"The Twisted Path: Chapter 1" by Melissa ´TigerCat´ Jones

The Twisted Path

“In Ocean's wide domains,
Half buried in the sands,
Lie skeletons in chains,
With shackled feet and hands.

Beyond the fall of dews,
Deeper than plummet lies,
Float ships, with all their crews,
No more to sink nor rise.”

-The Witnesses, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Chapter 1: The Rose and the Thorn

It did not take me long to realize that I strongly disliked ships. The unrelenting motion, the incessant dipping and rolling and diving left my stomach in a constant state of turmoil. I was told to either hang my head over the railing until the sickness passed, or rest in the cargo hold, in the bottom and centermost part of the ship where the motion would be less. Try as I might, I could not abide the dark confines of the hold. The smell and closeness were overwhelming, and I felt trapped once more in the ruins I had recently escaped. My only other option therefore was to abide the cold spray that besieged the deck and all those upon it.

That was where I was now, sprawled in the very bow of the ship with my arms draped on the gunwale and my chin on the joint of the bowsprit. With my eyes closed, the motions threatened to undo me, and so I stared straight ahead into the nothingness. The sky was the same gray-blue as the sea, though today the sea was not as still as its companion. The breakers echoed the clouds that usually dotted the skies, and the waves were like the crash of thunder against the hull of the ship. I shuddered as we dropped into a trough, feeling my stomach twist uneasily against my backbone.

Still, despite the constant discomfort, I was in awe. The sea was so different than the forests in which I had spent most of my life. I had never spent so long in the open before, and it was a strange and unnatural – yet somewhat exhilarating – sensation. The endless waters and the infinite skies seemed to cup me within themselves, like two bowls stacked lip to lip. I felt I needed only to reach out to touch the horizon, it seemed so near. Only the wind and the salty spray against my face reminded me that this was real, and not a dream.

I spent most of my time here on the deck, out of the way of the crew. I had never seen so much sun, and on still days when the sea was like glass, I lounged in the light like a cat, drinking in the warmth and savoring it. It was an odd feeling, to be so incautious in the close company of people I did not know. But the pirates gave me a wide berth, and Wren as well, I noticed. Something about ill luck to have women aboard. I did not care much for superstitions, but did not mind their beliefs if it gave me that much more freedom. I felt no danger from Mog in that quarter, either. He obviously had no qualms about his niece being aboard; else he would not have allowed either of us here.

I tilted my head so that my cheek rested against the grainy wood and let my fingers dance in the wind, watching absently as my hand mimicked the movement of the waves. This is what I had longed for in Havosiherim, and later in Nhoternis: this sense of sheer freedom. A stable stomach would have been nice but, as always, I took what I could get. So unlike the deep forests, I thought. Everything was so clear and open. One could see forever with nothing in the way. I took a deep breath and savored the salt in the air, and the scent of damp wood and rope. I could hear the creak of planking and the sway of canvas overhead, as well as the voices of the men onboard.

I could not say why, exactly, the sea was like a balm on my heart. If I had come here sooner, would things have been different for me? Would I have wallowed in self-pity for as long as I had? There was no telling, no answer. I was here now, and that was enough. I only wished the ship would be still for a moment or two, to grant my stomach a little respite. I was only grateful that it was nausea and nothing else that ailed me. Some days, however, were better than others.

“Feeling better?” a voice asked behind me.

“No,” I muttered, not bothering to look at Rhys as he walked up.

“Have you eaten anything today?”

“No,” I answered again, flatly. “It would only come up again.”

He sighed. “You should have told someone it was your first time on a ship. Johnes would have been more prepared.”

Dane Johnes was the ship’s physician, if one could call him that. The large man was stout as a barrel, with fingers like sausages. Exactly what kind of physicking he practiced, I had no notion, except that I likely had more medical experience than him. And for as old as he appeared, that was saying much. I made a scornful noise, letting Rhys know exactly what I thought of Johnes.

