The gate closed behind Tara. Aka wandered over to a large rock that was mostly smooth on top and curled up, seemingly unbothered by the gale. Tara smiled, glad to have her back, even if her profuse licking had nearly torn her skin clean off.
The howling wind flapped her hood, but she felt neither its sting nor its cold.
Myra stood at the edge of the cliff, gazing out over the peaks, which stretched as far as she could see. She approached until she stood only a few feet behind him, waiting.
“You took your time,” he finally said without turning.
“There were…circumstances,” Tara responded.
Myra glanced back, beholding Tara for the first time. He turned fully around, a small smile on his face.
“I know that look. I have worn it many times myself, each time I came face-to-face with death,” he said, crossing both his arms before him. “Two paths are revealed when you stare death in the eyes.
“The experience either forges or destroys. Which will it be for you?”
Tara looked him in the eyes, clenching her fists at her side. The two traded stares for a few moments, but Myra eventually nodded.
“So be it,” he said, starting off toward a cavern in the cliffside, the same one in which most of her training thus far had taken place.
Tara followed him with sure steps.
——————————————
Redra stared at the water below, a nervous tickle in her gut. This was far from the first time she had been on a boat, but staring down into the deep blue always made her palms sweat. Strangely, it was not what was actually down there that frightened her. It was not knowing that was anxiety-inducing.
If one believed the legends, the very center of the Argent Sea was home to an abyss so deep that no one, not even sea creatures, could plumb its deepest depths. This abyss was apparently where the Lord of the Sea resided, a colossal sea creature, said to be a primordial beast from the world’s creation.
The legends claimed its child was taken by the Lord of the Sky, and it drowned the world in its grief, shattering the earth, creating the abyss in which it now resides. A similar tale appears in many myths and legends from disparate peoples, though they all hail from the Praxic Empire, so shared legends should not be too surprising.
She was pulled from her reverie by the handrail she gripped, which shook as Wynne leaned against it. She opened her mouth, but before any words came out, she was intercepted by a lazy voice from a few feet away.
“Save your breath if you’re just going to complain again. We’re on the water. Ain’t no sense worryin’ about it now,” Esme called.
She sat on a barrel, her legs dangling down opposite sides of it. She leaned her back against a large box stacked behind her, her arms crossed, eyes closed, as if asleep.
“I simply do not understand why, of all the ships we could have—” Wynne started.
“Wynne, she’s right. We’re underway. Doesn’t do any good to debate now. Besides, you know the point of all of this is to avoid attention. We’re guaranteed to be stopped if we cross the Straight, either leaving Vadenlaud or arriving in Ashreach. This way, at least we’re hidden,” Redra explained, waving dismissively.
“I understand that. What I do not understand is why we had to charter this particular vessel,” Wynne responded, gesturing around her.
A ship no more than ten of Redra’s strides long was tended to by only three sailors, one being the captain himself. They rushed to and fro, always pulling this line or that, climbing over here, and moving that over there. So busy were they that the deck was beginning to crowd with grime and debris, none having the time to clean.
A single mast with a triangular sail was tended constantly, while the only break the sailors seemed to take was to steer, using turns at the wheel as rest from their labors. Even though they were now on their second day of sailing, Redra had yet to witness a single one taking more than a small nap, which only happened when the wheel was lashed.
A tiny cabin built into the bottom deck between the stairs up to the upper deck at the stern, where the wheel was mounted, contained four hammocks hung from the walls. Redra had initially been concerned about using three of them, but she found that not only did the sailors not have time to use them, but when they did lash the wheel and rest, they lay on the deck, hugging a sack of grain as a pillow.
Redra had been on sailing ships before, but she found no familiar camaraderie between the crew, nor did she ever hear any sailing songs. These men moved quickly and with purpose, scarcely even speaking save a word where it was relevant to their tasks. She was unsure whether this was due to the harsh work or to these men not being on good terms with each other.
The group stood amidships, just aft of the stairs up to what Redra would only charitably describe as the bridge. Redra and Wynne leaned over the gunwale, while Esme sat upon a pile of empty shipping containers resting against the cabin wall.
Redra had felt guilty, watching the sailors wear themselves to the bone all day and night, but Esme constantly reminded her that not only had they paid for passage, as passengers, but she would only get in the way. She would get in the way on a fully-staffed ship, let alone one where the crew could barely rest a wink.
“Walked all up and down the coast, ain’t we? See any others sailin’ the Argent?” Esme asked, picking her teeth with her pinky nail.
