While the others loaded their supplies, Shea and Flynn met once more with a weary Prenioux Brecks, whose lamp burned with a low flame to avoid notice by anyone outside. Shea’s papers sat on his desk, and she signed her name without a word. The flicks in her wrist were subtle, and at first she nearly wrote ‘Bagwell,’ the name she’d long become accustomed to. Hot wax pooled on the papers, and Shea pressed the ring into each puddle, cementing the transaction.
“Be needing the ring too, lass,” Brecks said with an outstretched hand. “Proof that what was once the den Viers’ is now mine.”
“’Course,” she said softly, and placed it on his desk. They left with that, and headed toward the ship; true to Brecks’s word, there was no one else around.
“This done, I’m a true deserter,” she commented.
“You’re sure you still want to go with us?” Flynn asked.
“Already know the answer, don’t you?” Shea replied. “Figured me out well ahead, or was the scene from late morn just all happy chance?”
“I had my suspicions. Nothing concrete. I wasn’t trying to force you to do anything. Given enough time with Brecks, I could have wrangled out something on my own.”
He sounded sincere, and Shea wanted to believe he was. She was quickly learning, however, that Flynn had a way of getting under her skin. Her fear of returning to the front had peaked after taking her leave from him, and now she had surrendered any proof of her true identity. Likely coincidence, she told herself as they neared the ship. Better to focus on the work ahead.
Chari cheerfully greeted them by the gangplank, where she was spooling the rope that had tethered the ship to the wharf. “Was the ship that bore you from the southern isles anything like this one?” she asked Flynn.
“Better staffed,” he replied, grinning. “And the crew? Motlier.” As they boarded, he explained to Shea, “Inside joke. Back when we first met I was passing as a ‘beastman.’ The lie wrote itself.”
“Strange to be thought a beast by anyone,” she replied. It occurred to her for the first time that she might not be welcome on other worlds; Flynn’s allies had all kept hidden for a reason. To be thought of as an animal felt displeasingly degrading.
“I’m going to unfurl the sails. The sooner we’re on the water, the better.”
While he climbed the mast, Shea made her way to the wheel. She had learned the basics in training, but never commanded the rank to put such skills to use. Now, she was the only one qualified, and would have to captain this ship alone. As she felt the handles of the wheel, moving it gently from side to side to get a sense for it, she heard someone groaning unpleasantly behind her. Jean was hunched over the rail, already looking weatherworn.
“No sea legs?” Shea asked.
“More of a solid ground kinda gal,” Jean groaned. “I’ll get over it.” She pressed away from the rail and staggered to the helm. “So which is it then? You Bagwell or den Vier?”
“Whichever you fancy. Still Shea.”
“So it’s true then?” Jean was masked in a thin layer of sweat, and tried patiently to explain herself. “Just, had my fill of liars hidin’ shit about themselves they think don’t matter. Fight comes, kinda wanna know whose back I’m watchin’.”
“Two generations, Bagwells served the den Viers. Good with each other by the time I was born. Always trusted one another, even when politics turned black. Odd, one might think, for two so far apart. Way it was, though.” Shea turned the ship’s wheel experimentally. It moved smoothly for now, but when the waves got rough, she might have a real fight on her hands. “Brats on both sides were close, played the manor halls. One might sleep over time to time, went both ways.”
“So which side were you?” Jean asked.
“Krestia Bagwell had one daughter,” Shea continued. “Mavel. Always wanted a girl, loved her dearly. Same age as me, but Mavel Bagwell and Jenska den Vier were the close ones. Mavel stayed over one night, so I snuck in with the Bagwells, used Mavel’s bed. Wanted to see the market, didn’t know how unloved the den Viers had got; how bad next morn would get.”
“Wandered Selif for a couple days,” Jean mentioned. “Heard some fucked up stories about that town square.”
“Same one,” Shea confirmed. “Started early. Din while the family slept. Snuck for a look, but it was all helter-skelter to the square. Bit of a blur after, but half the den Viers were dead when I got there. Mother Bagwell followed to take me ’fore I got caught, saw Mavel’s head drop right there. White as a sheet, she went. Don’t know how Krestia didn’t scream.”
