by Rosie Scott
The schooner was finally prepared for us in the late afternoon. Helpful crew members offered to bring our things on board for us, but we insisted on carrying it ourselves. Everything we owned was able to be transported within our satchels and bags, so it wasn't like it took much of an effort.
For being a so-called smaller ship, the schooner surprised me with its size. It measured approximately ninety feet in its length, though it was much thinner than the larger war ships in the harbor which had wide decks with room for crew and equipment alike. There was a wooden ramp with small steps placed from the deck of the ship to the dock, where it was barely secure. We were led up the ramp to the ship, our boots leaving the solid ground of Nahara for the first time in over a year. The ramp swayed slightly with the schooner's movements, making me feel a little uneasy on my feet as I ascended it. Once I was on deck, however, it was easier to handle balancing. Though the boat still moved with the water, it did not have the same feeling of looseness as the ramp. It would take some getting used to, however.
We departed from the port of Al Nazir as the sun was going to sleep to our right along the horizon, which tricked us into thinking there was nothing but an infinite ocean to the west. The pinks and oranges from the sunset reflected in a beautiful contrast on the dark blue water. As our schooner broke through the waves like a butter knife, the wakes in the ocean behind us foamed with excess air, glistening white. Beyond even that, Al Nazir was a gorgeous sight, its white sandstone buildings glowing pink in the light of the tired sun. Even as our distance grew larger, I could hear the fading Naharan music, etching it into my mind so I would remember it forever.
There were five men who served as our crew. Though it wasn't fully explained to us how the schooner was operated, I noticed that at least two of the men were operating the ship at all times, and the others would come and go to help them when needed. Towering above us on deck were two large, wooden masts. The foremast was closest to the bow and was slightly shorter than the mainmast. On either side of both, the deep red sails of Nahara rippled and snapped in the wind. Only the main sail had the golden sun design. Up close, the design was much larger than it had originally appeared, at about the size of a medium dinner table. I figured the sails needed to be unique and large enough to alert other ships of their loyalties from a distance.
One of the crew members offered to show us around the ship, since we were all wide-eyed and ignorant to living on a boat. He led us down a thick, sturdy wooden ladder to beneath the deck, waiting patiently as we filed down it one at a time. Around us were wooden barrels and canvas sacks.
“Please tell me this is what I think it is,” Nyx commented, going over to a barrel and knocking on it.
“Ale,” the crew member replied, to which the Alderi looked pleased. “We have fresh water, but it does not last long on a ship. The ocean is saltwater, so we must prepare for long journeys with ale.”
“If you need fresh water, just ask me,” I informed him.
“Ah, that's right,” he said, appearing intrigued. “You wield all elements.”
I was a little disconcerted that he knew that. I hadn't spoken of it yet, so perhaps the men on the dock had exchanged information. It was a seemingly harmless thing to do, but the more people who knew of my travels, the more chances I had of inadvertently leaving a trail.
He led us into the crew quarters next, which was a long, thin, and claustrophobic room with wooden walls which kept a thick heat between them. Four beds aligned each wall in little coves and stacks of two.
“Oo, bunks,” Nyx commented, immediately throwing her satchel onto a top bunk.
“Heat rises,” I reminded her, to which she promptly wrinkled her nose and decided against the higher bed, moving her things to the one below it.
“There are eight beds, and ten people,” Cerin pointed out, turning to the crew member.
The man nodded. “Yes. Our crew is made of five men, but that is mostly because of precaution. We only need four in total, and two men can handle the boat much of the way. We will share the remaining three, preferably the beds closest to the exit so we do not disturb you.” He turned to point out glass lanterns that hung from hooks in the walls. “These are your only sources of light down here. Please try not to touch them. If they fall and break, we could have potential problems.”
Jakan raised a hand, as if he were in a classroom. “I hate to be the one to ask, but where do we...uh, go to the bathroom?”
“Ah! Thank you for reminding me. Come,” the man turned back toward the storage area, where he led us back up to the deck. We followed him to the bow of the ship, where the deck sloped downward in a point, leaving much of the bow hidden from view of the rest of the boat. The crew member pointed toward the ocean. “For the men, just direct your stream off the side of the ship. For bowel movements and for women, you can direct your waste through these holes.”
I stared at the holes at the edges of the ship's head. Now it was my turn to wrinkle up my nose. Nyx laughed boisterously, as if she thought this was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. “How in the world do you expect us to shit that close to the edge of the boat without toppling over in a show both hilarious and humiliating?”
“There are handles,” the man said, nodding toward them. “If you do fall overboard, we can stop the ship.”
“Oh, that's such a relief. Thank you,” Nyx blurted sarcastically.
“Would you like me to find you a bucket?” Cerin teased.
“I can manage,” she retorted, with a hint of a smile.
Once our tour of the ship was over, we wandered to the back of the ship, where Al Nazir was but the size of a thumbprint at the edges of the water. It was freeing, being on the water. We were unchained from the restrictions of the land, on a transport that traveled three times as fast as we were used to. It was also intimidating, however; the farther the boat cut through the ocean, the farther we were from the safety that land afforded us.
