One of the remaining farmers, Kaipur, came forward. “Am I expected to just let them take over my land? And my cattle?”
“I do not see a better option, Kaipur,” the ferrywoman replied. “If you try to resist them you would die, and they would still take over your land… however, I may not sure they want it.”
Kaipur grimaced. “I will not let them touch my wife and children.”
“I understand. You must do your duty as a man.”
Kaipur stood there a moment, seething, fists clenching as he watched strange figures leaving the rafts on the distant sands. He turned to the ferrywoman.
“Take care, Grandmother Liu,” he said, then bolted through the underbrush.
The ferrywoman sighed, and watched the figures form up in disciplined rows, then head purposefully to the nearest shacks. That would be the Kattaren family.
The ferrywoman began making her way through the willows on the other side to meet the barbarians there. They would need someone to talk to, after all, and it might as well be her. Besides, old women are always in need of new conversational partners. The ferrywoman was very aware of her aching joints as she descended the sloping hill. I should have eaten my fish before I came up the hill. I should have remarried. I should have joined my granddaughters in Perung.
She thought about it some more. No, I don’t have many regrets. This might be her last day alive, but at least she could do a final bit of good for her little island. And after all, ferrying passengers every day gets very dull.
Passing through a final thicket, she came to the Kattaren shacks, hearing loud wailing and the shouts of foreign voices. Pushing forward, she saw Trang Kattaren face down in the sand, moaning on the ground. Some officer in a strange short tunic and braid was pacing around, shouting at the man, and Trang Kattaren was surrounded by the guarded eyes of a dozen barbarians with shiny muskets. Well, that’s a good sign. He isn’t dead, and there’s some form of command here. She even thought she half-recognized a few words from the angry barbarian. One of the soldiers noticed her and pointed her out to the officer. The officer turned, looking scornful but not particularly malicious, and addressed her loudly in a foreign tongue.
The ferrywoman was baffled and remained silent. He repeated his message.
“Um, what?”
The officer grimaced. He looked around at his men and began gesturing to the other shacks.
“Hello!” burst out the ferrywoman, drawing their attention. “Yes. Welcome. Hello.”
“Hello,” the officer said in reply, and seemed to think for a moment. “Stop.”
“Yes,” said the ferrywoman agreeably, standing still and smiling. This seemed to satisfy the officer who was apparently waiting for something. He looked back to the rafts and scowled. A few more barbarians were disembarking. He looked to a nearby soldier, said a few unfamiliar words, and the soldier saluted and ran back to the raft.
They salute like our soldiers. Despite herself, the ferrywoman was intrigued at the whole affair. She looked at the soldiers standing nearby, peering at the nearby shacks and scowling into the willows where she had emerged. They were darker than her people, and so not the same as the Jutlanders, who had been white and had light brown hair. She studied the officer. A regal cap of blue and red fitted over his short but curly black hair. He had scowling green eyes, dark features, and a thin mustache. The ferrywoman had never seen anyone quite like these barbarians. The officer had strange yellowed braiding on his shoulders and lined down the chest of his short coat, like dried wheat, but the soldiers were generally attired in close-fitting blue tunics. Strangely enough, they didn’t have any armor. Perhaps they were just sailors. But the muskets… the ferrywoman rarely saw muskets, and even then none of them looked quite so clean and gleaming as these.
After a few tense minutes the soldier who had left earlier came jogging back over the beach followed closely by a young man with the coppery skin of a Jade Sea Islander, a common enough sight in Tamani. The man wore an embroidered emerald green tunic and was clearly no soldier. He spoke briefly with the officer, glanced with some concern at Trang Kattaren, slowly getting up under the wary gaze of the soldiers and clutching at his bloodied face, and addressed the ferrywoman in the clear tone of the Three Clans Standard Dialect.
“Grandmother, we are an advance party from the navy of the Syriot Empire. Please direct us to the headman of your village.”