Jean took a moment to process the tale. “Fuuuuuck,” she said softly. For Shea, the feeling was mutual, even after more than a decade.
“Kept indoors for years. Passed as Mavel in company, but Bagwells weren’t too close with others. Took ‘Alicea’ back in time, when no one outside the family was left who knew Mavel’s face. Girl wasn’t very old when it happened. Ask around. No one remembers Alicea den Vier.”
Somewhere near her recollection’s end, the sails had opened. The wind was friendly, and the clouds above were parting. Two moons shone down on the Inland Sea, lighting their way as they drifted off into the waters. Shea hoped the waves would not turn treacherous.
*
It was over a week before the Inland Sea finally gave way to the ocean, and Tryna’s coasts became a distant memory. They had fled unnoticed, and at times people in the coastal towns waved at the military ship as it sailed by. But the intent behind their cheer was a humbling reality: they were counting on this ship to meet an enemy across the world, to kill them and claim what was theirs. These people, however well intentioned, would die in Taryl Renivar’s new world order, and Zella doubted they didn’t deserve it.
As life on the ship fell into routine, with Shea inexpertly teaching the others how to crew the vessel, Zella would have been content not to contribute at all, save for the burgeoning guilt of the blood her companions had shed on her behalf. So she took up fishing, and as her latest catch writhed on the hook, a sunlit rainbow captured in its scales, she wished she were tending it, not killing it. It was innocent, and would do no harm if returned to the world; creatures such as these—human or otherwise—were uniquely entitled to her affections.
As she unhooked the fish and cast her line once more, Flynn sat down and joined her. “You’re pitching in,” he observed.
“It’s a lofty compromise,” she admitted. “I’m not accustomed to physical labor.” They sat in silence for a while, the winds playing with their hair. The weather thus far had been fair; the tides favorable. “I grew to womanhood on the promise of a paradisiacal garden,” she said. “I did not know then that my lifeblood would be requisite to consecrate such a reality. It was not always their plan.”
“It still seems strange to me that Renivar would ask people to die in his name,” Flynn said.
“In a world of necessary evils, there are sacrifices that must be made. It is only when enough blood is spilt that the scales will tip and shatter, and a better world can come forth.”
“And what becomes of those who commit these ‘necessary evils’ in their god’s name?”
“That is why they are called the Reahv’li—the Blessed. In their service, they risk committing many transgressions to see this new world through. One blemish on their souls will see them unworthy to join the new world, and they join knowing this. But there remains a nobility in giving one’s life for others.”
“You didn’t give yours,” Flynn pointed out.
“I wasn’t the only one asked,” Zella replied. “It is easier to be noble in the heat of the moment than to allow death to calmly stare you in the eyes. We all had to weigh the decision at our own pace. Some came to it sooner than others.”
“Who was the first?”
“The first was the only one not asked. His name was Aiven, and we were as cousins. It is taboo for gods to reproduce as mortals, but they were like us once, and the old urges do not leave. Aiven came to Yeribelt loyal to Taryl Renivar,
and upon learning his origins, yearned to better serve his god. I don’t know what led up to his sacrifice, but my father suffered horror to elation, as Aiven’s death caused his chains to loosen.”
Flynn didn’t reply at first, surveying his surroundings. All was peaceful. “And then they came for you?”
“I’d barely been conceived,” she replied with amusement. “No, it took some time to understand what Aiven had accomplished. And there was reluctance, to ask for any more senseless sacrifices.”
“What changed?” he asked.
“Time was passing. Children born in Yeribelt were growing to old age, and still their Living God was bound.”
“Taryl’s back was against the wall,” Flynn concluded.
Zella glared at him vindictively. “You could say that.”
His expression turned apologetic. “You’re still afraid of me?”
It was insulting he should have to ask. “When it is only the two of us, I know you are harmless. When there are others around, I’ve learned to watch my neck.”
*
Shea’s cigarette case rattled in her hand. This rate, won’t last till shore, she thought. Zaja had taken the wheel, allowing time for a smoke break in the shade of the mast. The sails above were furled; the afternoon winds had been working against them. “Alright there?” she asked Zaja after lighting her cigarette. “Only ever see you work. Do take breaks, right?”