I kept my eyes stuck on Al Nazir as we left it behind. The city had only been familiar to me for two and a half days, but it was all I had visibly left of Nahara. I was overcome with nostalgia as it slowly disappeared from view, and the sun sunk below the horizon, leaving me with nothing but dark blue and shadows.
I thought of all the people I had lost so far, and at the forefront of my mind was Bjorn. Though he had been human, he'd spent a few years of his early life in Hammerton, and had migrated to Chairel as a young man on board one of the dwarven country's famous warships. My situation now reminded me of the stories he'd told me about his growing up.
It had been almost two years since Bjorn's death. When I was a little girl, he had often encouraged my love of history and warfare, because it was something we had in common. He had bought me books about the generals of our past, Seran and foe alike. At first, he had bought me texts only on the most famous and successful of the generals, before he realized I liked reading about the defeated parties almost as much.
“If you ever see a book on Stellan the Tortured, I want to read it!” I'd told him at one point, when I was only a pre-teen.
“Stellan the Tortured might not have many books written about him, love,” Bjorn had replied, with a loving pat on my arm. “He waged a war that he lost miserably, and then was excommunicated by his own people. He died from heartbreak when his former lover turned against him in war, which left him humiliated upon his death.”
I had nodded along as he'd spoken, because I'd heard much the same before. It was why they called him Stellan the Tortured. He was a Celdic elf who gathered men and women behind him to wage war against Chairel before Celendar was absorbed into its land. A warmongering Celd was extremely uncommon, and Stellan was abandoned by his own people. He'd died as Bjorn had said: of heartbreak, right after his former lover crossed sides to be with her peace-loving family in Celendar. It was a humiliating way to go before the men and women who'd looked up to him.
“That was one coincidence, Bjorn,” I'd told him. “Perhaps if Stellan had not be
en so weak as to fall in love, he would not have died. Who knows the victories he could have had then?”
Bjorn had chuckled, before shaking my shoulder playfully. “Ah, my little warmonger,” he teased. “If I see a book that mentions him, I will be sure to bring it home to you.”
“If I study only victories, I may have only losses,” I piped up.
“That's true, love. But who are you planning on fighting?”
Everyone, I thought now, before I smirked despite myself. At least, that's how it felt. This war was started to overthrow Sirius, which would in turn involve all of Chairel. Because they were building allies, I had to as well. It was a snowball effect that had turned one dispute into a much larger phenomenon overnight.
I had to admit, the fact that this had all rippled outward into a huge ordeal did not stress me in the least. Over the past two and a half years, I'd found I had a taste for battle. I'd always looked forward to the time I would use my powers against a foe, but it was far more exhilarating than I had anticipated. I had lost people to both war and loyalties, yes, but I also gained many friends and admirers, and I was traveling the world. I was having the time of my life. And because I'd studied losses in the wars of the world's past, I knew this was a weakness.
I could not allow my love of combat and politics to distract me. There were many different people with vastly different abilities and powers who wished me dead with each breath I took. With a thought of regret for letting the crew of this boat know my identity, I reminded myself that I needed to be careful.
Seven
72nd of High Star, 419
The island upon which Killick sat was quite larger than I was expecting, tricking one into believing it was the shores of yet another full country. The dark blue ocean had lightened a bit into a light-medium blue of shallower water once we were close enough to its shores to hear its bustle. Though I had often heard the word Killick to describe the coastal town that held the island's populace, the crew of our ship used the word interchangeably to describe both the town and the island, so I decided that would be how I would also refer to it.
For being just a fortnight away from Nahara, Killick was determined to forge its own unique identity, for its sands were whiter than the golden granules of the desert, and was spotted with plant life the likes of which I'd never seen before. The trees here were tall, with harsh segments of bark building upon each other to the top, where long, fern-like leaves drooped with gravity. There were flowers which were so brightly colored and robust against the backdrop of the island I barely believed they were real. Orange, fuchsia, bright yellow, and even some plants made of the smoothest turquoise dotted the greenery beneath canopies of island trees.
Ships of all sizes—from the largest galleons to tiny fishing boats—were maneuvering between one another, to and from the island, some of the boats floating a ways from the land for fishing or pleasure trips. There were flags of all sorts here. While I did recognize a few Eteri flags and a handful more of the Naharan flags, the rest were mostly unique, glistening in an array of colors from the harbor. There looked to be many mercenaries here, and they all were fighting for prominence amongst their colleagues.
Music floated toward our ears from an open cafe where a variety of sailors sat at stools and drank a variety of cocktails. Even from our distance, I could hear it was quite unique. The instruments had been mish-mashed together in a mixing pot of various cultures. I heard some of the smooth pipe instruments of Nahara, and along with them there was the jarring, scratching beat of a percussion instrument I could not place. I also heard a violin, which I had not experienced in quite some time.
Our schooner was docked near the end of the harbor once there was room for us. There were so many ships and boats coming and going that some waited their turns in the general vicinity. It was mid-day when our feet finally touched upon the thick wood of the dock, eleven days since we had departed from Al Nazir. The trip had been mostly uneventful, though ten people on a schooner had been claustrophobic, and we were all a little stir crazy.