The Jade Sea Islander said it so smoothly that he sounded like an Imperial courtier. In fact, he probably spoke the Standard Dialect better than the ferrywoman herself. One thing was for sure, he was no merchant. Any foreign merchant in these parts could bark out the jargon of the shipping tongue of the Tamani docks and little else. The ferrywoman spoke in a similar fashion, and would often have simple conversations with traders from the Jade Sea Islands and other parts.
“Foreigner, I am elected to speak for the village.”
A small lie as the island did not really have a village and certainly had no headman. There were only a few families on the island, and they generally did whatever they wished. However, she doubted anyone else was eager to talk to the barbarians.
“Why have you assaulted this man?” she asked, gesturing to Trang Kattaren, keeping her face neutral. “We are a peaceful village and mean you no harm.”
The Jade Sea Islander translated this for the officer who snorted before responding. The ferrywoman did not like the harsh tone she was hearing.
“Captain Powluk says this man tried fighting one of his soldiers.”
The ferrywoman knew Trang Kattaren as a stubborn man, and was somewhat impressed, even as she formed a new opinion of him as an idiot. “As you can see, he was not killed.” The translator gestured to him. “Captain Powluk is taking possession of this island for the Syriot Empire. Resistance will be met with force. And… he implies he could do the same to you.” The translator kept his face neutral and unconcerned.
“I’m sure you’re a smart woman and we do not want the advanced military minds of the Syriot Empire to cause any unnecessary bloodshed. He wants me to threaten you, and I will do so in a moment, but what he really wants is for you to make sure no one on this island fights back. The Syriot Empire will generally protect the lives of its subjects, often their property rights, and occasionally tolerate minor forms of dissent. It’s not so bad, really. Governments have a way of coming and going, but I doubt life here will change much.”
“They certainly do…” murmured the ferrywoman, having some trouble understanding his words. It wasn’t often that her conversations involved much more than simple transactions or griping about the weather. Imagine, knowing less of the language than a foreigner!
The barbarian officer fidgeted, as if he was impatient to have a decree of his translated, and the translator picked up on it.
“Will you agree to these reasonable terms!?” bellowed the translator, with a mischievous wink.
“I will,” said the ferrywoman. “If the lives of the islanders are protected, then I will. Is there anything I need to do?”
“I believe he would appreciate a bow!”
Cursing under her breath, the ferrywoman hitched up her robes and laboriously placed her knees on the sand, bowing down humbly towards the officer. When she looked up, the officer seemed appreciative, discussing something with the translator. As she stretched back up, she began to pick up a couple words she faintly recognized, even with the man’s harsh accent.
The translator nodded towards the officer, then strode forward and helped the ferrywoman up. He seems a nice young man. As far as subjugation goes this seems to be proceeding in a fairly efficient manner. Not like the bloody drawn-out nonsense of that civil war thirty years ago. I suppose it’s useful to know the language of your oppressor. But I’m not too old to learn their language, am I?
The translator seemed amused by the ferrywoman’s easy smile. “Grandmother, you’re going to need to look a deal more submissive.”
She took the hint and quickly dropped h
er smile. Truth be told, it wasn’t the day I had hoped for when I had hooked that carp. But that was just the way things went sometimes. You cast your line hoping for dinner and before you know it you’ve caught a shark by the teeth.
Chapter Nine
Blood on the Decks
Things were going well enough as Bekhar leapt aboard the merchant vessel in the midst of his men. Sure, the hidden ship seemed to have an obscene amount of cannons and was blazing away at Bekhar’s ship. But he could only deal with one problem at a time, and he had already seen the few crewmen and sailors aboard this merchant vessel vanish below as the first of the pirates had boarded. Now they controlled the entirety of the deck, eager pirates whooping as they bounded down the stairs. Bekhar took the time to run over to the far side of the deck and stared down.
He saw the top of the small ship, longer than he expected, turning to present its side to the pirate ship. Light glinted off the top, and Bekhar saw now that rows of metal spikes covered the sloping shape of the vessel. He frowned, puzzling over how such a ship could be boarded, and noticed a belching flame issuing forth from the prow, which seemed to be fashioned like the head of some lizard.
