“Well, go steal some. We can hardly just sit here staring at one another all night, can we?”
Ivor grunted in approval. His tankard was already half drained, his face even pinker under the muted lighting of the tavern than it had been under the bright sun. “Those fellows over there have some. Look, they’re not even using them! We could just walk over there and –”
Ivor yelped as Kilai slammed a hand over his mouth. “Talk a little louder, why don’t you?” she hissed, glancing around at some of the heads turning their way. “Keep announcing in your Sonlin accent that you want to steal from a bunch of disgruntled, drunken townsfolk, hm?”
He mumbled beneath her palm, tickling her skin. Making a face, she wiped it on her trousers and sighed. “How about I go and ask nicely? Since I’m apparently the only one who doesn’t want to survive one disaster just to invite another.”
As she stood up and walked over to the strangers’ table, she thought she heard Makku mumble ‘spoilsport’ behind her, clinking his glass against another’s. She resisted glaring back at them, steeling her nerves as she approached those gathered around the table, annoyed when none of them seemed to notice her. Clearing her throat did nothing over the din in the tavern, voices competing over the music of the band, consisting of a fiddler, a man with a huge drum, and a tiny girl with a tambourine. While she could appreciate a nice melody, she would have preferred to be able to collect her own thoughts.
“What did he say to you, Pip? Was it dusk or dawn? Can’t remember myself?” said a man that towered over his companions with a booming voice, shoulders like great boulders bulging from his shirt.
“Er,” said the man who could only be Pip, scratching his temple, “he said something, all right. I don’t think it could be dusk, though. Pretty sure the sun’s gone down by now.”
A cheer started up and they all clanked their glasses together.
“Nah, it was definitely dusk. That’s why we met here, wasn’t it?” said another, slurring her words. “We’re hardly going to wait for him in the drinking hole if it’s dawn, are we?”
“I don’t see why not,” said Pip. “I’ll be here ‘til then.”
“Aye, passed out in the gutter outside.”
More laughter followed.
Growing impatient of hovering, Kilai pulled out an empty chair, making sure to drag it across the floor so it screeched, a horrible high pitched wailing that silenced the conversation at the table. Sitting down, she smiled her best friendly smile and knitted her fingers together. “Please excuse me, Weishei. My friends and I were hoping to borrow your playing cards, if you cared to spare them.” She pointed to her table, where all three were slumped despondently over their drinks. “I’m afraid it’s been quite a trial of a time for each of us and none of us has enough coin together for another drink.”
The table tittered sympathetically, the large man with a face like the craggy rock of the cliffs in Nirket patting her on the shoulder as if this was quite a travesty indeed.
“Go ahead,” said Pip, nudging them over. “We’re just waiting for the –”
Suddenly a hush rippled across the crowd. Kilai turned around, frowning, as the band began to pack up their instruments, the sounds of coughing and shuffling feet so much louder without the music to cover them up. A young woman walked to the centre of the room, her gait relaxed as if she couldn’t tell that all eyes were upon her. Or perhaps she knew. Perhaps she knew that she could command the room with something so simple as her walk, the tension rising notch by notch in time with her steady footsteps. Finally, she stopped between the tables and pulled out a chair so that she could stand tall enough for all to see.
She couldn’t have been much older than Kilai herself with long black hair and deep set dark eyes, her skin russet in the flickering candlelight from the tables. “For those of you waiting for me, I thank you,” she said. “I trust it has not been too unpleasant.”
A murmur went through the room, some raising their drinks.
She laughed. “Yes, I thought this might not be the worst choice of venue. But for those of you who do not know me, you may call me Ayrah.” Her expression sobered and it was a thrilling thing to witness. “Tell me, friends, who here is tired of the way things have been?” She barely paused for the answering nods and muttered acknowledgements.
“Who here grows tired of these spineless bluecoats invading our town and taking over? Who here is tired of imposed curfews? Of giving up beds and food and coin to these foreigners who think they can come here and claim what is not theirs?” Her eyes were ablaze, weaving the room into her spell. “Who here is ready to start fighting back?”