“An astute observation. Why would this be the only ship nearby willing to sail the Argent?” Wynne asked, turning her gaze to Esme, who smiled back at her.
“Comes with the territory. Folk generally don’t take the dangerous route ‘less they got reason, and the main reason you’d avoid the Straight right now is the increased military presence,” she shrugged, chuckling to herself.
“You are admitting that these men are very likely up to no good?” Wynne asked, turning to face Esme fully.
“Sorry, Miss Kid the Knight, did you say you knew how to sail?” she asked with a healthy dose of side-eye.
“I did not, do not,” Wynne responded, frowning.
“Then mayhaps you don’t question these fellas while we’re out on the water, huh?”
Wynne opened her mouth to respond, but Redra stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She sighed, suddenly exhausted.
“I thought we just agreed that it isn’t worth relitigating—” she said.
“Ship!” one of the men called from his position up in the rigging. “Two masts! Looks like a brig!”
“Steady on! She’s got no reason to look our way!” the captain called, currently at the helm. “Colors?”
“None!” came the reply.
The sailors quieted again, continuing their business, though each now glanced across the water regularly, checking the distant ship’s position.
“It seems there are many seeking to avoid the Straight,” Wynne remarked, leaning over the gunwale again.
Esme chuckled, inspecting her nails as Wynne regarded her with a confused expression. Redra remained quiet, an anxiety igniting in her heart. She knew the reason why sea travel now effectively existed only across the Straight.
The Argent Sea had become dangerous of late.
“Captain! Their masts, they’re…it looks like…they fell? They’re lyin’ back against the deck, looks like! I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it!” the man up in the rigging called, holding a small spyglass to his eye.
Redra’s head snapped toward the ship as she felt more than saw an ignition of mana. A plume of it ignited behind the ship, churning the waters so violently that she could see it from here, despite the ship itself being distant against the horizon.
“Fuck. It’s the Ghost,” the captain said, standing behind Redra and her group, the wheel unattended.
“The Ghost? What the fuck’s it want with us? We ain’t even got the cargo, yet!” called the third man, mounting the steps to the bridge.
“What do we do, Captain?” shouted the man up in the rigging.
The captain stood silently, staring out at the ship, whose form grew clearer in real time, consuming the distance between them with rabid gluttony. His face was dark when he finally spoke.
“Nothin’ we can do. Prepare to be boarded,” he declared.
The two men stared at him blankly, either unable to process the instruction or unsure what to do.
“Raise the sails. Lash the wheel. We’ll have to throw ourselves at their mercy. Perhaps they will appreciate compliance,” the captain said solemnly, walking to the bow, where he stood sentinel, his hands clasped behind his back.
Redra glanced back at Esme, but all she received was a shrug and a smile. She shook her head, sighing. She should be unfazed by Esme’s lackadaisical attitude by this point, but it continued to amaze her.
The ship, this ‘Ghost’, took only minutes to approach, despite the distance, pulling up parallel alongside their own. From this close, Redra could see that it was unusually colored and built. Its hull seemed closer to metal than wood, and it shone a dull gray in the midday sun.
It lacked the smooth sweeping form that the ships she had seen possessed, instead angled and harsh, closer to an arrowhead than a boat. Atop its deck were the two masts, which lay flat, the tip of the main mast protruding from the wide stern.
A host of people in loose, brightly-colored clothing stood staring over the gunwale, their garb clashing sharply with the hull’s monochrome. Contrary to what she would expect from pirates, for what else could they be, these people wore serious expressions, as if they were doing a duty.
There were no ravening smiles, missing teeth, or pounding on the deck in anticipation of killing. These people stood with hands on still-sheathed blades, calm, prepared.
Two of the pirates raised a running board, slid it over the gunwales, connected the two ships, and secured it with ropes.
A woman mounted the plank, approaching with a confident swagger that positively radiated ‘captain’. She wore the same garish colors as the crew, but she had a bright blue sash that ran from her right shoulder down to the left side of her waist.
Her hair was covered by a bright yellow bandana, tied at the back, and what brown hair hung beneath it was intertwined with bright beads of all colors that clacked together as she walked.
The strangest thing, in Redra’s eyes, was her sword. It hung sheatheless from her waist. A single-edged blade, it was straight, with a fuller running close along the blunt edge. It was brown, and unless she was mistaken, Redra thought it was made of wood.
Her guess appeared correct, as the captain of their own vessel apparently recognized her.
“Captain Woodsword,” he greeted.
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter