay — one he had already seen many times in his sleep. As they advanced across the hardened snow, he silently reviewed his plans.
He was only six years old.
Physically, he was still a child. Perhaps a large one, but a child nonetheless. Yet that was only part of the truth. His body grew too fast, hardened by cold and constant effort. More than that, he was one of the First Men. A free man. A wildling beyond the Wall.
And he knew things.
He knew important events were approaching in the south. He remembered a Stark uncle's attempt to usurp his own nephew. A mistake. A fragile moment. Barth intended to help the boy — not out of loyalty, but vision. Skagos would be the price. A wild island for wild men. Fair.
The Starks were honorable. He would not mind bending the knee to them. Honor, to Barth, still meant something. They said that house had kept its word for eight thousand years. Perhaps it was true.
He also planned to save at least one female dragon during the Dance. He did not want all those creatures to die. The world would be poorer without them.
Another plan grew in his mind: to build a ship.
Drakkars. Like those of the Vikings.
They did not seem complex. Primitive, even. Small. Able to carry no more than twenty people, some rations and weapons. Nothing that drew attention. For that, Thief would be essential. She would watch men at work, learn every detail.
He would not have all the tools, but he knew how to bargain. Promises of freedom beyond the Wall had always held power.
He knew there were men along the Watch's coast. He could not sail by day. The plan was to travel at night, guided by narwhals, by the owl… perhaps by some seabird in the future.
When he finished that long reflection — necessary to organize the recent past and prepare for what was to come — Barth lifted his gaze.
Ahead, in the frozen bay, a group of narwhals swam slowly.
His heart raced.
It could be his.
Or it might not.
Without a word, Barth called Thief. The owl was drowsy on his shoulder, feathers puffed against the cold. The moment he slipped into her mind, he heard a soft chirp — almost a greeting.
She took flight.
From above, Barth counted quickly.
Six narwhals. One smaller than the rest.
Exactly as he remembered.
He returned to himself and warned his parents and Crester. That was the group.
Crester watched the bay in silence before speaking. He advised caution. Said he had no idea how someone could connect with an animal surrounded by its own kind. There were no clear rules for such things.
"Go slowly," he said. "Very slowly."
Barth nodded.
He knew the moment was far too important to rush.
POV — Barthogan
The group of narwhals was about ten meters away from me.
I did not know how to call them. I did not know if they would respond to sounds, gestures, or intent. But I knew that, like dolphins and orcas, they were highly social creatures.
I had an idea.
Within seconds, I stood naked before them all.
"Barthogan, son of Magnus, what do you think you're doing?!" my mother shouted. "Have you gone mad? You'll fall ill!"
She was furious. And she knew exactly what I intended.
"Calm down, mother," I said, watching her approach too fast.
It was dangerous. If she grabbed me, the plan would end right there.
So I turned to the sea and dove.
The water was freezing, yet I felt no pain when I opened my eyes. No burning from the salt. I swam toward the narwhals.
The smallest one approached.
He was black. Pitch black.
The name came instantly.
Breu.
I knew who he was. And he knew who I was.
When I touched him, I slipped into his mind with greater ease than with Thief. I embraced his body — he lacked a dorsal fin like a shark's — and, strangely, I did not feel short of breath. Perhaps the breathing arts were helping instinctively. Perhaps it was something else. It did not matter.
Breu surged to the surface. He was about four meters long — small compared to the others, who must have been closer to six.
When we emerged, I saw my parents and Crester staring at me. My mother's eyes were wide. I was definitely getting beaten later.
Breu swam toward the shore. The rest of the group surrounded us, escorting us to the frozen bay like a silent procession.
I liked that.
Common narwhals had pale bodies, streaked with gray and white, long spiraled tusks like ivory lances.
Breu was different.
His body was completely black, without markings. His tusk was long and smooth, tinted a dirty yellow — almost golden.
My father and Crester watched me with a mix of relief and pride. They even looked amused.
At the edge of the ice, I slid off Breu's back and stroked his head.
That was when strong hands grabbed me.
"You insane little bastard!" my mother shouted. "Do you want to kill your mother from fright?!"
She started smacking my backside. I had never been beaten in this life. In the other one… well, that was different.
"I'm sorry, mother!" SMACK! "At least let me get dressed, I'm freezing!"
"Now you're cold, huh?" she snapped while helping me dress. "Diving into that frozen sea was just fine!"
"Let's go," Crester said, already turning away. "We need fire and shelter. It's dangerous for him to fall ill."
"But what about Breu?" I asked.
"Breu?" He raised an eyebrow. "Already named him?"
"My narwhal…"
Crester let out a dry laugh.
"Two weeks to name the owl, and the narwhal was instant?" He shook his head. "He won't disappear. When the bond forms, they always return. Now move, before you freeze solid."
Indeed, I had not felt cold in the water.
But now… my teeth chattered uncontrollably.
Perhaps my resistance to the cold was not so divine after all.
I cast one last look at Breu, part of his body resting on the ice, the other still in the water. His tusk pointed toward me.
I wove a golden thread between us.
"See you soon, boy," I murmured. "Don't wander too far."
We headed toward the temporary cabin on the coast.
It was warm.
And in that moment, that was all that mattered.