Oathen

by Giacomo, Jasmine

  Geret gave Sanych a small warning glance, then headed toward the door.

  “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting, Rhona,” Sanych said, scooping the book off the table. “I was just offering this book to Geret to read. I’ve found it scintillating, and I thought he might enjoy it too.”

  Rhona took the book from her and flicked through some of the pages, then checked the covers.

  “Did you think I’d damage such a priceless old book?” Sanych asked her. “It’s my job to care for books, in case you forgot.”

  Rhona eyed her, then glanced down at the slender tome. “Fine,” she said, handing the book to Geret. “But I don’t think he’ll get so bored that he needs a book to entertain him anytime soon.”

  “Actually, Rhona,” Geret said, smoothing the book’s cover, “I love to read.” He met Sanych’s eyes. “Anything personally recommended to me by an Archivist of the Temple of Knowledge has got to be good.”

  Sanych felt a warmth spread inside her chest. She didn’t even mind that Rhona had Geret tie the ribbon into her hair right then and there.

  ~~~

  Geret didn’t find a free moment to open the book Sanych had given him until the next day. Its cover read A Treatise on Bog Farming in Braltre and Its Surrounds, by Lord Falsager, Year 937. He settled himself next to the castle rail in a rare ray of sunshine and began to read the old inked script, though the wind was cold and threatened to skip ahead several pages at a time.

  After an hour, he’d learned more about bog farming than he ever wanted to know. He was put in mind of his endless days of reading boring agricultural reports for Imorlar back in Highnave.

  Thus did the bitter melon harvest prosper, following the new implementation I recommended. Geret, what are you doing with Rhona?

  Geret blinked. He looked at the script again. It still asked him the same question, though in slightly darker ink than the previous sentence. The handwriting was nearly identical as well. Recalling that Sanych had been raised in a temple that dedicated itself to preserving and copying texts from around the globe, Geret found himself grinning like a giddy fool. A secret message in plain sight! He sobered quickly, though. She wrote in a hundred and fifty-odd year old book just to ask me a question. It must have been very important to her. Was there more to her kiss on the beach than I realized? Or is she just acting out of advisorly concern?

  He read on.

  Is she threatening you? Reply on this page and give me the book. I’ll destroy the page afterward. No one cares about Lord Falsager’s opinion of himself anyway.

  He slapped the cover shut in surprise. Now she’s destroying pages! The urge to bolt below deck and scribble a reply was nearly overwhelming. He knew she deserved an explanation, but he’d been reluctant to approach her due to Salvor’s warning, and even more cautious after seeing the way Rhona acted when Sanych was around.

  Rhona had been trying to isolate him from his friends ever since she’d claimed him. Leave it to Sanych to reach out to him with books. He grinned again, holding the book close, and felt his spirits lift.

  ~~~

  “Thanks for the book, Sanych,” Geret said, handing it to her after breakfast the next day. “It was scintillating, just like you said. It makes me want to take up bog farming myself.”

  Sanych took the small book and stepped out of the way as the others left the cabin and the crew on dish duty came in to take away the plates and cutlery. “I’ll check it over to make sure you haven’t damaged it. Would you like me to pick another for you later? Rhona has good taste in stolen books.” She grinned at the pirate, who was watching them.

  “Sure, if you see something I’d like,” Geret replied.

  Rhona stepped close and took Geret by the hand. “See if you can find a romantic tale in there, Sanych.” Turning to Geret, she added, “Maybe you can read it to me tonight by candle light.”

  Geret cleared his throat and mumbled something in reply.

  “I’ll see what I can find,” Sanych muttered, turning toward Rhona’s writing desk.

  Rhona led Geret out, and Sanych impatiently waited until the room was clear before sitting down and giving the book her attention. She flipped to the page she’d written on and found Geret’s reply.

  I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you lately. Rhona’s claim has made her possessive, and I don’t want her to stab any more books next to your head. I have to play the pet until Shanal. Clan ways are very different than ours. If I reject her after her public claim, her crew might mutiny and turn away from Shanal. I can’t let that happen. But I’m still Vinten. You know what that means.

