by Katie Macey
"And I haven't iced the buns yet!" Ariana added. The girls dragged Aunty back to the kitchen, leaving Niamh alone with her thoughts.
"Quickly girls! You’re right. Niamh doesn't have much time!"
Niamh’s fragile smile faded. She spun the silver bracelet around and around her wrist. Winter’s Eve was a strange celebration for her little family. She knew from the markets that other families did more than just eat special food. There were old tales retold, of ancient mystical beings and the early histories of Gutheacia. Markets sold ribbons of silver and gold, wound together to decorate doorways and tables. But not here.
“Okay!” came the eventual call. “We’re ready for you, Niamh!”
Forcing a smile, but feeling its strain in her neck, Niamh joined her farewell party.
✽✽✽
Standing on-deck the next day, Niamh faced away from the horizon. The sun would be creeping up and over its threshold at any moment, but for now, the city lay shrouded in darkness. Niamh faced the shore, gripping the varnished wooden railing tight with gloved hands. Letting her body rock with the movement of the ship, it slowly crossed out of the bay and into the open ocean. Niamh kept her gaze focused on the small three-headed blob that was her Aunty and sisters, huddled on the shore. She knew they would watch the ship until it passed out of sight.
A month. Maybe two. That's all this would take. And then they'd never be separated again.
"Hey!” A young man's voice called from high in the rigging. “Hold fast, miss! We're about to leave the bay!"
Nodding without shifting her gaze, Niamh secured her footing. Gusty wind filled the sails and whipped her cloak this way and that. Her chest felt tight, and tears ran down her cheeks. Eventually, the shore vanished from view altogether.
Testing her sea-legs, Niamh let go of the railing. She tumbled directly into a coil of rope. Taking a deep breath, she forced her mind to the task at hand. She was doing what needed to be done. She would travel to Oplijah, take the test, and return a priestess. Besides, seven days on the open seas should be exciting. Missing home was one thing, but she had plenty left to learn, with books packed to revise while at sea. With new resolve, Niamh walked as confidently as she could across the deck. Facing the sun, she felt its warmth on her face and tried to smile.
"So.”
An unfamiliar voice joined her.
“I am not the only maiden to risk the final sail of the season."
A girl appeared by Niamh’s right arm. Niamh stared, though the girl didn’t even glance her way. She hated the thought of this girl watching her wobble across the deck. They were about the same age. But where Niamh's clothes were well worn, this girl wore the finest fabric, and it showed no evidence of ever being worn before at all. She had ribbons woven through her braided hair, and painted on the backs of her hands were the symbols of autumn. The girl caught Niamh staring, so explained,
"For good luck. My father's pretty nervous. Though he wouldn't be put off until spring, not for anything, so it makes little sense really."
The girl smiled at her, and Niamh wondered if she had found a friend for her journey. She hadn’t made fun of her deck-crossing attempt, so maybe she was a kind noble.
"Where are you headed?" said Niamh.
"The academy at Oplijah. Apparently, the research into varied sub-cultures can't wait." Then as though putting on a voice, she said, “The last ship must be risked.”
Niamh didn’t disguise her relief. Not alone after all!
"Oh? I'm headed there too, but for my final test,” said Niamh.
"Traveling with a future priestess?” The girl raised a critical eyebrow. “I can handle that."
"What do you mean about 'the last ship'?" asked Niamh, wobbling as she grabbed onto some rigging for support.
"Don't tell me you don’t know. You haven't sailed before?" The girl twiddled with shimmering ribbons hanging from the ends of her braid.
"Never,” said Niamh. Then anticipating a retort, quickly added, “Though I'm not afraid to."
"No, of course you aren't. If you were from a noble family, you'd understand. We usually sail in the warmer months because that's the safest time. No risk of the ice messing things up."
"Ice? But surely the slush isn’t dangerous."
"Wow, you really are low-born."
Niamh wondered if this girl was genuinely rude, or just careless.
"Oh, don't get offended. My father is wealthy and influential, so please don't be like all the other girls and ruin a perfectly good friendship over jealousy."
