Pekari -The Azure Fish

by Guenevere Lee

  Tersh nodded.

  “I don’t think this valley can survive another war, and believe me, one is coming. I served under kings who could not suffer the mere mention of the word ‘queen.’ They hate those sisters, the ones ruling in the great city they believe is theirs by birthright. It’s humiliating for them, and they won’t suffer it much longer. War will come, and Kuwana Tak will be torn up all over again by advancing armies, and they are far worse than any raiding party. My family will die.”

  “If that is what you believe, why did you return?”

  Tuthalya laughed, the echoing sound filling the space and continuing long after Tuthalya answered. “Did you not see how beautiful she is? But honestly… what else can I do? I had one final assignment from my kings, and then I would be free to go home. And maybe I will be lucky. Maybe the war will just fade away, or maybe it will wait until after I’ve been long dead…It doesn’t matter. I’ve decided. I don’t want to leave my fate to the gods.”

  “What other fate can there be?”

  “My own,” Tuthalya narrowed his eyes. “If Matawe is to ever know true peace, there must be a single king.”

  “Not queen? You do have more of those to choose from,” Tersh laughed nervously.

  Tuthalya shook his head. “A king. A queen will always be challenged…You said you want to go to Nesate.”

  “You promised me—”

  Tuthalya held up his hand to silence her. “When you get there, what do you mean to do?”

  “I’ve thought about that a lot…” Tersh looked into the murky water. It was dark, and the bottom was completely out of sight. Anything could have been down there. “The gods sent me here, because they are angry. I think they are angry there has been so much bloodshed on these mountains; these mountains are sacred to them,” Tersh looked at Tuthalya, who only nodded in agreement. “I think maybe they sent me to find a way to stop this war.”

  “And how will you do that?”

  “I whisper for the gods,” Tersh said confidently.

  Tuthalya leaned forward, getting so close in the small boat that he could smell her. She smelled like the river. “You’re going to have to do a lot more than whisper.”

  THE MIDDLE SEA

  WE TRUSTED IN YOU, NOW WE MUST TRUST IN THE GODS

  They say the seaway to Caemaan is littered with broken ships bobbing in the water. East of Mahat the coast of the Middle Sea is a mountain range, and the high cliffs give no refuge from the wicked storms the gods kick up when angry—or just looking for amusement. Usually traders going to and from the fabled city took the literal safe road by sailing to the Sephian Islands and going by caravan over land. Some called it the Jade Road, but Samaki was determined to sail the Afeth the faster way.

  Samaki stood in the hold of his ship, scratching the stubble on his face, looking at the shallow pool of water that was collecting in the bottom. He held a small oil lamp, and the light flickered and danced over his moist cargo. Samaki thanked Afeth, the God of Chaos and his ship’s namesake; he had nothing that could be spoiled by rot or mould.

  “Probably a leak from the first storm,” Tiyharqu spoke behind him.

  The two of them crouched down since there wasn’t enough room to stand up straight. Samaki was a large man, tall and muscular. Years of working riggings and oars, of lifting coffers of gold and barrels of wine, had made him as strong as an ox. But Tiyharque was taller and broader still. The two of them looked like giants trying to fit into a tiny room.

  As imposing as she was though, Tiyharqu had an easy smile, and Samaki always found it hard not to return the gesture. The two had built the Afeth together, and had always sailed her together. Their similar manners and taste would have made them look like siblings, were it not for that fact that Samaki’s skin was a light copper, where Tiyharqu was dark charcoal.

  “Made worse last night?” Samaki frowned.

  “If it were a bad leak, we’d already have sunk,” Tiyharqu moved behind some boxes, squeezing in and knocking her fist against the wood, looking for weaknesses. “I can patch the more serious ones. So long as there isn’t a third storm, we will live I think,” she laughed, but this time Samaki was not in the mood to join her.

  That morning when the second storm had finally passed, and the sky had turned grey and dissipated to coral, his weary crew had cheered. Some clutched at each other, smiling and laughing, glad to be alive. Nothing made you feel more alive than facing your own death. Living after a storm like that made you feel like you could do anything. The feeling never lasted.