“It might help,” he chided.

I groaned as the ship dipped into another trough. Maybe it would, but I did not think I could choke it down. The very thought of drinking Johnes’ “sea-cure” made my gut curdle. Thick as pitch and just as black, the syrupy liquid smelled like a thing left dead in the hot sun for several days. I had tried, to my credit, to drink it on the second day. Needless to say, I could not even get to cup to my lips before losing my stomach over the railing.

“No better in the hold, or your bunk?”

“It is very cramped in there, and dark.” The hold made me very uncomfortable. It was like being trapped in a cage. The bunk I shared with Wren was no better; it was like sleeping in a coffin. I suppressed a shiver, but cast a narrowed glance at Rhys. “I am not whining,” I told him gruffly.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, but he dared not laugh. “I wasn’t going to say that,” he replied, leaning against the railing and watching the water pass below as he moved nearer to my shoulder. My hair whipped around my face, and I wished I had tied it back before staggering up here. At least I had not forgotten the headband I had had to get back into the habit of wearing. Mog the Black and his crew might be acquaintances of Rhys and the others, but they were still human and had no idea that I was a halfblood. I meant to keep it that way.

Rhys watched as I swept the errant strands from my face and tried to tuck them behind my linen-wrapped ears. “Wren is dying to cut it,” he said, startling me.

“What?”

“Your hair. Wren wants very badly to trim it. She mentions it frequently.”

My brow furrowed as I gazed at him in befuddlement. “She does?”

He shrugged one shoulder in something akin to embarrassment. “I believe she thinks of you as a rather large doll,” he said deprecatingly.

“She has not mentioned any of this to me.”

“She’s probably afraid to, what with your scathing glares and all.”

I frowned at the bowsprit, tangling the fingers of one hand in the ends of my rather weatherworn locks. True, my hair was somewhat tangled and rough in texture, but that was to be expected after years in the elements. I did not brush it as often as I would like, either, but I did not often have a brush available. I could not remember the last time my ratty and feathered ends were trimmed. My reflection was something I took little time to appreciate. I wondered how awful I must look. My thumb swept over the hair I pinched between my first and second fingers. The ends were so pale as to be almost white, bleached by the sun and wind, but the strands darkened to a honey color as they approached my hairline. My lips pursed in thought. Perhaps it did need some attention. I could only imagine how shocking the rest of my appearance was. I swallowed a sigh. It could not hurt, surely, and if it made me forget my stomach so much the better. “I suppose she can have her doll.”

“What, really?” Rhys asked, taken aback. So I had not shocked only myself with this agreement.

“What else have I to do but sit here and think?” I asked. “Perhaps it will take my mind off my beleaguered stomach.”

“There is something in this air that makes you much more malleable,” Rhys stated, shaking his head in wonderment. “Wren is in her cabin, before you change your mind. And I’m having Johnes make you something. Tea!” he added after seeing my face. “Only tea, I promise. Will you drink it?”

“Only if I know exactly what is in it.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “No tricks.”

“No tricks,” he agreed, holding out his hands in negation of Johnes’ underhanded tactics.

Resigned, I levered myself to my feet, holding onto the railing for support. “Oh, what are those?” I gasped, seeing some frighteningly large fish leaping in the waves tossed up as Mog’s ship cut through the water. Sleek and gray, they seemed to grin up at me as they danced through the sea. They did not look like any fish I had ever seen before. Certainly not like that toothy beast that had been hauled onboard three days ago. Rhys called it a shark, and said it was one of the most dangerous things in the water. Seeing that gaping mouth full of serrated fangs, I could certainly see his point. The wolves of the sea, Mog had said, making me uneasy. The others had eaten it with gusto, but I left it well enough alone. I did not want to be reminded of wolves.

Rhys peered over the bow and down at the creatures below. “Those are dolphins,” he answered.

“Are they like sharks?” I asked dubiously, waiting to see a sudden flash of fang in one of their long snouts.