It started with a few shouts, tumbling into something bigger. Greater. Stamping feet and slamming tankards. Curses spat in the name of the Sonlin Empire. Kilai glanced at her table and caught Ivor’s eye. The line of his shoulders nearly met his ears, his finger playing with the rim of his glass. Something cold slid down her gullet, thoughts racing away from her until she was stumbling over them. Pieces clicked together, of Kallan and the men in the abandoned temple. She still didn’t understand what that liquid had been but she could guess at the weapons. As the woman continued talking, she forced herself to focus and tune back into the conversation lest she miss something important.
“… these are the only guns we have been able to acquire so far. Orla and Nogan have promised to train anyone who wishes to learn. They must be kept hidden at all costs, even it if means your life.”
“Do we need guns?” said an older woman, warily glancing around the room. “Surely that is more than ordinary folk should be looking to get involved with. I don’t want none of my boys messed up in this, you understand. Think of the children.”
“I am thinking of the children,” said Ayrah. “They are why we must make our town – our island – safe once more.”
“And guns are the way to do this?”
“Let her speak, Gowa-wei!”
There were shouts, some insults, some calling the woman a coward. Ayrah raised her hands in a placating manner, silencing the dissenters with her gaze alone. “Please, we must not fight amongst ourselves. If we turn on one another they will win. More than anything, it is important we stick together at this time. It is only in numbers that we may see change. Only in numbers can we turn the tide against these monsters.”
More questions followed and Ayrah answered them with the same easy composure that appeared to simply be her manner. Wherever she had come from, she had certainly had some practice in inciting passion in a crowd, and it seemed, from taking their heat. Climbing down from her platform, she continued to talk to the crowd that surged around her. In the background, Kilai spotted the man she had met before, lurking. Nogan had been his name.
Before she could stop to think, Kilai stood, cards forgotten, and threaded through the tables towards him. Sharp instincts drew his eye towards her in seconds, hand dipping to his belt, and he frowned for a beat as if trying to place her.
“Good evening, Nogan-wei. I believe we have met before.”
“You – yes, I believe so.” His eyes narrowed and then she sensed a figure behind her. “Where is Kallan?”
“It’s not good news,” said Makku, shaking his head as he pushed in to stand at her shoulder. “Our ship got caught on the storm. Our merry band is all that is left.”
A flicker of emotion passed over Nogan’s face, snuffed out so quickly Kilai would have thought she had imagined it if not for the clenching of his fist by his side. “And the Zephyr?”
Makku shook his head.
Nogan turned away for a moment, muscles flickering in his jaw. “This will make things more difficult around here. Kallan was…” He shook his head and slumped into a nearby seat, leaning back against it. “Locker damn us all. I am sorry to hear it.”
Jorkell patted him on the shoulder, her expression tight.
“I think we might need another drink,” said Makku.
“That will come later. We must plan first.”
> “What is left to plan? We have no ship and you have your guns. What more is left to say?”
“That bottle I gave you… it is imperative it gets to our contacts on the continent. I may be able to procure another, although it will not be easy.”
Kilai frowned. “But we have no ship. How on earth do you plan on us managing that? Should we row across the ocean?”
Nogan turned to study her, eyes black in the gloomy lighting of the tavern. The candlelight distorted his face with flickering shadows, deepening the caverns beneath his eyes and the stubble around his chin and lips. His mouth quirked, a scarred hand rising to rub at his jaw. “There are ways to get you a ship again, should you still be willing to continue without Captain Kallan.”
Kilai had not known Kallan long but that did not dampen her anger any. “So that’s it? Let’s just forget about her? The rest of the crew? They all died for your little scheme here. Maybe you should show some more respect.”
He stood, leaning over her as if to emphasise the difference in their height. “Be careful not to speak before you understand, Chana. This ‘little scheme’ is much larger than a sheltered girl such as you could ever understand. Don’t think I do not hear you accent.”