I thanked the men who had dedicated the last two weeks of their lives to getting us here safely. I had taken the time to refill their fresh water barrels that morning, to give them a bit of a boost for their return trip. Cerin gave each of the men gold as a tip, and we made sure to explain that it was theirs to keep for their service to us.
The crew took their time to restock on the island before their return to Al Nazir, but our paths were now separate. My friends and I headed toward the open bar, because Nyx was bounding to it like it would save her, and the last thing we needed was to lose track of each other.
The stenches of body odor, ale, and cooking seafood combined thickly in the air for a particularly unique flavor. The boisterous laughter from a group of sailors at the open bar before us immediately made me feel relaxed. People were happy here, relatively free from the stresses of the countries north of them. Because most of the people here were mercenaries, they cared little to be involved with politics unless it could be of a benefit to them. I mentally thanked Hasani for putting us on track to Killick. A mercenary ship was exactly what we needed.
Nyx skipped the open bar and immediately headed toward the building beside it, which boasted on a sign just outside its open doorway that it had a selection of hundreds of alcoholic drinks. We followed her inside, where an airy tavern awaited, its windows free of all materials but thin drapes, allowing the ocean breeze to slip in waves that cooled its occupants. It was the first time in a while that we were in a building adorned with mostly wooden furniture. Gone was the sandstone of Nahara.
Nyx immediately sat at a large round table in the corner, and roughly grabbed a menu, keeping her legs stretched out on the wooden floor beneath her. Out of all of us, she'd had the worst time getting used to the sea life. Though the coolness of the ocean was a relief to her, she'd been cooped up for too long, and that was one of her most hated pet peeves.
We were barely sitting for more than a few minutes before I saw my best friend glaring across the room at the bar. I followed her gaze, my eyes landing on a most peculiar sight.
The Alderi were rare enough above ground, and though it was more likely that one would come across a male than a female due to their mistreatment and subsequent escape of their underground prison, I still hadn't expected to see one here. He stood at the bar, tall and practically muscled, his skin a perfect mixture of gray and blue, leaving him much lighter complected than Nyx. He wore no armor, only the thin, airy clothes of a sailor, though his shirt did form into a hood at the top, which he left draped over his head. The Alderi man must have felt our stares, because he looked over, his eyes settling on Nyx with a distance. They were red, the irises glowing like blood around the pupils. This meant they were starkly different from Nyx's, which were completely black, her entire eyes one solid color. I saw a flash of gold within the shadow of his hood, and realized his long ears were pierced multiple times with thick hoops.
“My ovaries are bursting,” Nyx announced, before she stood and started to walk toward the bar.
“Here we go,” I murmured, as the rest of us stayed seated, waiting to watch the following exchange as if we were the audience of a play.
The man stayed silent as Nyx approached him, keeping his stare on her without showing vulnerabilities. I wondered if he suspected the worst, given she was a female from his own race. I had to imagine the slavery of the Alderi males kept them cold and distant from the opposite sex. I did not claim to know this man's backstory, but if I were him, I would have been suspicious of Nyx as well.
“You are one hell of a smoking hot guy,” my friend announced, immediately upon approaching him.
The man chuckled, and it was rough, like he had been smoking for a good many years. “That's the nicest thing I've ever heard from a female Alderi,” he replied, his voice traveling over rough gravel. I noticed, then, that he held a cigarette in one hand as it rested on the bar, the paper rolled meticulously around a green herb I couldn't sme
ll from here. He lifted it to his lips, before taking a puff. “Actually, that's the first thing I've heard from a female of my own kind in a good sixty years or so. You here to kill me?”
“No, I'm here on business with my friends.” She motioned to our table, and the man glanced over. I smiled and waved casually. He smiled back at me, before turning his attention back to Nyx.
“So you are tamed, as they say,” he said, before putting the cigarette in his mouth and leaving it there, the wisps rising past his face to the ceiling.
“I haven't heard that term in over eight years,” Nyx mused. “I am sane, if that's what you're asking. Can I buy you a drink?”
The man grinned around his cigarette, amused. “You can rent us a bed,” he counter-offered.
“Now, that's what I'm talking about,” Nyx rambled, excitedly, before summoning the bartender with a hand.
Within minutes, Nyx and the male Alderi had rented a bed and disappeared from sight, going into the basement where there were rooms. The rest of us sat speechless around our table for awhile, even though we ordered our own food and drinks. Finally, Jakan spoke up.
“What the hell did I just witness?”
The rest of us laughed at his statement, before Anto replied, “I suppose that is what happens when you get two Alderi in a room together.”
“I've never seen a male Alderi,” I noted.
“Nor have I,” Cerin agreed.
“A few came through the coliseum,” Anto mentioned. “Not many when compared to the other races, but I supposed that was to be expected. They were very good fighters, because they had to be to escape the underground. The ones I knew were mostly angry and vindictive, because they'd escaped slavery once just to find themselves in its clutches again.” The orc looked thoughtful for a moment. “I actually had never seen a female Alderi until you all came to see me in the Naharan dungeon with Nyx. They have it made in their culture, so there are rarely reasons to leave.”