  The first storm they had encountered had been a smaller gale, and although they lost a night’s sleep, the ship was relatively undamaged from the affair. Last night had been something different, something angrier. You could always tell when a storm was sent by the gods to smite mortal men. They knew it was coming, knew it from the blood sky that had greeted them in the morning, but when you are halfway to your destination with no safe port, there’s nothing you can do save pray.

  Samaki and Tiyharqu were quick enough, moving their course away from the cliffs, to ensure no rogue wave smashed them against it. The smaller of the Afeth’s two sails was taken down, the rigging secured, and as the wind picked up and the ebony clouds began assaulting them with droplets of rain, the larger sail was secured as well, and the men rowed as if their lives depended on their speed, because they did.

  The moments in a storm are always impossible to stitch together once it passes. You can see bits and pieces. You can see your hands as you tie yourself to the tiller to keep from being washed away. You can see the ship being lifted and slammed down in the rocking sea. You can see waves washing over the deck. You can see the faces of men as they go overboard, though you can’t hear their screams because the thunder cracks your ears into deafness.

  At one point he saw the rigging on the larger sail come loose, but no one could climb the ropes in time to save it. One of the men who tried fell into the water and was immediately lost from view. The sail was ripped and shredded past the point where it could be salvaged.

  When the storm finally abated, Samaki was shocked to realize that only two of the men had been washed away. He’d thought he’d seen more go overboard, but then thought perhaps those men had just been saved in time, or perhaps he was remembering storms from long ago. But to lose even two men out of fifty was difficult.

  “We can sail south, make our way to the coast, and repair her before setting off for Caemaan again,” Samaki said, calculating how many more days that would add to the trip, wondering how many men might decide it better not to continue on if they took to shore.

  Tiyharqu only shook her head. “You want to go to open sea with only one sail?”

  “We only need one.”

  “Yes, the main sail—the one we lost.”

  “The last time we spoke you were the one suggesting we change course,” Samaki remarked.

  “The last time maybe we were halfway there, now I think we are days away.”

  “Yes, but how many days? We lost too many provisions—”

  Tiyharqu held up her hand to silence her friend. Up on deck, in front of the crew, Tiyharqu would never overstep Samaki on anything, but down in the hold they were equals. “We are past the point where we can risk changing course.”

  Samaki nodded, knowing that, but not willing to concede the point, not willing to admit his pride may have left them too far from a port with not enough food and fresh water to last.

  “We trusted in you, now we must trust in the gods,” Tiyharqu continued. “We are not as bad off as you think. So long as we stay close to the coast, we can row to Caemaan and make good time.”

  “I will see us safely to Caemaan,” Samaki leaned forward, practically whispering.

  “You will,” Tiyharqu agreed with a smile. “If we stay on course.”

  “And then I’ll get us safely to Serepty.” Samaki smiled back, but it was a weightless thing on his face.

  At first Samaki had wanted to return to Mahat after th
ey finished their business in Caemaan, but Tiyharqu cautioned against it. Mahat was too large. If the famine turned out to be as bad as everyone believed, then there would be chaos in the great land—and most likely war.

  Samaki couldn’t help but agree. Since leaving Nepata after the young Paref’s coronation, he’d felt a strong wind blowing him. He blamed Tersh, one of the Go-men they had helped take to Hattute. She’d been so fervent in her belief that the gods would soon wash away all the great empires that Samaki was inclined to believe something bad was indeed coming. They needed to wait a year or two, make a good trade in Caemaan and live somewhere safe until a merchant could make a proper living again. Serepty seemed the best choice.