Rhys laughed. “No, no. Dolphins aren’t fish, and they don’t eat people. In fact, they’ve been known to help sailors that fall overboard. I’ve heard stories of men being pushed to shore by dolphins, or protected from sharks until the ship comes back for them.”

“They look like fish to me.”

“They have lungs, but they breathe through a hole in the top of their heads. That makes them different from fish. They’re smarter, too.”

“Will Mog want to catch them?”

“No, dolphins are good luck. Hunting them is asking for disaster, and sailors do not eat them. Besides,” he said playfully, “how could you want to eat something that grins at you?”

The dolphins did seem to be grinning. It looked as if they greatly enjoyed themselves, dancing and leaping through the waves, racing before the bow of the ship. They were fascinating to watch. They twisted and rolled through the blue, spinning upward until they exploded into the air, gaining height with each bound. I believed Rhys’ words of dolphins saving people. The grinning creatures looked very intelligent, almost as if they were asking us to join in their fun. I watched them for several moments, until the sleek animals finally tired of their play and retreated back into the depths. I let out a breath I had not known I was holding and felt a touch of sadness that they had left.

“They’ll come back,” Rhys said, almost as if he had looked inside my mind. I let him take me by the arm and remove me from the bow. “Come on. You have to eat something today. I’ll bring the tea down to Wren’s bunk, and I’ll watch Johnes like a hawk while he makes it.”

I nodded, feeling my stomach do a lazy flip against the base of my throat. Not as bad as it had been, certainly, but the nausea was still highly uncomfortable. Down the narrow stairs we went, meeting Wren and Fox in the entrance to the forecastle. Obviously, Rhys and I had interrupted their conversation. “Anything?” Rhys asked.

“Uncle says there’s likely a storm brewing,” Wren answered, wrinkling her nose. “I still can’t tell how he knows these things without seeing any clouds, but he’s been on the water for more years than I’ve been alive.” She shrugged delicately. “I have to admit he probably knows more than I do.”

“I’d say, but you shouldn’t have mentioned anything,” Fox told his sister. “Dae’s whiter than a sheet.”

“No, I am fine,” I lied, feeling my intestines knot in the base of my belly.

“You really should try Johnes’ sea-cure –” Fox began. I instantly clenched my teeth and pressed my lips hard together as the imagined smell assaulted my nostrils. Gods, I could nearly taste it. A shudder passed over me as I fought for control.

“Shut up, shut up!” Wren cried, pushing her brother out from the door. “Go away! You’re making things worse.” She turned to me and pulled me into our shared closet, also known as our bunk. “Did you go on deck today?” she asked, and I knew she was trying to make me think of anything but Johnes and his medicines. “One of the crew said he saw a swarm of jellyfish yesterday. Do you know what jellyfish are?”

“I’m coming back, Dae,” Rhys called as Wren edged the door closed. “Don’t forget that you promised.”

“Promised what?” Wren asked as I lowered myself onto the stool in the corner and rested my head on my knees.

“Tea,” I answered glumly.

“Oh, good. That should help some.” I heard her rattling around in something, but kept my eyes closed as I leaned my head back against the wall. “Why did Rhys bring you down here? I thought you were doing well enough on the bow.”

I cracked open a tired eye. “Apparently, I need to cut my hair.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. “You’d let me? Really?” She sounded much too excited. It worried me a little.

“Just…not short, please,” I said with a hint of pleading in my voice.

“Oh, no, no, of course not! This will fun, you’ll see,” Wren crowed in glee. She was already rummaging around in the chest that took up the majority of the floor. I sighed and put my face back on my knees, wondering just how stupid I was. Why had I agreed to this?

“Sit up and let’s get started,” Wren demanded cheerfully, brandishing a hairbrush in one hand and a small pair of shears in the other.