"I'm not jealous." And Niamh meant it.
"Good. Then we'll be friends while we travel. That's if I can shake my chaperon."
Niamh followed the girl's dramatic and slow eye-roll towards the old woman sitting on a crate. One of many littering the deck. Their quarters were below, but Niamh had only been able to afford the smallest available. She planned to spend as much time on deck as possible.
"The others are all traders, or - sailors." The girl said the last word like it was something dirty. Niamh glanced up the rigging, remembering with kindness, the warning called down from there earlier.
"I like to think that not all sailors are worthy of mistrust,” said Niamh.
"Spoken like a true low-born. How is it you have the means to travel? Or even become a priestess?"
Niamh had expected the question to come up, just not in the first half-hour of her journey.
"I'm a low-born, that's true enough. But a legacy also."
"A legacy!" The girl’s eyebrows shot up.
"That's right. I'm Niamh, if you can manage being friends with a low-born."
"Well, low-born would be a stretch… but a legacy I can manage! I'm Veayre. Looks like we'll be traveling together for a while.”
Niamh waited while the old woman hurried Veayre back below deck, muttering something about sunburn. Veayre threw her a comical eye roll and Niamh cracked a smile. Seven long days of sailing would certainly pass more easily with company. Leaning heavily on the railing, Niamh ran her fingertips across the filigree engraved bangle of silver, an old habit. Salty air whirled around her, and the ocean danced and glistened in the bold light of the rising sun. Headed out into the open sea, far away from the life and family she'd known, Niamh started at the hope springing in her heart. She would return, and her family would be able to stay together, no matter if the king lived or died. Smiling to herself, Niamh stayed out watching the horizon, wondering what Veayre had meant about harmless ice being dangerous.
✽✽✽
Five days later, Niamh leaned back on a pile of unused sails and watched the sparkling stars. Content in her purpose, she considered her future, resting sure in its certainty. She’d studied enough now. And she'd also watched the sailors carefully for any signs of alarm, but the seas had stayed calm enough, while the wind carried them toward their destination. Her nervousness had been for nothing. Veayre had continued to keep her company, and many hours had been passed happily. Niamh found that their financial differences hadn't inhibited their growing friendship. But tonight Niamh couldn’t sleep. So she had stayed on the deck, staring at the sky, for so long she wondered if dawn was imminent. Niamh fiddled with the end of a piece of rope and wondered, why had no one come to send her below, as they had before? Gazing into the heavens she counted the stars. Maybe they finally trusted that she wouldn’t fall overboard if left unsupervised?
Niamh frowned and sat up on her knees. She dropped the end of the rope and peered into the dark sky. One by one, the stars were vanishing. Then five by five, even as she stared. Like a blanket being pulled over the glittering heavens, the lights in the sky blinked out leaving only velvety black. Niamh thought she should tell someone, a sailor, or the captain perhaps. But a wall of wind tunnelled violently across the ship's deck. Clutching the mast for balance, her magenta hair whipped about her, stinging her face. Rain dumped down, saturating everything above deck immediately. Soaked to the skin, Niamh struggled in the stormy darkness. Then, as though
painted in one instant, everything glistened and lit up in lightning’s flash.
Niamh’s hands skidded on the mast, wet pine, slick with salt. But even a strong grip wouldn’t help her now. She’d thought waves as high as palaces were the stuff of legends. But an impossible wall of water, dark and freezing, swayed like a felled tree.
No time.
The world was gone, only water hanging above.
No time.
But her books! The others!
No time.
The deck beneath her feet. Splintering wood.
Pain in her shoulder.
Salty water up her nose. And noise, so much noise!
Shivering, sinking…
…then darkness.
CHAPTER 2
A groan escaped Niamh’s chapped and blue lips as she lifted a sandy hand to wipe her eyes. Her muscles creaked and she cried out in pain. Laying on her back, weary and pinned by her dress and cloak, both saturated and salty, she dug her fingers into the wet sand beneath her and breathed a prayer of thanks. A single tear dribbled down her cheek, winding its way between the clumps of wet sand.
A storm.