  Serepty was the largest of the Sephian Islands but still small compared to the Sea Mahat. He knew Serepty had suffered from the wave, but he was sure that its smaller population would make it less chaotic and faster to bounce back. They would sail from Caemaan to Serepty and stay there. As soon as they heard news from Mahat that the two riverbeds were once more lush with food, they would be able to trade again. Samaki had no doubt he would be able to afford a small villa where he and Tiyharqu could wait to see what would happen. He had quite a lot of gold hidden in the walls of his ship, and he imagined they could barter with Postes for some grape vines and start a small vineyard.

  There was a time when such a plan would have been utterly ridiculous. It was nearly a decade of serving on various ships, saving every piece of gold he could, before he could even think about having his own ship. Even then, he had no chance of affording one of the fine merchant vessels he saw daily on the Hiperu and the Middle Sea.

  It wasn’t until he had met Tiyharqu that becoming a captain had been a real possibility. She, a young shipwright’s apprentice eager to prove her skill, and he, an ambitious sailor who would spend years getting enough wealth to trade for all the lumber, and nails, and labour. They had designed the Afeth together, built her together, and sailed her together. Until Tiyharqu had met Samaki, she had only known shipbuilding and was content to live her life on the land and rivers. It was Samaki who inspired her to sail out to sea with him, to live a life of adventure. However, she always claimed it was just because the Afeth was too precious to her, and she couldn’t bear to think of the ship being damaged and her not being nearby for repairs. And now they were sailing to the end of the Middle Sea together, to Caemaan.

  Caemaan had riches beyond imagining, and he finally knew enough rich merchants to trade with, had served the new Paref at his personal request—though he’d only done so because the old Paref had died, and Samaki had faced destitution if he could not make a deal with the young man who now sat on the throne. Still, it’d been a profitable errand, and there was no doubt in his mind that if he could only survive this journey, there would be villas and wine and women carpeting his future.

  Samaki had had a lot of time to consider what they would trade their cargo for once they reached Caemaan. In the past, Samaki had made most of his fortune trading wine from the lush vineyards of Serepty to the Paref in Nepata. Now Samaki’s ship was filled with wool, raw copper, and the precious stones Matawe was so proud of. But most of his cargo was full of their sturdy bronze weapons, spears and short-swords, bows and arrows, and armour to match. He could arm a small army with what he carried in his hold. He could trade what he had for silks or exotic treasures, but the flood had changed the landscape of Mahat and the Sephian Islands. No one would spare what he had for luxuries, not with a famine having descended on the land.

  Samaki and Tiyharqu had spoken often enough in the hold, away from the curious ears of the crew, figuring out the best course of action. It took a long time for them to come to the obvious conclusion. Samaki wasn’t sure why it had taken so long. Still, without someone to trade with them in the city, nothing would come easily to them.

  They left the hold and climbed the short ladder up to the deck. The men were lying exhausted between the oars, some sprawled in the depressions where their feet normally went, others leaning against each other or the bulwark, unconscious or simply staring ahead with red eyes. Most of them were naked, the loincloths or tunics they had been wearing torn away in the gale, and they had no extras to wear. They were forced to blister in the sun.

  “Men,” Samaki spoke softly, but his voice carried authority. All eyes turned to the captain. “The Afeth is safe for now, I need five men to help Tiyharqu patch the hold.”

  No one raised his hand. Samaki sighed, looking around and finding five who looking slightly less exhausted, pointing to each one in turn. “You five.”

  They nodded solemnly, getting to their feet.

  “The rest of you, are going to help me untangle the rigging, and save what we can of the main sail.”

  To their credit, none of the men groaned or complained. They all got to work, stumbling through and taking a long time to finish their jobs, taking frequent breaks. Samaki allowed them this. So long as everything was set right before the sun set, they could take their time. The main sail was completely wrecked, but Samaki saved the fabric for making patches to the small sail and so some of the men could at least have a loincloth to cover themselves with. The rigging was a mess, but most, if not all, the ropes seemed sturdy enough to survive the rest of the journey.

  The crew was quick to settle down in the evening, munching on rations of bread and beer in silence. Once more Samaki stood in front of them, the setting sun behind him. It looked like it would be a clear night with plenty of stars to guide them.