I was very unhappy – but valiantly silent – as Wren removed the snarls and tangles with what I thought was undue force. “This would be easier if you’d take the headband off,” she said once, but I refused. Not even here, in the relative safety of our bunk, could I be that uninhibited. There seemed to be no real privacy in the close confines of the ship’s bowels. There were always people milling about, and I could not take the chance. If it were only the five of us that had come from the ruins, I would not have hesitated. They already knew me for what I was. But they were not the only ones; there were at least a hundred other men on the ship. I had to remain cautious.

Once the tangles were gone, the effort of brushing my hair was much easier and, dare I say it, pleasant. Maybe my mother had once brushed my hair, but I could not remember it. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feel of the bristles on my scalp. It was wholly unfamiliar, this feeling of being coddled, but I liked it immensely. I regretted my earlier uncertainty. If this chance arose again, I would not hesitate to accept it. I could almost fall asleep here on this hard, uneven stool, feeling the brush pass through my straight locks.

“Having fun?” said a smiling, male voice from the doorway.

I half-opened my eyes and saw Rhys leaning on the doorjamb. I had not even heard him approach, but I could not hear much of anything on this ship. There was too much latent noise. My senses were overwhelmed. The only things that seemed to work correctly were my eyes, but all there was to see were water and sky. At least, here near the belly of the ship, I could barely feel the movement of the sea. One could almost forget the endless waters, once they were out of sight. The closeness of the wood and rope were astoundingly quick in inducing claustrophobia. I focused my attentions on current happenings, hoping to stifle these new uncomfortable thoughts.

“I wish we could wash it,” Wren said before I could speak. “There’s salt in it.”

“Here,” Rhys said to me, ignoring Wren. He came over and placed a steaming wooden mug in my hands. I sniffed it, trying to detect any hint of Johnes’ monstrous concoction. I could not smell anything but a certain underlying tang that was both spicy and sweet. Satisfied that Rhys had kept his word, I took a cautious sip and frowned at the unfamiliar but not unpleasant taste.

“What is in it?” I asked, peering at the reddish tea as if it would reveal its secrets on its own.

“Raspberry leaf, peppermint, skullcap and ginger,” he answered, clearly repeating by rote memorization. “Oh, and Dubase the cook gave me these.” Rhys reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a handful of odd-looking seeds. They looked like dark brown stars in the palm of his tanned hand. “These are badiane seeds, he said. They’ll help if you chew on them, though he couldn’t understand why someone wouldn’t just drink Johnes’ tonic and be done with it.”

“If I could choke it down, I would consider it,” I said flatly, taking the seeds from his open hand and dropping them in the pouch at my waist. “But I think I would rather be sick.” Plainly, Johnes thought this brew would not have any effect, but had agreed to make it nonetheless. He had picked good herbs, at any rate. I was not overly familiar with ginger, but the other three had definite anti-nausea and calming properties. I would just have to see how potent the effects were.

“You seem better,” Rhys said, looking at me with his dark eyes. “Not nearly so pale.”

I drank another swallow of tea, feeling it trace its way down to my stomach. I did feel better. For the first time in days, my stomach was resting quietly. I did not think I was ready to eat the usual fare served in the galley, but this was a start. “This is good,” I said of the tea, and took another sip.

“Ready to cut,” Wren announced with a snick of the shears. “How short?”

“Not short,” I answered curtly.

“Here?” she asked, touching just under my shoulders with the side of her hand.

“No.”

“Here?” she asked, moving her hand an inch lower.

“No.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “Where?”

“About here,” I answered, reaching behind me to point at the middle of my back.

“No, that’s too long. You need a good three inches off, at least, otherwise it just looks ratty.”

I resisted the urge to take sudden and violent offense at this insult. Clearly, my self-control was growing by leaps and bounds. “Three inches, then,” I acquiesced resignedly. “No more.”

“Good!” Wren exclaimed. “It will look much better, I promise.”