  “Yes, I do,” she whispered. Since Vinten law prohibited a prince from marrying anyone but royalty, there was no way he intended to run off with a pirate wench. She sighed in relief and reached for her small dagger. Cutting the page free of the book, she held its corner to a candle flame and watched it burn to ash. “I’m so sorry about this,” she apologized to the crumpled black page. “Well, I’m a little sorry.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Harbinger’s sails snapped and bellied full of fresh wind, propelling her after the fleeing galleon. It was only a matter of time now, and Marela m’Kora, Prime of Clan Agonbloom, laughed eagerly as she adjusted the ship’s wheel. The sun glinted brightly off her brass breastplate. The thrill of the chase made her blood thrum like nothing else on the ocean.

  Her quarry realized it couldn’t outrun a Clan ship; a flag of surrender ran up its mainmast and the galleon drew in its sails. Marela ordered the Harbinger’s crew to pull alongside the other vessel’s starboard rail. She thumped down the stairs from the galleon’s aft castle to the main deck, where her crew milled eagerly, grapnels in hand, ready to draw the victim close enough to pillage.

  While her crew catcalled and taunted the frightened crew and passengers, Marela studied the ship. Low in the water and broad abeam, she’d been made to transport goods over long distances, yet she was crammed with human cargo. Understanding dawned. These must be more of the refugees from the eruption and its massive waves. The ripples had passed harmlessly beneath Marela’s ships, but she’d seen the damage they’d done to the coasts of Kazhbor. These passengers must be carrying only what they had salvaged from the wreckage of their lives.

  Shiny. This might be my most efficient haul of swag in years. Marela ordered the crew to draw the galleon close with the grapnels, and dozens of ropes and metal hooks flew through the air.

  As the ships drew closer, the galleon’s captain stepped forward from the huddled masses of humanity on his deck, taking initiative for his crew and passengers. When he spoke, however, Marela didn’t recognize the language.

  “Oh, gods above and below,” she growled, slapping the flat of her short sword against the Harbinger’s railing. “Doesn’t anyone speak Versal on this blood-crusty tub?”

  “I do,” came a mild voice.

  Dozens of heads turned to look. A slender man with light red hair stepped forward. His clothing, while fine, had seen cleaner days. A woman with long, dark, curly hair touched his arm, looking worried.

  “Good. Tell me what your captain said,” the pirate ordered, pointing at the nervous captain with her blade.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t oblige you, madam. I do not speak Kauna’kanan.”

  “Kauna’kanan?”

  “Captain Naizmin begs for their lives, honored lady,” said the woman with the curly hair.

  “Shiny. I always approve of competence,” Marela replied, giving her a crisp nod. “Tell him he can have their lives. I’m not wearing a red bloodquest sash today, am I?” Without waiting for a reply, she ordered her crew aboard the captured vessel. As the curly-haired woman related Marela’s words to the Kauna’kanan captain, Clansfolk swarmed over the joined rails and began looting the ship and stealing from the passengers, who protested and wept.

  Marela hopped onto the Shoon’s deck and approached the redheaded man and his companion. “I don’t think this,” she said, waving her blade toward the crew’s a
ctions, “needs to be translated.”

  “I’m sure you’re more familiar with raiding procedure than I am,” the man allowed, though disapproval pinched his nostrils white.

  Marela barked a laugh. “That’s the spirit.” She eyed the woman’s long hair in appreciation. “Lovely hair you have. If I could wear it, I’d take it. Unless you’d like to join my Ladies,” she said, gesturing up and behind her. The woman’s eyes lit on the long-haired skulls that clacked gently atop the Harbinger’s masts, and she gasped and took a step back.

  “I’ll take that as a maybe.” The pirate grinned. “You’re the most reasonable victims I’ve seen in awhile. What are your names? So if you’re accidentally killed today, I’ll know who to mourn.”

  After only a moment’s hesitation, the man replied, “I am Count Braal Runcan of the Magister’s Dictat, in Vint. I am most assuredly at your service, madam.” He gave her a courtly bow. “My companion, Anjoya Meseer, hails from Salience, in Hynd.”

  Marela’s face changed; all trace of her arrogant humor vanished. “Vint? You are from Vint?”

