As I am thrown by the wind, I crash painfully into the side of the ship. Before I can deflect too far away from it, I instinctively swing the hook from the fishing trawler that I have started wearing around my wrist again. Every airship has metal docking stands that fold up against the side. When docking on land, they are lowered to support the ship. This is what I am aiming for.
The hook clangs off the side of the first metal bar but manages to catch onto the one below. My arm yanks painfully as the hook stops my descent, and I worry that my shoulder has dislocated from the socket.
I twist my body a few times until I manage to get a foothold on one of the rusted bars of the docking stand and use it to pull myself close enough to grip on with my hands. Once I’m secure on the side of the ship, I take a few moments to catch my breath and let my heart rate slow. I slowly start to rotate my shoulder. It feels as though I have torn the muscle, but fortunately, it remains in its socket. Up above I hear fighting on the ship. I hope Rat is managing to hold them off.
I start my climb up the side of the ship, still using the hook for support in the event that I slip. The docking stand only extends halfway up the ship, and a rope climbing net covers the other half.
Once at the top, I don’t hesitate or get my bearings, I draw my cutlasses and launch myself straight into the fray. There are three pirates standing at the side of the ship armed with crossbows and firing the projectiles at the crew members aboard the Zarla, two of them are the ones who fired at me while I was flying across.
By the time they realise that I’m charging toward them, my blades are slicing through their skin before they can even aim their bolts at me.
As I dispose of the last pirate, the head of Captain Huxley rolls over to stop at my feet. I boot it as hard as I can off the edge of the ship and look to where Rat is fighting three pirates up on the quarterdeck. He seems to be holding his own and even enjoying it, judging by the grin etched on his face.
Movement catches the corner of my eye and I see two more pirates heading straight for me with their blades raised. I deflect their blows with ease and sink a cutlass into the abdomen of one of the pirates. He drops to his knees, allowing me to focus all my attention on the second pirate. This one is larger and more skilled at fighting than his companion, but still not at the level Rat and I have been sparring at. We parry for a short while, but I soon see an opening and I use it to swipe across his chest with my cutlass. He staggers back enough for me to thrust my blade through his heart in a finishing blow.
I hear footsteps behind me and spin with my right cutlass raised while my left is prepared to defend. I manage to stop just before the sharp edge of the sword reaches the skin of his neck. I freeze, stunned. The pirate is just a boy, no older than ten, barefoot and trembling with fear. I instantly lower my weapon and shift it so that I hold them both with my left hand. I reach out my right hand to reassure him. He flinches away.
“It’s okay,” I tell him softly. “I’m not going to hurt you. Stick with me and I’ll make sure that you’re not harmed. This is no life for you.” I take in his disheveled appearance. It looks like he hasn’t seen a nutritious meal in months.
He slowly reaches his arm out to my extended one and I smile at him. I don’t notice the small knife curled in his fist until he sticks it in the soft flesh of my upper left arm. I yelp in pain and my cutlasses clatter to the deck as the boy rushes past me.
Cursing loudly, I drop to my knees and yank the knife from my arm, causing dark crimson blood to spray and cascade over my uniform. I don’t have time to assess the wound, I hear a battle cry coming from my right and see another pirate a mere metre away from me. I fumble for one of my cutlasses but it’s futile, the weapon descends on me.
I close my eyes, but the blow never comes. Instead, I hear the soft thwump on the wood. I open my eyes to see the pirate lying on the deck with an arrow sticking out of the side of his neck. I look to the Zarla and see Cail standing on the forecastle deck with a longbow in his hand. I nod thanks to him.
“We surrender!” I spin to see a pirate emerge from below the main deck holding an off-while makeshift flag. The boy who stabbed me clings to him, and he is followed by two more pirates. The pirate that Rat is fighting stops his attack and moves away. Rat sheaths his daggers disappointedly as he respects the surrender.
What happens now, I wonder.
I jump as a harpoon embeds itself in the side of the ship and Captain Coldrun ziplines across along with Trevor and Leki, both of who are carrying steel shackles over their shoulders.
“Well done, first bloods,” the captain addresses Rat and me as he passes on his way to the helm.
Leki slugs down to the engine room, seemingly annoyed to have been woken up, and Rat assists Trevor with shackling the prisoners.
The Nightwind begins its slow descent back to land, and I notice that the Zarla is following suit. Since I’m no help in my injured state, I remain on my knees as I press the palm of my right hand over the wound to slow the bleeding. I sigh; my uniform is ruined.