“This is my break,” Zaja replied cheerfully. “They don’t have oceans where I’m from, never mind ships to sail them.”
“Serious? Nothing of the sort?” Zaja shook her head. “Got lakes, least? Paddle boats? Swimming?”
“There is a river that runs through Quema … man-made, though, and heated. Never got to try swimming.” She looked past the ship’s edges to the sparkling ocean. “Wonder if I’d be any good…?”
Shea gave a chuckle. “Not the place to learn. Let us know when your hands get sore. Take the wheel back then.”
“Careful, Ali.” Jean was sitting above her, on the lowest beam of the mast. “Leave it to Zaj and she’ll sleep on that wheel before givin’ it back.”
“Makes me sound like some kinda perv,” Zaja huffed. “I just want to be helpful.”
“And that’s fine for warm weather and clear skies,” Jean replied. “Dark clouds roll in, get your ass back inside and leave things to us.”
Shea looked up. “Bit preachy, aren’t we?”
Jean dropped from the mast to the deck. “Just don’t wanna lose another friend on this trip.” She turned and walked backwards, looking up as she spoke. “Bet he’d be up in the crow’s nest right now, shoutin’ ‘Ahoy!’ or some other pirate crap.”
“Mack, was it?” She regretted asking; the way Jean looked down on her, Shea felt like an unwelcome replacement. They had been seven, Flynn had told her, not long ago. With Shea along, they were again.
“Yeah, him,” Jean replied tersely.
“Plan to find him?”
“If he’s alive,” Jean returned, before biting her tongue. “Gotta look. Get Flynn to find us a way back to Breth or twist Poe’s arm when he gets all godded up. Don’t know if Mack’ll wanna see me after what I…”
“What?” Shea urged.
She shook her head. “Shit I said in the heat of things. Meant ’em, mostly—I don’t owe him love. He’s still my best friend though, and I’ll be there for him for that.”
Jean excused herself below deck, and as Shea climbed the stairs back to the helm, she confessed, “Don’t think Jean fancies me much.”
“It’s just how she is,” Zaja said. “She’ll look out for you if you give her a chance. Back on Terrias, I was unconscious for two days straight, and Jean watched over me. I owe her for that and, if I make it long enough, I’ll help her find Mack. I’d like to know they’re alright before I go.”
“Make it long enough…?” Shea parroted. “Odds really that bad for this mission?”
“They’re pretty bleak, especially for me,” she replied. Concerned, she added, “You know I’m sick, right?”
“Heard something of it. Don’t get it, honestly. Some talk of ‘cold blood’ and lost me there.” Medicine had not been Shea’s strong suit. She hardly understood how her own body worked, let alone the different breeds of people in her company.
“Feel some part of yourself,” Zaja said. “Like your forehead or your heart or someplace where there’s heat. You’re warm, Shea, because your body makes you warm. Mine doesn’t.” At Shea’s first sign of concern, she clarified, “That part’s natural. For me. I need outside warmth to survive, but my body doesn’t store it correctly and parts of it are dying as a result. That problem is mine. They call it Nyrikon’s Syndrome back home.”
Zaja hadn’t struck Shea as dying, but she hid her disbelief. “How long you got?”
“An Omati year. Which—” she quickly clarified, “is a bit longer than yours. A few years here, if I take care of myself. But on the road like this, out in the elements—”
“Hard to do,” Shea concluded. “No plans, say you survive?”
“Haven’t thought that far ahead,” Zaja admitted. “Just trying to stay useful, for now. Have you?”
“Haven’t had reason. No place to go back, not sure what lies ahead.”
Zaja’s tone changed to alarm. “Well, there’s something out there.”
“Like I’d know? Talking other worlds, aren’t we?”
“No, I mean—” She pointed past Shea, who turned and looked in the direction they were headed. Shea leaned on the rail and squinted, but whatever was on the horizon was too distant to make out.
“Hold the wheel.”
“Gladly!”