  “I—I am,” stuttered Runcan, unsure whether this was good or bad.

  “You have a prince of your country, who is abroad?” Marela demanded, stepping toward him and raising her sword in his direction.

  Anjoya frowned in recognition, confirming the pirate’s question even before the man replied, “Yes, one of our princes is abroad on a quest.” His eyes flicked to the sigil on the Harbinger’s prow, then up to the Ladies, and when they returned their gaze the pirate captain again, new understanding shone in them. “You’re Rhona’s mother. The Prime of Clan Agonbloom.”

  Marela’s wooden boot heels clacked down as she rocked back in surprise. For a long moment, she only stared at Runcan, her face working its way through several emotions. Then she turned her head and yelled at the top of her lungs for her crew to cease and desist. Anjoya clapped her hands over her ears.

  The deck of the Shoon was well and truly crowded, as pirates and passengers all gathered around Marela, Runcan and Anjoya, wondering what was going on.

  “Here’s the bargain, Count,” Marela said, her voice carrying. “Answer my questions, and if I like your words, I’ll let the Shoon go.”

  “I’ll do my best, madam Prime,” Runcan returned.

  She stepped closer. “Where in the lightless bowels of the sea gods is my daughter?”

  Anjoya and Runcan exchanged a glance. “If all went well, she’s halfway to Shanal, to help Prince Geret and the Shanallar destroy the Dire Tome.”

  “Is there swag in Shanal?” the Prime asked. Every Clan member leaned forward to hear the answer.

  When Runcan hesitated, Anjoya stepped forward. “Certainly there is,” she said in accented Versal. “I have heard of the wonderful treasures of Shanal all my life. Their volcanoes create raw diamonds in untold hundreds, and each child is given a small golden dragon to protect them at the time of their birth. Homes are decorated with the bounties of the earth, in precious stones and ores that glimmer even in the moonlight. Truly, Shanal is a land of plenty. Or so our Hyndi legends say.”

  Marela stared at Anjoya, but the Hyndi woman stared right back. Finally the pirate nodded. “Shiny, then.” She lowered her voice so that no one else could hear. “And what of Rhona and her princeling? Has she claimed him, or somehow come to her senses?”

  “‘Claimed’?” Anjoya shook her head.

  “Has she bedded the lad?” Marela repeated, impatient. “Some fool infatuation with a dirtwalker. Nothing good blows on that ill wind.”

  “Er. Likely not,” Runcan managed to reply.

  “I’ve found much benefit in the mixing of cultures, myself,” Anjoya said diffidently.

  The Prime snorted. “Mixing one dirt with another just makes your hands muddy, Curly. Now: this Shanallar wench. She’s really my great-grandmother, back from the dead?”

  “Well, it’s not that simple, but—yes,” Runcan answered with a shrug.

  Marela shook her head. “Deeps-blasted spirit better not come back here, trying to challenge me for Prime rights. I’ve already got Rhona to worry about.” She tipped her head back, looking skyward for a moment. “You’re on your way to this…Vint…then?”

  “Yes. The Shoon is bound for Yaren Fel.”

  A roguish smile crossed Marela’s features at the mention of the Kirthan capital. “Shiny. Good times there. Unfinished business, too. Here’s the bargain, then: the Shoon is free to go.” The passengers began to shout in celebration. “In return, I take you two and the swag my crew is holding, but no more.”

  “Us?” Runcan blurted.

  “Aye. The pair of you will sail with us to Yaren Fel. You’ll arrive a week early and I’ll treat you to an actual Clan raid, up close and bloody.”

  Anjoya’s eyes widened, and she glanced over at the Harbinger.

  “Don’t fret, Curly. It’s not you who should be chary on her decks, but your man there. My women love the company of educated men.” She turned to Runcan. “You read well?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Shinier and shinier. My officers are enthusiastic fans of adventurous tales. Our last appointed book reader had an unfortunate accident before he could finish reading their current book. They have refused to finish it without a suitable replacement.”

  “Ah, yes…” Runcan’s expression looked pained as he tried to bring himself around to embracing his new fate. “A free trip to Cyrmant, and the company of a captive, well-armed audience. Sounds excellent.”