The shipwreck.
The weight of her close brush with death made it impossible to move. Getting up seemed too big a task, so she began by allowing her eyes to adjust. The process took some time, but laying there when she’d avoided a watery death by mere chance, time seemed irrelevant.
Lying in the shallow waters, chilled to the bone, but feeling the gritty sand beneath her and the glow of dawn on her face, she remembered why she’d left home in the first place.
Shivering herself to full consciousness, Niamh mentally checked herself for injury. Her left shoulder ached, and her hands were badly cut up. But otherwise, she was unharmed.
Groaning uninhibited by the chance of being heard, Niamh leaned up on one elbow. Using it as traction, she began her slow shuffle out of the water. Her appearance did not improve as she dragged herself out of the wet shallows and up through the dry white sand. That sand reflected the yellow sun as white glare and clung to every exposed fold of fabric. But the bare skin on her hands revelled in its weak warmth. Clenching her jaw did nothing to stop the chattering of her teeth. Finally sitting up, her blue fingertips clutched at the silver clasp at the base of her neck. Unhooking it, she let her heavy woollen cloak thud to the ground.
Even without the cloak, her clothes felt too heavy. Another tear slid down her cheek, and she smudged it away. She’d have to make do.
Over the calm sea, the new dawn shone down on the cove. Eerily tranquil after such a storm, the water lay flat with no waves lapping at its beach.
The ship was nowhere to be seen. Either long gone, or sunk, it was no help to her anymore. Niamh sniffed and habitually ran a hand through her hair. But it was matted in places, full of knots and grit. Surely she wasn't the only survivor...Niamh blinked. Where were the crew? Where was Veayre?
She leapt to her feet, ignoring her splitting headache, and searched toward the point, then back around the curve of the cove. Shattered remains of the ship and its cargo floated here and there. But a hoarse shout flew from her mouth when she saw the shape of another figure lying on the sand partway along the beach.
Shaking and sore, the narrow-framed girl tore towards it. Had anyone been watching the shoreline, they may not have noticed the streak of grey-cloth flying across the sand, except for her hair. Like the top of a match, lit in the wind, her magenta hair streaked out behind her.
Niamh ignored it all - her matted hair, the pain in her body, and even that she had lost a boot. Maybe all had not been lost after all. Hope!
But she dropped something. It glanced off her thumb. Stopping immediately, she turned her gaze to the sand at her feet, hardened by the water. Pushing the silver bracelet back over her left hand, she ran on. Closing the distance quickly, her long legs not failing her despite the ordeal, she began to warm up.
The glowing golden hue of the new dawn quickly turned to a bold, yellow light. Niamh knew she should be surveying her new surroundings, and immediately seek out information about where they were. But her gaze never left the figure on the shoreline. With each moment she prayed that figure would move or show some sign of life.
✽✽✽
Niamh walked a full circle around Veayre, her own long dress grazing the sand, before kneeling beside her. Veayre’s dark hair was braided with a long streak of silver from one temple. Niamh had known during the voyage that this girl was important. Veayre belonged to people far more influential than anyone Niamh knew. Her own dreams paled against the dreams of this girl. But it meant that in spite of Niamh's usual confidence, she was unsure how to check if the girl was alright. They hadn’t been friends long, nor were they relatives. They were only journey companions, and recently made. By their clothes alone, anyone could see the disparaging differences between them. Niamh had spent much of the voyage wondering why the decision had been made for Veayre to join their crossing. But now, none of that mattered. Did she live?
Veayre groaned and rolled over, coughing and spitting sand out of her mouth. Niamh let out a small laugh of relief.
Looking her over, Niamh noticed Veayre’s pale skin had broken just above her cheekbone and a bruise was beginning to darken around it.
Niamh intended to ask her if she was injured, but her voice rasped and nothing came out. She cleared her throat and tried again.
"Are you injured?" Her throat hurt with the effort, but it was worth it to see Veayre shake her head. She seemed as bothered by all the clinging sand as Niamh was.
"Where are we?" Veayre asked, looking towards the horizon.