Shea hurried quickly below deck, and found Chari in the meager kitchen, prepping dinner from their dwindling supplies. “Need to borrow this,” she explained, and snatched Chari’s rifle before its owner could let out a startled, “Hey!”
Shea returned above deck and began scaling the mast, her meager claws finding grip in the splintered wood of the crow’s nest. Even through the rifle’s scope, the distant object was blurry. Someone was climbing up after her as Shea found her reading glasses and slipped them on, then peered through the scope once more. The object had finally become clear.
“Is there a problem?” Flynn asked.
“There is. Have a look.” She passed the rifle to Flynn and he looked through the scope. “Trynan. Headed our way.”
“Could they know this ship was stolen?”
“Doubtful,” she replied. “Flying their colors, though. Likely think us friendly. Think what happens when they get too close.”
Flynn didn’t have to ask. He hurried back down the mast, and Shea quickly followed; Chari might soon need her rifle.
*
Flynn watched for a time from the starboard side. He had abandoned any hope that the approaching ship would cease correcting its course against them or that the southern winds might suddenly reverse favorably. A confrontation was inevitable. He joined Shea at the helm, where she was taking deep, deliberate breaths to calm her nerves, her hands clutched tightly to the wheel’s spokes.
“We should have torn the Trynan flag down, once we lost sight of the place,” Flynn said.
“Might see us as enemies without,” she replied. “Still a chance, this way.”
They were alone on the deck. The others had gone below, and Flynn had barred them in a storage chamber. It was a flimsy barrier, but there were no safe hiding places here, and he doubted the approaching ship was making a swift courtesy call. When it drew alongside them, less than a knot away, the other ship proved a poor counter to their own. Though larger than theirs, its sails were frayed and punctured, its hull patched in several places. Even its Trynan flag was damaged, hanging in fringes blackened from a fire that had nearly consumed it.
“Think our ship could have taken theirs in a fight?”
“Got no cannons on ours,” Shea reminded him.
A row of cannons lined the other ship’s port
side like harsh iron eyes. From between, a smaller boat advanced, rowed by two soldiers—likely privates, like Shea. A woman stood at the fore of the boat, one boot planted on the bow. Likely the captain, Flynn guessed. Whoever sat at the back held higher rank than the rowers, but still acted at the captain’s pleasure. She advanced in plain sight of her own crew, and anything Flynn might have done to stop her from boarding was stifled by those cannons.
The moment the captain’s head eclipsed the railing, she spoke. “Had I not known any better, I’d have believed your vessel was trying to flee mine. Not exactly an act of camaraderie even in a time of peace.”
“We were,” Flynn replied plainly. “We had no desire to deal with you or your crew. We have outstanding orders from Sergeant Bodang, and they don’t involve inconveniencing ourselves for ships that are still floating on their own.”
“Then you were right to do so, but I am now superseding his orders,” she replied. “I am Captain Edia Longhart, and as of this moment, this ship’s crew reports to me.”
Flynn stifled an internal chuckle. The next part, he felt, would be a little funny. “You got that, Shea? You report to Captain Longhart now.”
Shea nodded, uttering a weary, “Lovely.”
It didn’t take Longhart much time to realize something was amiss. “There is more to your crew, yes?”
“Other than the spies we have locked below deck? This is it.”
“Spies?” Longhart asked.
“The attacks that devastated Belsus and Selif and saw the Cavonish overrunning the countryside? Private Bagwell and I discovered a band of spies as they were fleeing Tryna on this stolen ship.” Flynn gave a small laugh and added, “Well, she managed to get on board as they were sailing off. They had taken me hostage.”
“And who are you?”
“Just a hired hand, and one that’s been promised one hell of a payday.” Flynn extended a hand to shake. “Flynn Carolina.”
“Carolina?” she asked. “Unusual name.”
“It was my mother’s.”
Captain Longhart looked up at Shea, who remained at the helm. Shea saluted, keeping one hand on the wheel. “Alicea Bagwell. Private.” The last part was added reluctantly. “Carolina’s story holds. Messaged Bodang before ship left the Inland Sea. Got orders for delivery.”
Killers, Traitors, & Runaways: Outcasts of the Worlds, Book II Page 22