  “Before you sleep, and I hope you sleep well, we need to say words for those not here anymore,” Samaki nodded to Tiyharqu, who stepped forward as Samaki sat down. Tiyharqu had always been better with these sorts of things.

  “Last night, our brothers Iason and Urhiya were lost. Their bodies rest in the waters of the Middle Sea, well guarded by the gods. So we cannot honour them with a proper burial, and we cannot ensure their souls reach the afterlife,” Tiyharque hung her head as she spoke, showing the weight of every word on her pained face.

  Samaki felt a tightness in his chest. He was not the sort of man to dedicate himself to the gods, to concern himself with making preparations for the afterlife, but a body being lost or destroyed was a terrible thing even to him. He had seen enough different burial rites to realize the afterlife was different for every man, but in Mahat, the destruction of your body meant the destruction of your soul. Urhiya would have believed that, just like Samaki’s father had believed that. His father never left the Sea Mahat, but still, his body had been lost to the sea when the great wave had come.

  “Who will speak words for those we lost?” Tiyharqu asked.

  One by one the men stood, sharing stories about the two. Urhiya had only joined them in Nepata when they’d been there last, so most of the crew only said things like “Uhriya had a good singing voice” or “Urhiya was a strong rower.” Iason had been with them over a year though, and most of those who spoke had a hard time not letting tears stain their face. Samaki spoke last. He stood next to Tiyharqu. The sun was gone now, and the twinkling stars and dwindling crescent moon sitting on the horizon lit the deck.

  “I admit, I won’t remember all your names and faces years after you’ve left my ship and gone on with your lives, but I always hold onto those men I’ve lost. I will always remember the wild stories Iason would tell after a few draughts of beer. I will always remember Urhiya’s strong voice leading the songs as we made our way south on the Hiperu. So long as you keep them in your thoughts as well, they’ll never be truly lost.”

  Samaki wondered if what he’d said was even true. He wasn’t certain anymore. But the crew seemed satisfied. After a few somber moments of silence, they all settled in and almost immediately, fell unconscious. Samaki didn’t think he’d sleep. He leaned against the bulwark, staring up at the stars. He could see the constellation of Pekari, a fish jumping through the water, and he could see the wandering star, Zera, was beginning to move through it.

  He couldn’t remem
ber the first time he’d met Iason or Urhiya. Men came aboard in groups, and it wasn’t until they were at sea that he came to know them. Iason he knew well enough, and he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of shame. He hadn’t liked the man. He was brave but foolish. Always acting before thinking and complaining loudly.

  He remembered suddenly the day that Whisperer boy had fallen into the water. Iason had been one of the men who’d dove in after him, only to spend the rest of the voyage north complaining about how the crew had nearly let him die while Sef brought the boy up from the depth of the river. He realized then it was probably Iason who had tried to climb the rigging to secure the sail during the storm. Rash decisions always catch up to you.

  And Urhiya? He could remember nothing about the man save his voice. He wished he could have gotten to know the man, but wondered if maybe it was better this way, better not to mourn the man’s passing any more than he had to.

  “Maki, you should sleep,” Tiyharqu whispered to him from her spot manning the rudder. Her voice was quiet, but in the stillness of the night, the woman might as well have been shouting into his ear.

  “I would sincerely love to,” he smiled sardonically.

  “Perhaps you should have saved a few barrels of Postes’ wonderful wine for such an occasion,” Tiyharqu chuckled.

  “We could all use a stout wine.” Samaki shifted his position, trying to get more comfortable.

  “We will be fine. The gods have tested us, and we have passed. You will see,” Tiyharqu said as she nodded without a shadow of doubt anywhere on her face. “Tomorrow is a new day.”

  Samaki woke up to realize he’d slept through the night. His back and neck were in agony, but Tiyharqu stood above him in good spirits. The entire crew seemed alert and energetic. They were organizing themselves, beginning to row harder.

  “What is it?” Samaki quickly got to his feet, thinking another storm was chasing them, but the sky was a soft ember and the waters were calm.