"I don't know,” said Niamh. “I didn't study the maps before we left. I had plans with the Captain…to look over them with him after dinner, uh, today I suppose." Niamh’s faced greyed, awash with understanding that he and the rest of the crew had likely perished at sea.
"And inland?" Veayre asked, pushing herself up in the shallow water. Then more to herself, "The water is so cold, it should be frozen solid." Niamh glanced at the water and frowned. Hadn’t Veayre said something about ice in the ocean? But looking further inland, Niamh knew Veayre was right to point their attention that way.
"I haven't checked inland,” said Niamh. “But the sun has only just risen. If anyone is around, I expect we will see them. Or we will be found by them, soon,” said Niamh. She forced her body to stand, thinking to walk away from the water and see more of this place. Who knew where they had been stranded?
"Help me up, oh, you've lost a shoe!" Veayre shook her head, causing sand to fall from her dark hair. Niamh looked down. Her bare toes, blued by the cold, were unprotected on one foot. But she was sombre, and though the time to lighten their situation would come soon, it wasn't now.
"Plenty lost much more than that. Come on," she said lifting the girl's forearm, "We'll see better from up there."
"We should be careful,” said Veayre. “I’ve heard that allegiance to the High King is less…certain, in some areas out here. That's why it's safer to sail..."
A glare from Niamh silenced her.
"We have no choice, Veayre. It’s land or nothing. We have no supplies, no food, only wet clothes, and broken wreckage." Niamh trudged up the beach. The dry sand grew more difficult to walk through with each step.
"Hold on-" Veayre stopped and pointed back towards where Niamh had washed up.
"Who sailed with that?" the words fell out of Niamh. Arms too tired to move, they hung unmoving by her side. It was a knife. But no ordinary knife. This was a short blade made of opaque opal with a gilded handle.
"Let's keep it with us,” said Veayre. “We need something, anything to help us..." Veayre's voice trailed off, but her blue eyes locked on the blade.
Niamh eyed the blade. Its glossy surface and attractiveness almost disguised its real purpose. Such beauty. But weapons were forbidden in Gutheacia.
Its opal stone wasn't just sharpened to an edge to be used as a blade. It was a stone-like
any other magic stone. Who knew what its other powers were? Warily, she stepped around it, and seeing her abandoned cloak, she wrapped the blade between the folds of soggy wool. Her arms complained at lugging the soggy weight, but it seemed important.
Veayre suddenly bent over and emptied her stomach. Coughing, she grabbed Niamh's tired arms to steady herself. Niamh willed herself to remain standing, as a wave of weakness washed over her. She faced the ocean's breeze to hold her own stomach in check. Together, the two trudged up the beach.
Seeing the boulder-scattered point to be abandoned of life, they headed the other direction. Weakening as they went, they crossed half the cove before the beach began to swim in front of Niamh's eyes, and she knew she had to sit down immediately. Dropping to one knee, she rested the heavy cloak in the sand. Worn out and alone, she began to doubt that she and Veayre would make it anywhere safe. Maybe this was it for them?
"Don't give up now Niamh, wait- I can see something ahead!" said Veayre, her weak voice betraying how little she believed her own words.
Limbs shaking, cold and forlorn, Niamh looked ahead. Was there a village nearby? That little outcrop in her blurred vision was little to go by. Pushing forwards on her knees was all she could manage. Her vision swam, and Veayre's voice faded as darkness reclaimed her.
✽✽✽
A simple bed, rough stool, glassless window, and a framed doorway that lead...where was she? The wafting scent of fried fish reminded Niamh how famished she was. A window revealed another wooden building, and a wedge of sky glowing with coloured stripes. The whole day had passed.
A scraping noise could be heard from the next room. Her head still ached, and Niamh found she was still covered in sand, and her clothes still damp.
Emerging like a shaky sand monster she discovered Veayre and an old woman, sitting at a table around bowls of stew.
Veayre looked up and exclaimed cheerfully, "Oh, you're awake!"
"Where are we?" was Niamh's quiet reply. She stared at the old woman, and let her shoulders relax. Finally, someone she could trust!