  Marela barked a laugh, grabbed him by the collar and began forcibly escorting him to the rail. “This is me not needing your approval, good Count. Now scamper aboard your new home.” She swatted his behind with the flat of her blade as he began to climb across the rail. Then she turned and hollered for the rest of her crew to return to the Harbinger, causing Anjoya to clap her hands over her ears again.

  Marela returned to her own deck and handed her two new guests a bottle of rum each. As the Harbinger sailed away; the crew catcalled and taunted their would-be victims with their bare buttocks for getting off easy.

  As she took her place at the ship’s wheel, Marela saw her first mate and several other women surround Count Runcan, demanding that he begin reading chapter thirteen of the proffered book to them immediately, and that he’d be wise to employ various voices for the tale’s characters.

  As the Count’s voice began extolling the exploits of Chem the Darkwitch Hunter in gory detail, the Harbinger cut through the sea like a stalking shark, leaving the Shoon behind as it turned toward Kirth. Anjoya extricated herself from the rapt listeners and came to stand near Marela.

  “Next stop, Yaren Fel,” the Prime said. “I hope the sultan survived that uprising a few months back. I’ve owed him a return visit for a while now. And I’ll need to find my red sash.”

  ~~~

  The journey to Shanal led Rhona’s ships northwest across the vast expanse of the Empty Ocean. Even the charts Rhona had stolen revealed nothing but the distant western coastline of Bermah’s Sacred Reefs. The sea beneath their keels was deep, wide and restless.

  As the weeks passed, the ships approached the northern boundary of the tropics and passed into cooler, unsettled weather. The storms that assailed them were nearly constant. Cold winds whipped down from the north, bringing stinging rain and slowing their progress significantly. The waves they encountered often towered far above even the galleons’ mainmasts.

  In this uncomfortable environment, Geret received another new discomfort. Rhona stood up at the table one night as supper was winding down, and made an announcement, holding her wine goblet up. “Officers and esteemed guests of the Princeling, we’re over halfway to Shanal from Salience Harbor, or so we hope amid these storms. I’m proud to announce that Geret’s making excellent progress in understanding the ways of Clan Agonbloom. He has a fine mind for details, as I’d expect of someone undertaking such a colossal quest for the rescue of his cousin. My pleasure with his progress knows
no bounds.”

  The officers raised their glasses immediately, naming their captain a generous protector. Geret frowned, not understanding the idiom. Ruel tipped his head toward the red curtains, but he wasn’t smiling.

  Geret felt his stomach lurch, flip, and drop down into his boots; despite learning quite a lot about Clan culture from Rhona the last few days, she’d given him no warning for her announcement. He hunched in on himself as the officers’ comments made Rhona’s meaning clear to the others.

  Meena raised her glass to Rhona, but the look she gave the redhead didn’t look pleased. Kemsil demanded details in the morning, while Salvor shook his head with a mirthless laugh.

  And Sanych: Geret took a quick peek at her, afraid she’d be glaring at him. Instead, he saw her turning her goblet by its stem, seemingly unaware of Rhona’s announcement.

  “Archivist?” Rhona said, drawing all eyes to the short blonde. “Will you not celebrate with us?”

  Geret tensed, ready to restrain Rhona in case she went for a weapon.

  Sanych looked up as if surprised. “I’m sorry, how unforgivably rude of me. I found myself trying to calculate how many Vinten noblewomen are in a position to make a similar match with Prince Geret. I hadn’t yet finished compiling my list. I’ll just have to enumerate the foreign candidates later. Geret’s a large marriageable asset—” Kemsil and several pirates sniggered, “—so any action he takes along those lines will draw the interest of many nations as well as dozens of noble houses.”

  Rhona looked at her with a blank expression.

  “You really should think these things through first,” Sanych said, as if it were the most obvious decision. “Now, if you’ll please excuse me, Captain, I’ll just pick a book from your library and go read in my own cabin.”

  The room quieted as Rhona gave her leave with a wave of her hand. Sanych walked past the bookcase and dragged a book out at random on her way out the door.