“Trap! It’s a trap!”
The shout caught Bekhar’s attention, and he snapped his head back to the deck, where panicked pirates were bounding up the staircases with even more alacrity than they had when they descended just a minute ago. Bekhar frowned as he saw Ganasa was among them and opened his mouth to say something when he saw a man at Ganasa’s side abruptly slump to the ground. Bekhar realized now that over the great thunder of the cannonade he had been hearing sharp cracks of musketry. From below decks?
“Get at them!” Bekhar shouted, ignoring the fleeing pirates. Then he saw the flash of lacquer armor as Hangyul soldiers emerged from below. The first man strode forward before coming to a halt, a grim set to his jaw beneath an armored helmet in the style of a rice farmer. For a moment he was confronted by a hesitating ring of pirates. Then he was joined by another, and then another, the Hangyul soldiers looking almost identical to each other. A few pirates turned their heads to look at Bekhar in confusion, as if he could provide some clarity about this new turn of events.
There was another cannonade as the small ship fired a broadside at Bekhar’s pirate ship and that broke Bekhar’s hesitation.
“Get at them!” Bekhar repeated, his voice now hoarse, and his thoughts racing as he realized that something had gone badly wrong. More Hangyul soldiers were emerging, but the pirates pushed forward and a ferocious melee began, the pirates hacking and slashing at the armored swordsmen who were forming a tight ring that grew and grew as reinforcements pushed in behind them.
Ganasa had turned back from the melee, glaring at Bekhar, and yelled something. He pointed a bent sword that dripped with blood and Bekhar followed the direction. It was his ship, sails rent through with cannonballs and tilting at an unnatural angle. As he watched, flames burst forth as a store of powder exploded.
“No,” Bekhar muttered, watching the loss of his little nautical empire all around him. It wasn’t fair. To spend years keeping a crew together and take to the seas, and then have these dirty bastards play this trick on him. It went against all nautical traditions. Had they no respect for the time-honored craft of piracy?
His ship was sinking into the waves now, those few pirates left aboard jumping into the roiling ocean. Another volley hammered into the ship, though its fate was already written. Beside it the captured prize ship had turned away and severed the line, but now it was receiving the full force of fire from the little sloping ship’s broadside. A waste to sink that, full as it was of treasure. But sailors didn’t think like pirates. They didn’t see the value of loot or respect the effort it had taken to seize everything. It was all about law and order with those bastards.
The pirates were backing away now, the press of Hangyul infantry forcing its way above deck. A ferocity took hold inside Bekhar, rage at the loss of his ship, and he hefted this glaive on his shoulder and pushed his way to the front. A Hangyul swordsman had just lunged forward, his sword catching a pirate in front of Bekhar, but in an instant Bekhar had weaved around the wounded pirate and slammed his glaive down on the swordsman’s helmet. The helmet cracked apart, a great gouge smashed out of the lacquer design, and the man fell stunned to one knee. Bekhar pulled the heavy glaive back, his pole catching some unseen pirate behind him, and a second blow shattered the conical helmet and left the man senseless and bleeding on the slick deck.
Yet in an instant another swordsman stepped forward, or was pushed, and behind him was a jostling mass of black lacquer armor and glinting blades. The Hangyul soldier slashed wildly at Bekhar, who ducked low and then backed away as the metal flashed a bare finger span away from his flesh. He was back shoulder to shoulder with his pirates now, a meter or two of open deck between the two sides.
He charged forward, impaling the swordsman full in the stomach and still straining forward, the dying man squealing as those behind him staggered back a pace. Bekhar was close now, pushing against the man, the blade stuck somewhere between gut and back-plate, and a sword cut just missed him, the man’s knuckles bouncing off Bekhar’s shoulder. He turned his face and snapped at it, trying to bite at the fingers, but they were gone in an instant. Beside him other pirates charged forward, one man slamming in behind him and pressing him in between both sides like a blacksmith’s clamp. There was a roaring, a primal screaming, and only when he stopped to take a breath did Bekhar realize it came from him.