I rolled my eyes skyward, trying to ignore Rhys’ lopsided grin of amusement, and lifted the still-steaming mug to my lips. The even snipping of the shears behind me was unsettling, to say the least. I could almost feel the sharp points on my weakest side, but I trusted Wren not to jab them into my back. I hoped I could trust her to not butcher the one thing I truly liked about my appearance. I could feel the weight falling away, and wondered if I should say something. If Wren decided to trim more than agreed upon, there was little I could do about it now. Unless I wanted my hair ragged and uneven, of course, and that was just the thing I had come here to remedy. My teeth ground together, just slightly, as I reined in my uneasiness and annoyance. I drained the last dregs of the tea, feeling prickly bits of hair dust the back of my neck.

Rhys left before Wren was finished, saying that Mog had asked to speak with him at the helm. I closed my eyes and listened to the clipping shears, letting the jumble of foreign ship terminology cascade around my head. I had picked up on a few terms, but usually had to ask someone for clarification. Fore and aft, starboard and port, amidships and a dozen others besides. They were strange to me, utterly incomprehensible at first, but I thought I was learning.

There was a final sound from the shears, and then Wren was dusting the discarded bits of hair from my shoulders. She sidled around me in the narrow bunk to eye me critically from the front. She looked unsure for a touch too long, but then her face cracked into a smile. “Very nice, if I say so,” she grinned. I reached a hand to touch my shortened locks, and felt a drop of coldness in my chest when I realized the ends came only to the bottom of my shoulder blades.

“That is more than three inches,” I said, somewhat worriedly.

“Maybe a little,” Wren agreed, looking abashed, “but it looks good. Don’t worry.” She knelt and cracked open the chest on the floor, put the shears away, and dug an arm deep into its contents. “I think we have a looking glass in here…”

“Sidh broke it,” I answered, “looking for your needles.”

She made a scornful noise and slammed the lid shut. “Fool,” she muttered, then sighed. “You’ll just have to take my word for it, then.” I supposed I would, having nothing else to go on. My headband had been dislodged a bit during Wren’s administrations so I untied it and carefully shook it and my newly-shorn hair out onto the floor, not wanting itchy flecks of hair to bother me all day, and then replaced it with a swift, practiced motion. My hair did feel better, not nearly as rough and - from what I could see - the color had come back. I felt similarly refreshed.

I was about to speak when the ship shuddered violently.

Wren was thrown to the floor, crashing against the chest. Taken by surprise, I tumbled off the stool and into the wall, smacking my elbow painfully against the worn wood. The mug violently escaped my hands, flinging the dregs across the narrow floor. Within an instant both of us were up and out the door, headed swiftly toward the foredeck.

“What’s happened?” Wren demanded of the first man we came across, twirling on her heel to grab the sleeve of his dirty shirt.

“Shoals, most like,” the man answered abstractedly, clearly in a hurry to be gone. He did not look confident in his answer, but neither did he look frightened. That gave me a little heart, at least. If the sailor had no reason to be afraid, then the matter was probably nothing to worry over.

We left him and continued onward, though with less urgency than before. Wren wanted to speak with Mog, and he was probably still at the helm with Rhys. From the little I understood about Mog, he was called the Black for a reason. It was said that he indulged in pillaging, murdering and thieving, along with all manner of other undesirable activities. He had always seemed pleasant enough when chance crossed our paths, but I had seen eyes like his before. I had seen them in my own reflection. Fox said there was no such thing as a virtuous pirate, not even his own uncle. I had not known what pirates were before coming onboard with Rhys and the others, but I now thought I understood. Despite his polite veneer, I knew enough not to trust him. I wondered what he thought of me.

The helmsman gave Wren and I a cursory glance as we passed him, heading for Mog and Rhys engaged in conversation by the rearmost gunwale. They both ceased speaking as we approached, and turned as one to face us. Swiftly, I glanced at their faces, trying to read them a bit, but got nothing. Scuttlebutt, perhaps, or more talk of the ruins.

“Uncle,” Wren said hurriedly, “did we hit something?”

“More like something hit us,” Mog the Black answered in a smooth voice. “A whale decided the barnacles would make for a decent backscratcher, but no harm done.”