Kilai’s eyes flashed. “And what bearing does that have on my intellect, pray tell? I’m willing to wager I have seen a fair share more of all of this than you. I have watched more people’s blood spill in the name of this game than you. I have seen where this leads and believe me, it is not as glorious as you might think.”
“Cowardice if ever I heard it,” Nogan spat, stepping even closer. “But what would someone who has never known hardship understand of fighting back?”
A hand landed on his shirt and yanked him backwards. Suddenly Ivor was between them, using his considerable height and bulk to loom over Nogan. For all his constant grumbling, Kilai had never seen him look so furious. She had mistaken him for a harmless buffoon but now she realised her folly. For he was every bit the muscled soldier he appeared, eyes sparking with violence. Several onlookers launched to their feet, ready to jump into the fray in Nogan’s defence. She had to do something, and quickly, before a fight broke out.
As she opened her mouth to speak, the door on the other side of the room opened, spilling in frigid air. Pouring through came a line of soldiers in their indigo coats, drawing the sting out of the fight with one move. All at once the men and women scattered back to their seats, Nogan and Ivor splitting apart but still glaring at one another, and then it all began to feel like a scene from a play. The townsfolk went back to their drinks and conversations, but it was a paltry imitation of the liveliness from before, like they were actors trying to depict something they had never truly experienced themselves. It was weird, and it left her standing awkwardly, making eye contact with the soldier at the front on accident.
Makku grabbed her and dragged her down to the nearest table but it was too late. The man would not stop staring at her. Even as his gaze flickered around the room he landed on her once more and she froze, spine so straight against the back of her chair she thought it might snap.
When the soldier finally looked away, surveying the room again, she heaved a sigh of relief. “I hope you all remember that curfew is on the hour,” he said, words clear even through a clipped accent. “I expect none of you will care to miss it.” He remained standing there for a while, as if daring anyone to challenge him. With the way the townsfolk had been talking mere minutes before, and the amount of drink consumed, she was almost surprised they didn’t.
The soldier wandered through the tables, meandering towards theirs. “I hope you are not causing trouble, Nogan.” He landed a hand on the man’s shoulder and he flinched, eyes on the fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “After all, it wouldn’t set a good example to your friends here.” Cocking his head, he looked between them. “Say, I don’t recognise you.”
“We’re just passing through,” she said.
She immediately regretted catching his attention once more. “In a town like this? I must say, that is surprising. Where are you going?”
“They are pilgrims going to visit the Thiran shrine in Akshei,” said Nogan, not bothering to turn around.
“Pilgrims? Of which church?”
“Zorashiran,” said Kilai. She was, technically, a follower, even if she had not entered a church in some time.
The soldier scratched his chin, eyes flickering over each of them. “Well, I wish you safe travels, my good friends. Of course, I am sure Nogan here has told you that you must keep to curfew in this town?”
“Of course,” said said, stomping on Makku’s foot beneath the table before he could speak. “We will be gone by tomorrow.”
“Ah, there are storms coming. You might wish to be careful. Those roads can be long and perilous without the sanctuary of the military to keep you safe.”
She ground her heel further into Makku, shooting him a glare out of the corner of her eye. “Thank you, All, but I do not believe that will be necessary. We are a hardy bunch.”
Eventually he seemed to sense he would not be getting a reaction out of her and he left for the bar, but not before making a few more ‘advisory’ marks that had Makku bristling in his seat and Nogan coughing curses into his fist. Kilai watched him pass by, brass buttons shining in the dancing flame of the candle upon their table. Breathing a soft sigh of relief, she slumped into her seat and took a swig of ale that had belonged to Nogan, ignoring the questioning slope of his brows.
“That piece of –”
She kicked him. “Keep your voice down, will you?” Glancing around, she leant into Makku’s space. “Do you see how many soldiers are around here? Do you have any idea what will happen to you if they think you’re a rebel?”
