Exile of the Seas

by Jeffe Kennedy

  It was not, however, a perfect likeness. No women painted official portraits in Dasnaria, so a male artist had rendered it from many drawings done by women of the seraglio. The painter had been unable to enter the seraglio and I’d been unable to leave.

  I only hoped that the lovely woman portrayed on the scroll looked enough unlike the one only paces in front of them.

  The Dasnarian agreed, grudgingly, and paid coin to the head of the guard, who—to the clear astonishment of the Dasnarians—gave it to the girl. She hastened off with her friends, throwing a vicious backward look at them all. The head of the guard accompanied the Dasnarian soldiers back down the hill, the rest of the guard gathering in clumps to talk or heading off in pairs to resume whatever their normal duties might be.

  I could only imagine what the head of the guard had offered. As they seemed friendly enough, no doubt the officials of Ehas would be assisting in the search for the lost princess. Which meant getting myself safely aboard the ship had become quite urgent.

  Gesturing to the serving woman, I extracted coin, mutely offering to pay.

  “You don’t have to dash off, Priestess,” she informed me, topping off my wine. “Excitement’s over and the wine is free.”

  I shook my head and she sighed, giving me the price. “Searching for an escaped princess, did you hear? So romantic. Can’t imagine being a princess and running away from all of that. Did you see the painting of her?” She rolled her eyes. “Dripping in jewels. Probably fell in love with some stable lad and ran off to have his babies, thinking she’ll be happy. Thank you, ma’am.” She accepted the extra I gave her as a gratuity but didn’t leave as I’d hoped. “I can tell you—it takes more than an eager cock and a bellyful of babies to make you happy. Guess you know that, taking the vow and all. You’re the smart one.”

  I stood, picking up my bag, and inclined my head in thanks. Too princessy maybe, but a gesture of dismissal should be universal. Sure enough, she stepped out of my way, wishing me a good day and inviting me to come back again.

  Cutting through an alley to a different road, I hastened to the waterfront, and the Robin.

  ~ 8 ~

  Because I kept to my new cabin until we were well away from the Port of Ehas, I didn’t discover much about my new vessel or our destination until dinner the following evening. I’d presented the chit Kaja had obtained for me—which had Robin written on it, so I was able to compare the chit to the name painted on the stern—to one of the cabin boys. Who were sometimes girls, something I still hadn’t gotten over. I recognized their type now, and managed to avoid speaking with the captain of this vessel, whoever he might be.

  I knew my way better this time, opening my porthole coverings so I could keep an eye on the doings of the waterfront, indicating I’d like a meal served later. Kaja had convinced me that attending the convivial meals would be the best way to annul curiosity from the other passengers, so I was resolved to try that. Eventually. Many of them, I reasoned, would enjoy the delights of Ehas that evening, and board the ship at dawn. No one would care if I kept to my cabin for one night. Longer, if I spotted any Dasnarians boarding.

  More than a little paranoid, I kept my sword out on the table—the setup of my cabin very much as it had been on the Valeria—and a knife in hand as I watched for hours out the porthole. I occasionally caught flashes of the shiny Dasnarian armor, imagining Kaja’s scorn for how sorely they stood out as foreign. Had they been less obvious in their arrogance, they might have found me.

  Or perhaps not. As the hours passed, I began to relax ever so slightly. They didn’t check any of the ships that I could see, instead questioning people on the waterfront. No alarm went up from the Temple of Danu. From what I heard them saying to the Ehas guards, the Dasnarians were mostly searching, not at all certain where I might be.

  They’d looked right at me and hadn’t seen me.

  Still, I didn’t sleep all night. I ate, just in case I needed to run, packing up the rest of the food in my bundle, and stayed dressed, blade in hand as Kaja had taught me. I might not be able to match my skills to the Dasnarian men, but I could make taking me uncomfortable.

  No more thinking that surrendering myself would be easier. I would fight, rather than give up.