Wren did not look vastly relieved, and I later learned it was because whales were massive creatures nearly half the size of the ship. The hull could have easily been breached by a careless flick of the fins or an overzealous rubbing. We would have quickly sunk and drowned in the churning waters. I was grateful to have been told all this after the fact, and out of Mog’s presence. I had appearances to keep, and the seasickness by itself was making that task more difficult than usual.

Mog told the helmsman to turn three points to starboard. I gave up trying to understand nonsense directions such as these, and let my eyes tell me where we were heading. With no landmarks, I was forced to use the sun as a navigational tool. The stars, if it was night. However, this was no real change for me, but the lack of solid direction was unnerving. The sea was so vast; it was impossible to pinpoint our location. It was as if the land had simply bled away, leaving me stranded and drifting endlessly. My stomach twitched slightly, testing the confines of my tensed body. I thought of the star-shaped seeds Rhys had found for me, but left them alone. There was no strong need for them yet.

“Did the tea help at all?” Rhys asked, leaving Mog’s side and coming to stand next to me on the leveled deck. Wren moved in to take his place next to Mog, quickly striking up a conversation with the dark man. I closed my ears to them as best I could, wanting to focus on one thing at a time. I knew Rhys liked me; Fox had told me in no uncertain terms. What I did not know was how I felt about him. I was confused about the entire situation. Rhys was a human, and I was a halfblood. By all rights, he should be terrified of me; he should not look at me with soft eyes and that maddening lopsided grin. He was a human, and humans had used me ill in the past. I knew I should fear him, avoid him, but I could not. He knew what I was, and he did not turn away. I could not abandon the hope and the happiness that simple fact stoked within me. He had seen my darkness and embraced it, but he had not peered within its depths. Those shadows were for me alone. I feared that he should uncover them, but Lyna had told me not to be afraid and, by all the gods, I would try.

“Yes,” I answered. “Very much.”

“Your hair looks nice.”

I put a hand up to feel it, feeling self-conscious and suddenly shy. “Thank you,” I said softly, looking out over the water. I saw no sign of the whale-thing Mog had mentioned.

Rhys cleared his throat and shifted his feet on the deck. “I, ah, I was speaking to Mog earlier. Told him it’d be good if you had something to do.” I turned to face him, confused by the tone of his voice. It did not match his words. Clearly, this was not what he had meant to say but was the thing that had slipped first from his lips.

“Do?” I inquired, cocking my head a little to the side.

He made a noise in his throat, but I did not think it had anything to do with me. “Walk with me,” he said, canting his head to the corner of the deck, away from everyone else. I did so, wondering what it was that he wanted. He glanced around when we were in the corner gunwale, making certain there was no one in earshot.

“I know you’re not comfortable here,” Rhys began without preamble. “It’s because there are no trees, right?”

I stiffened immediately and looked around us, making absolutely sure no one could hear. The wind was blowing across us to the water, carrying our words with it. Still, one could never be too certain. “Why are you saying this here?” I asked in a low voice. “It is not safe.”

“We’re safe enough, Dae, but I want to know. Elves need trees, don’t they?”

“I am not an elf!” I hissed in horror. Was he daft to ask such a thing here?

He had taken his “leadership” pose, I saw. Standing straight and stiff-legged, with his arms crossed over his chest and his dark eyes narrowed, he was an imposing figure. I was not cowed so easily as that, however. “Answer me, please,” he said flatly, clearly adding the last word as an afterthought. I gritted my teeth and hissed out a sigh. Fine, I would give him the answer he was so intent on getting.

“This wood is dead,” I replied. “And yes, I am uneasy without the trees, but I do not need them. So stop worrying. The simple fact is that I have never been on a ship of any size and I am unused to it.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes, that is all.”