Jorkell mimed a hanging, sticking her tongue out.
Kilai sighed and slapped a hand over her face. “You know what, I don’t care. Go on, go wild. It’s not like us surviving means anything. Honour your captain by joining her at the bottom of the Locker for all I care.” She took another swig of the tankard, grimacing, and then another. Her face was flushed with the alcohol, or the heat, or the stress. Perhaps it was all three.
Planting both hands on the tankard, she tipped it towards her face and was surprised when nothing came out. She shook it, grumbling, only to have it prised from her grasp. “What are you doing?”
Ivor slid it out of her reach. “Enough of that. At least one of us needs to have their faculties.”
“And that has to be me, does it?”
“Afraid so, princess. Not a brain between the rest of us, I don’t think. You’d be as well travelling with a pack of hounds.”
Nogan leant forward, eyes narrowing. “That’s no Myrish accent.”
“No,” said Ivor, puffing up his shoulders, “it sure as that fiery ball in the sky isn’t.”
“The sun has set, you know,” said Makku, pilfering the last of the ale.
“Perhaps we ought to take this outside,” said Kilai, glancing at the squad of soldiers piled around a table too close for comfort.
“I was going to leave anyway.”
As Nogan rose, she moved to follow him. A hand wrapped around her arm. “Why do you trust this man?” murmured Ivor, gaze following him out the door.
Kilai gently swept her hand away. “I don’t trust anyone. But I have met him before and I have a good inkling as to what he wants.”
“Is that enough?”
“Once you know what a man wants, it is not so hard to get him to dance to your tune.”
Ivor arched a brow and whistled. “You’re a cold woman, Shaikuro.”
“It’s Kilai. If you’re not going to bother with honorifics, call me Kilai.”
“I’ll consider it.”
Stepping outside, the frigid air punched the breath from her lungs, stolen in clouds of steam from her lips. Shivering, she huddled into a pool of light from a nearby lantern, mourning the warmth of the tavern. The black sky was heavy with clouds that obscure
d the moon, leaving the only light source an unnatural shade of dusky orange. It stretched their shadows out behind them like strange, monstrous creatures that were no longer confined to just her imagination.
She walked along the road, keeping her eyes and ears alert for a sign of the way Nogan had gone. There was much more she wanted to discuss. Much more to understand if she was even going to consider what it was that Kallan had been involved in. Adventure was one thing but treason was another.
“Please! Please, just let me go! I’ll stay inside, I swear!”
Laughter rumbled somewhere nearby. “How he changes with fear,” said a voice in Sonlin. More words were exchanged that she could not discern.
“I promise I won’t cause no trouble!”
“I find too many of you say one thing and then mean another.” A thumping sound. “How can we trust the word of scum like you?”
Kilai’s feet led her on even as everything within her screamed at her to turn back. It was as if she was locked onto her course and nothing could reset it, creeping between the houses until she came to a dimly lit alley. Blood roaring in her ears, she pressed tight against the rough brick and peeked around the corner to see shapes gathered around a figure huddled on the ground, hands pressed over his head. She could see his form shake. One of his aggressors kicked at his torso and he sprawled out, whimpering.
“A drunk like you will just go crawling back to your waterhole as soon as our backs are turned.” He kicked again and the rest of his companions snickered.
Anger burned through her but no flame could pierce the veil of fear that had her gripping the wall to keep her steady. Kilai wanted to help but she was just one person, and no fighter at that. For a heartbeat she cursed her lack of ability, wishing she knew how to fight like Rook and Viktor. Wishing she had made Janus teach her how to use a gun. What good were words, when faced with bullies like these?
“Leave him be,” said a gruff voice.
Several heads turned. At the other end of the alley were three silhouettes, weapons in their hands shining in the amber lamplight. The lead soldier turned his back to her, cocking his head. “What do we have here? Do you all wish to spend the night in jail for breaking curfew and attacking a soldier of the Empire?”
The Rising Tide Page 18