  At sunset and again at sunrise, I said prayers to Glorianna, and when I caught sight of Moranu’s moon, I beseeched Her blessing in wordless meditation on Her silvery light. In between, I reiterated my vows to Danu. If they found me, I would still serve the goddess, even if all I had was the edge of my nails and teeth. Perhaps She had guided Kaja to me. Perhaps not. Regardless, I owed Danu a debt and I would fight for Her justice wherever I ended up, however I could.

  Kaja thought Danu had plans for me, and I would do my best to serve them. I still didn’t have a plan, but having a goddess guide my footsteps instead of trusting to a ship seemed like an improvement.

  When the Robin set sail, I kept my vigil until I could no longer make out colorful Ehas. Only then did I sleep, taking off only my boots.

  I slept blade in hand.

  * * * *

  I awoke in late afternoon. For the final time, that was, as I’d napped in fits and starts, waking often. But I dragged myself out of my bunk, unwilling to begin this voyage with the same pattern as the first. I’d become an entirely new woman, with a new name, and I refused to be the mouse who’d hidden in her cabin, sleeping away the voyage with the covers pulled over her head.

  Summoning the cabin boy, I washed with the supplies I indicated I needed, making him grin with the coin I gave as reward. A small coin, but enough to bring a smile. I understood now that these were no servants or slaves, but rather young people working to earn their passage to a new land, or to see the world. I checked myself in the small mirror, carefully darkening my lashes and brows. Anyone with sense would be able to see I used cosmetics, so I made them artful, a bit daring and exotic. It would seem that I might be vain and enjoyed attention.

  Kaja had advised me that vanity would suit a woman of my appearance. I hadn’t found a way to tell her how truly vain and self-absorbed Princess Jenna had been. My days had been consumed with grooming, to a far greater extent than Ivariel could ever manage, not without the army of serving maids Jenna had enjoyed. The dye in my hair held true, though I could already see a bit of pale roots at my temples and hairline. I sleeked the hair into fringes around my face, making sure the roots wouldn’t show.

  Then I went to stroll about the deck. I adopted some of Kaja’s swagger, reminding myself again and again to meet the gazes of the people who greeted me, though it made me feel even more barefaced. A couple attempted to engage me in conversation, and I showed them my silence vow disk with relief. Even if I’d been able to conceal my Dasnarian accent, I doubted I could brazen my way through questions.

  At sunset, I performed the prayers to Glorianna at the rail near the Robin’s goat pen, which reassured me as being familiar, though it was in a different place on the deck. I felt like a poor imitation of Kaja and missed her keenly. Once the sun drowned herself beneath the waves, I lingered to pet the bolder goats who nosed up, looking for food but settling for a scratch around their horns.

  “Do you like goats?” A musical voice asked in Common Tongue, putting a cadence on the words that made me think the man was not a native speaker either.

  Proud of myself for not jumping like a startled deer, I gave him a slight smile, nodding. He had very dark skin, much darker than Kaja’s, and black eyes. His hair had been slicked back and braided into a narrow queue down his back. “I am Ochieng,” he said, holding out a hand in the greeting of the Twelve Kingdoms people.

  I touched mine to his as lightly as I could without giving offense, then showed him my name disk. He frowned. “Alas, Common Tongue is not my native language and I cannot read this. What does it say?”

  Amused, I laid a finger over my lips, then mimicked making a vow, finishing with my palms
up to the sky in Danu’s salute. He watched my pantomime with bemusement, then shook his head. “I have no idea what all this means.”

  “She is Ivariel, and she’s taken a vow of silence as a Priestess of Danu,” a woman said, striding up. She had the rolling gait of a seasoned sailor and dark red hair in braids. “Forgive the intrusion, Ochieng, and my speaking for you, Priestess.” She gave me a salute, the one many used to honor Danu. I tried to mentally pass those along to the goddess, as I certainly wasn’t worthy of them. “I am Captain Sullivan. Happy to have this opportunity to welcome you aboard the Robin.”

  I nodded and returned the salute, glad once again that I need not speak. Otherwise I might’ve stuttered in my astonishment at a female captain. Though I should be getting used to women in men’s roles, I apparently had not yet thickened my skin to the strangeness of it. Each occasion struck me anew.