He let out a relieved sigh. “Gods. You know, I’d thought I’d done something terrible, asking you to leave the forests and come across the sea. Seeing you pale and sick… You weren’t like that at all in the ruins.” He shook his head, sending his dark hair swinging around his face. He stilled suddenly and turned his eyes to the sea. “Second thoughts, maybe?”

I leaned on the rail next to him, putting my forearms on the cool, damp wood and letting the wind tangle my newly-shorn hair. “No.” My answer was definite and irrevocable. I smiled slightly when he glanced askance at me. “I have longed for the sea since I first learned of its existence.” I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, savoring the salt scent of the air.

“And how long ago was that?” I sensed an underlying question in his voice, but could not decipher it.

I was silent for a moment, ashamed of my ignorance of the world. “Two years,” I said softly, not looking at him.

It was his turn to hesitate. “And…how long have you not known of it?”

I almost smiled, but bit the inside of my cheek to keep it down, knowing immediately what he was asking. I had never told him my age. Elves lived longer than humans by several centuries, so perhaps he thought me ancient. Sometimes I felt like an antique laced with hidden cracks and rot that might shatter at the slightest incautious touch. Today was not one of those days. “Wren told me that men are never supposed to ask women of their ages,” I answered facetiously, “but twenty, if you must know.”

Rhys’ eyes were not insultingly wide with shock, which pleased me inordinately. “You’re twenty-two?” he said. “You do not seem your age.”

“And how old are you?” I asked flatly, pleasant feelings withering. “Let us see if you seem yours.”

“Sorry, I did not mean to imply anything,” he retreated, putting up his hands. Rhys seemed oddly pleased, and I wondered at that. “I’m twenty-five. Twenty-six in the spring.”

“Why are you smiling?” I asked woodenly. “Is something humorous?”

“I’m glad you’re arguing with me again. And that you’re not a hundred years old.”

I clicked my tongue against my teeth in mock irritation and shook my head. Something was starting to uncoil inside me, deep in the pit of my belly. I did not know what it was; there was no way to put a name to it. I would have put a hand on the hilt of my long knife if I had been wearing it, but it was safe and dry in the bottom of Wren’s sea-chest with most of my other belongings. Instead, I put a finger on the wood grain of the rail and traced it with my eyes, but it offered no aid. I was right before. This wood was dead.

“Rhys. Dae,” Mog said. He did not yell, but simply raised his voice a few notches. The ring of authority was clear. Here was a man used to being obeyed without question.

Leaving off our trailing conversation, Rhys and I quickly crossed the deck and made our way back to Mog’s presence. His pale eyes, so incongruous with the rest of his appearance, flicked over us cursorily before coming back to rest on me. “Rhys has requested that you be given a task aboard my ship,” the dark man said pleasantly.

I knew better than to dissemble or refuse. If Mog had decided to give me a task, I could not risk his ire by refusing, nor could I shame Rhys who had gone through the trouble of asking. “What would you have me do?” I replied.

“He tells me that you see very well and have no fear of heights. I am thinking about giving you the crow’s nest, but you must understand the importance of this position.” The pirate looked upward toward the object in question, clasping his back-gloved hands behind his back in thought. “The nest is our first line of defense. If another ship is spotted, we have the option of fleeing or giving chase. The distance from which an opposing ship is sighted makes all the difference. Letting one get too close leaves little room for thought and careful action. Men die because of thoughtless watchers. Ships sink. Goods escape.” His pale eyes swept toward me, hooded under lowered brows. “These things do not make me happy, nor my men. They dislike dying, as a whole, though perhaps less than losing a fat merchant’s cargo of spices and steel. I trust you understand me clearly.”

I swallowed my irreverent laughter. He would have to try harder than that to frighten me into submission. Still, I understood his point well enough. I knew about the benefits of distance, whether it be from either target or enemy. “Very clearly,” I answered, in the same pleasant but serious tone of voice in which he had addressed me. Something flickered in his pale eyes, but I could not decide if it was admiration or suspicion. “Shall I go now?”