The pressure between the two sides only lasted a few seconds before as if by common agreement the Hangyul soldiers took a few steps backward. Bekhar almost fell forward with them, half-stumbling on the man he had impaled before taking the opportunity to pry his glaive free. He held it at hip height now, slashing the bloodied axe head at the Hangyul soldiers breathing hard a few paces away. A pause had settled in this small sector of the melee, though Bekhar had no idea what was going on elsewhere. He lurched forward in a sudden movement, stepping on the dying man in front of him as he stabbed into a soldier’s face. The man fell to the ground, squawking and bloodied, and the Hangyul soldiers took another step backward, their wild eyes scanning the pirate crew for the next killing blow.
There were more soldiers than pirates, many more, and they were better armed and armored. And, Bekhar had to admit, better led. Even so, within the circle that his glaive could reach, the pirates were winning, and behind him they shouted in exultation. Still, it wasn’t enough. Beside him more men were moving up, one pirate throwing an axe that spun and bounced off an armored cuirass with little effect.
Bekhar was jogged by the shoulder, and he blinked as he looked at the pirate who was trying to get his attention. He had three gold rings in one ear, Bekhar noted abstractly. The man’s fear shone in his eyes, and his voice was low and gruff as he repeated Bekhar’s name. It took a moment for Bekhar to recognize him as the man he had promised the merchant ship to. Back before his hopes and dreams had been shattered to splinters along with his pirate fleet.
“What now, Captain?”
Bekhar stretched to his full height and peered over the chaotic blur of heads and blades to get a sense of the melee. Despite the sudden rush of Hangyul soldiers on the top of the deck, with savagery and violence the pirates managed to exact a heavy price even as they backed away. The deck was slick with blood and men on both sides struggled to keep their footing. The pirates kept their feet and their experience was beginning to tell. As Bekhar watched a Hangyul captain was surrounded and cut down, but even with this butchery a fresh troop of Hangyul soldiers streamed out from below decks. There was no end to them.
Bekhar ground his teeth. The worst part, though not as bad as the loss of his ships and hopes and dreams, was that Ganasa was right. His eyes fell on the form slumped alongside a pile of bodies. Well, at least the bastard wouldn’t live to gloat about it.
“Form up!” Bekhar shouted, and those around him gathered in a trembling, sha
ky mass. He pointed his glaive at the growing stream of Hangyul soldiers. “Charge!”
For a moment he watched as his band of pirates surged forward. They weren’t the bravest of men, but they feared Black Bekhar and knew he could turn even the worst of situations into victory. And so they put their fears aside and charged forward. It was just a moment Bekhar watched. A moment, and nothing more.
Bekhar turned away and sprinted to the side of the ship, leaping over in one great jump, one outstretched hand grasping his glaive, and dove into the sea as behind him his former crew fought and died in a ferocious tangle of swords and limbs.
Chapter Ten
The Ferry Ride
The barbarian ship kept unloading, boat after boat, and other ships were now dropping anchor in the harbor of the island off Tamani. The ferrywoman watched this process in fascination as the barbarian captain regarded her with a skeptical gaze. The captain stated something in a clear voice. The translator nodded.
“While Captain Powluk retains doubts as to whether you really are the ‘headman’ of this village, he asks that you arrange suitable transportation to the coast for his men.” He paused for a moment. “I’m not sure if it’s still a military secret, but the captain intends to secure the docks with whatever ferries are on this island. The ships have large hulls and will have to dock here, and our rafts are not designed for that distance.”
The ferrywoman nodded, choosing her words with care, aware that the lives of the villagers hung in the balance.
“My husband used to be the ferryman. I can show you the way to the ferry. And this man here will help pull the oars,” she pointed at Trang Kattaren, who scowled back from the beach where he had been holding his bloody nose.
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