  “While I’m inserting myself,” she continued, “I’ll assist you a bit more, Ochieng, and also advise you that the other medallion is a vow of chastity. Wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself, seeking fruit where there’s none to be had. You’ll both join me for dinner with the other passengers, I hope?”

  The captain strode off in her commanding way, calling a correction to a sailor, then stopping to speak with yet another passenger.

  Ochieng considered me thoughtfully. He seemed unabashed at the captain’s frank speech and took her correction with equanimity. “Ivariel—am I saying it correctly?” His accent spun it almost into a song, making the name lovelier in his mouth than in the captain’s, so I nodded agreement. “And you’ve taken vows to your warrior goddess, including one of silence. I, of course, respect such powerful commitments. How then, however, do we have a conversation?”

  I held up my hands in question, shaking my head for the impossibility.

  “So I understand,” he replied. “Perhaps I’ve at last found someone to listen to my tales then.” He smiled broadly. “My mother complains that I tell never-ending stories that no one wishes to listen to. She claims the only way to stop the flow of words is to put food in my mouth instead, but that clearly didn’t work.” He gestured to his whipcord slender body.

  I laughed and his smile deepened, carving itself into lines around his generous mouth. I hadn’t known many men in my life—and those not for long. Once my brothers turned seven, they’d left the seraglio to grow up in the world of men. I hadn’t laid eyes on a full-grown man until I left the seraglio to meet my betrothed. The “intimate” sessions with my former husband hardly counted. Or, rather, I’d come to know him in a way I’d rather forget.

  Truly, the only man I’d spent extended time with was my baby brother, Harlan, and we’d been on the run for most of it. This Ochieng was totally different than the Dasnarian men I’d known. If men had struck me as nearly another species when I first laid eyes on them, then Ochieng seemed like another sort from that entirely.

  “So you do have a voice,” Ochieng was saying, looking delighted. “A musical laugh from one who looks so fierce.”

  I looked fierce? That sobered me, as I knew that was entirely a mask Kaja had created for me. Ochieng mirrored my expression.

  “That was the wrong thing to say, I see. I apologize.” He added a slight bow, pressing his palms together. The bell for dinner rang then, and he gestured in that direction. “Shall we go to eat with the captain?”

  He didn’t offer an arm, as a Dasnarian man would have. I didn’t know if his own custom or respect for my vows dictated his actions. A relief, however, as I wouldn’t have taken it.

  * * * *

  Nine passengers attended the captain’s dinner, with Captain Sullivan rounding the number to ten. I enjoyed making the count to myself with the numbers in Common Tongue. Neither Kaja nor I had known the words for counting in Dasnarian. Ten was easy, of course, matching the fingers on my two hands, the subject of the child’s counting song Kaja taught me. From there it still wasn’t difficult, once I learned the words to tier the sets of tens.

  I even determined that I knew fifty-seven dances, though Kaja had selected only three as good foundations for martial training. Others might work, but she’d said I could adapt those as I went.

  Captain Sullivan invited Ochieng to tell us about Chiyajua. Our destination turned out to be his homeland, and he’d traveled with her from farther north in the Twelve Kingdoms. All the other passengers—seven of them—had boarded the Robin in Ehas as I had, and none of us had been to Chiyajua. The others, including one married couple, which I found fascinating, related their reasons for journeying there. Three—including the married couple—traveled simply to see the place. Another extraordinary concept. Two wished to establish trade of some sort, and another went to check on established trade connections. The last, a young man named Hart, who’d left some unpleasant situation behind, planned to move there, to seek a new life.

  Which was my reason also, though I again thanked Kaja’s foresight for having me commit to the vow of silence, so I did not have to explain. Though Hart said little, other than that he had no one left after the Great War.

  Ochieng mainly answered questions and offered advice, promising connections with a generosity of spirit that surprised me. He even offered that Hart could accompany him to his home village of Nyambura, where Ochieng believed he would be able to find work as a laborer.