Mog’s eyes did not leave mine. “Yes, tell Corwan he is relieved. The first mate has already agreed.”

I thanked him for the task, and listened to Rhys do the same. I did not think there would be much trouble with this assignment, and for the first time in a long while I was confident with myself. This was something useful I could do. I would finally be given a chance to earn my keep. As Rhys and I moved down to the central mast, the highest point of the Godwina Fey – Mog the Black’s flagship – the wind picked up and set the lowered standard gently flapping.

I had never seen it raised, and had never looked too closely at the large rectangle of black cloth that usually hung on the central mast. Now, however, a flash of red caught my eye and for the first time I glimpsed the standard of Mog the Black. A single rose with three exquisitely sharp thorns on a flowing stem, vividly red and edged with white. I wondered if it meant anything, or was merely some offhand attempt at metaphor.

Passing onward without any endeavor at further decipherment, Rhys and I came to the rigging, as the web of ropes netted between the masts and sails were called. I would have to scale it to reach the crow’s nest, but deemed it no very different from climbing a tangled-limbed tree on a windy day – which I had done, of course, numerous times in the past. Still, this was an exciting development. I had seen the nest every day, but had never even thought about reaching it. It was forbidden to be on the rigging if there was no need, and the nest was doubly off-limits to curious passengers. Normally, I would have not hesitated to breach protocol and climb the rigging but, given that the ship was rather confined, I thought it best to obey the rules since I did not have a ready escape plan should things go amiss.

I set my hands on the rough, thick cordage, ready to be gone. I was quite looking forward to moving around somewhere other than the deck. The rigging was the closest thing to trees here, in any case, and I did miss the world from a higher perspective.

“Someone will relieve you at nightfall,” Rhys told me as I gripped the ropes. “If you absolutely must come down before then, just wave your arm at the aft deck three times. Mog won’t like it if you leave early, but I have permission to take your place.”

“Three times,” I repeated in absent agreement. I peered upward, looking through my windblown hair at the circular post so far above me. “Thank you for suggesting this to Mog, Rhys.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding a little surprised. “You’re welcome.”

Then I was gone, flitting up the ropes like a spider across its web. In that moment, I could not have been happier. My stomach was settled, the wind was in my face and I was doing what I loved. If I could, I would have clambered about the ropes for the remainder of the voyage. There was work to be done, however, and I was the one to do it. Corwan, a slight brown boy of perhaps sixteen, did not appear altogether surprised to see me as I popped my head over the wall of the nest.

“You’ll be my replacement then, aye?” he asked in a young-sounding voice. “Blurs at bit at first, but you’ll get used to it. Have to, right?” He laughed a bit and slung himself over the wall onto the ropes below as I did just the opposite. I peered down after him, watching him shimmy down the rigging like a squirrel, then took a moment to reacquaint myself with heights. I could see so much more up here than on the decks below. All I saw was still water, however, but it seemed so much larger from here. The curvature of the world was on display, along with wavering dark shadows undulating underneath the surface of the blue sea. Perhaps those shapes were the whales that had eluded me before. I did not know, nor did I dwell excessively on it, but I did find my gaze straying from the endless horizon again and again. I hoped those shadows were the dolphins from earlier, and not the fearsome sharks that thrashed and writhed and gnashed when hauled onboard.

I turned my eyes away from the waters closest to the ship, and instead let my gaze trace the encompassing horizon. From here, the sea was truly endless. I felt so small, so inconsequential, like one slender sapling in a thousand miles of virgin forest. It was a new feeling, a strange one that was both welcome and not. I breathed deep of the cool salty air, hearing the cries of the gulls that circled about the ship in hopes of offal. This world was so vastly different from the thick, comforting forests and the softer calls of songbirds. There were so many new things here, new possibilities, and this ship was not the end of it. I wondered how dissimilar the Alke Isles would be from the forests of Caesia, and surprised myself with how much I wanted to know.

Although never quite the optimist, I found myself hungering for this new world where I might finally be able to start anew.