  They naturally conversed in Common Tongue, except when Ochieng needed words from his own language to describe a specific concept, place, or thing unique to his land. I understood only a small part of all they discussed—and the attempt made my head ache after a while, though that might have been partly from lack of sleep—so I allowed the words to run over me like water flowing under the prow of the ship. I focused on eating the excellent food, far superior to the fare on the Valeria. It made me wonder if that could be attributed to a woman captain, then to wonder if that was Dasnarian thinking. Kaja’s voice in my head seemed to think so.

  “And what of you, Priestess Ivariel,” Ochieng asked me suddenly. “I know you cannot answer us verbally, but I’m sure you know there are no temples of Danu in Chiyajua. Perhaps you travel to spread Her word?”

  I shook my head, allowing the smile of incredulity to show. As if I had the ability to be such an emissary, even if I cared to.

  “Danu’s priestesses are not evangelists,” Captain Sullivan said, a reproving tone in her voice for Ochieng, a nod of respect for me. “Many simply travel to seek wrongs that need righting. Ivariel may be on a specific mission of justice—many who take the vow of silence are, so that they cannot be coerced into speaking details that might put their mission in peril—while others simply allow the goddess to guide their feet to where the need is greatest.” She raised a brow at me, as if checking for approval or correction. I responded with a close-lipped smile that I hoped looked mysterious instead of bewildered.

  Kaja hadn’t drilled me in this, what I would do when I reached Chiyajua. I, of course, had no mission. If only! She’d simply repeated that Danu would guide me, and that I would find a surprise there that would answer an old question. I realized also that Kaja had been doing the very thing Captain Sullivan described. Traveling the world, looking for someone in need of help. And found me.

  I could do that. I liked that idea, that perhaps I could help someone as Kaja had helped me. That would at least make me useful. If I had to spend my life running, it would be good to have an occupation that harmonized with that. Which might have been what Kaja meant, all along.

  ~ 9 ~

  The following morning, after a thankfully unbroken night of deep, untroubled sleep, I did my morning prayers to Glorianna’s rising sun. A ritual that had become a blending of the girl I’d been, so rapt by the sight of the sun returning each day that I’d left the safety of my den to see it, and the new me, a pale imitation of Kaja. But it made me feel connected to her, and calmed me, so Ivariel did as her teacher had done.

  Afte
rward, I found a clear space on the deck where I’d be out of the way of the sailors and began practicing the ducerse, with my sword in one hand, a dagger in the other. Kaja had made me swear on Danu’s sword that I would practice in public.

  “It’s part of your disguise,” she insisted. “A Dasnarian princess in hiding does not practice sword forms in clear view of everyone.”

  “But the ducerse is Dasnarian,” I protested. “Anyone who sees it would—”

  “What? Recognize this dance only a few have ever seen? Use your counting, how many people have seen this dance?”

  “Hundreds of women lived in the seraglio at the Imperial Palace,” I shot back.

  “And never leave the cursed place,” she retorted. “How many saw you dance that can actually travel?”

  My brothers. My father. My former husband. The court and wedding guests. None of them had been with that troop of Dasnarians in Ehas, and none of them were on the Robin. Even if some of that troop had boarded this ship, they wouldn’t recognize the dance, as it wasn’t for the eyes of a common soldier.

  “Be bold,” Kaja counseled, relenting a little in her ferocity. “Ivariel is a fighter. And she needs to build her sword-wielding muscles.”

  So, I did, ignoring the prickle of panic at sensing gazes turned in my direction. I repeated the entire ducerse three times, until my arms ached with exhaustion. I finished as the ship’s bell rang high noon, holding a long meditative pose and allowing Danu’s bright sun to clarify me as I prayed to Her to guide my steps. Several of the passengers who’d been at dinner clapped, congratulating me, and I tried not to show how exposed I felt. The married couple spoke to each other about some friends who would be interested and envious to hear they’d witnessed a real Priestess of Danu in her sword forms. I’d begun to notice this about silence, that people tend to talk around you, as if you also can’t hear.