When the prisoners are secure, Rat and Trevor hurry over the side of the ship to lower the docking stands. Within a few minutes, the ship jerks as we make contact with the ground. Trevor tosses a plank over the side of the ship to serve as a ramp for us to walk down, and the crew leads the prisoners off the ship. The one that Rat was fighting is bleeding heavily.
I follow them off the Nightwind and back onto the Zarla, which has docked a short distance away. Both of my arms are throbbing and I suddenly start to feel drained of energy. I head for my cabin but find myself slumping against the railing of the ship before I can get there.
“After everything you’ve just been through, you’re not going to die on us now are you?”
I look up to find Cail standing over me.
I shake my head. “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t give up that easy. I’m just taking a breather.” I try to muster as much energy as I can to stand up straight. I don’t want to appear weak.
“You don’t, do you? I thought you were dead for sure when you started tumbling from the sky. How in the world did you manage to grab onto the side of the ship?”
I wince. Of course, almost everyone on board the Zarla had to have seen my fling mishap.
“With this.” I shake my right arm so that the hook on the length of rope falls out from under my sleeve. I notice that the skin from my forearm is raw and red and the rope has grazed off the top layer.
Cail raises an eyebrow. “When did you start wearing that?” He chuckles.
“When we set sail and I started climbing masts,” I reply. “I don’t trust my balance, so I thought it would offer me extra protection.”
“Well it certainly saved your life today,” he says.
“So did you,” I admit. “Thank you for that.”
He smiles faintly. “Anytime.”
“I’m lucky you have a good aim with a bow, you hit him square in the throat. That takes skill, especially from that distance.”
He seems flattered and slightly embarrassed at my compliment. “My father insisted on teaching me to shoot from an early age,” he says humbly.
I become aware of tickling on the fingers of my left hand and look down to see blood dripping onto the deck. I clutch the wound once more. I just need to make it to the roll of bandage in my cabin.
Cail frowns, suddenly serious. “How badly are you hurt?” he asks.
“It’s just a shallow scratch.” I lie.
I should have known he’d see right through it. He pulls my hand away and gently opens up the slice in my uniform sleeve to inspect my arm underneath. He gasps and winces as he discovers the full extent of the wound. With his face this close I can see that his eyes are an unusual golden amber colour that appears to gleam in the sunlight.
“You need stitches,” he says matter-of-factly. “Come on, let's get you to the medical room.”
He ushers for me to follow him back towards the hull, but as I take a step, my leg shakes and buckles.
“I’m fine honestly, I’ll patch it up myself,” I say, leaning back against the railing.
Concern flashes over his face. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, let me carry you.” He makes a start toward me.
“No! I’ll walk, I promise,” I object. It’s humiliating enough to be in this condition without having to be carried to the medical room.
“Then let me support you at least,” he insists, wrapping an arm around my waist and taking some of my weight off my weak legs.
Freya whips her head around as we stumble through the doors to the medical room. She smiles genuinely as her eyes land on Cail, but as they move down to me, her face drops, and her eyes burn with rage. I feel as though I have provoked a rabid dog.
“Sef needs stitches,” Cail calls out to Alban Wallace, the surgeon, who is currently leaning over the injured pirate on the bed in the corner.
“I’m busy tending to this prisoner, Freya can stitch up the wounds.” The surgeon says abruptly.
“I’m fine, really. I don’t want to trouble anyone.” I try to scurry back through the door. I’d rather face a thousand more pirates than be sewn up by Freya the ice queen.
Unfortunately, though, Cail is having none of it. He reaches his long arm out to block my path and levers me back into the room. “Stop being stubborn. You’re getting the stitches. I’ll even hold your hand if it makes you feel better.”
“I’m not …” I fumble to find the words to protest that I’m not afraid of stitches. How do I tell him that my issue isn’t with the needle but rather the person wielding it?
“I’m sure that’s not necessary, Cail. First bloods should be able to handle a bit of pain and discomfort.” Freya cuts off my stuttering attempt. Her tone is sickly sweet, but I can detect the venom dripping under it.
“Cail, war room!” The captain calls suddenly from the hall.
Cail hesitates for a moment. “I need to go, are you going to be okay?” He asks.
“Of course,” I say nonchalantly, “I’ll be fine. I’m used to it as Freya said.”
He doesn’t seem convinced, but finally, he nods. “I’ll check in on you later.” He gives my shoulder a light squeeze before strolling out of the room to meet the captain.
I sit in the empty chair while Freya busies herself threading the needle.
“Alban is currently using the anesthetic so I’ll have to stitch you up without it. I’m sure you won’t have a problem with that,” she challenges me.
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“Not at all,” I reply. I am tempted to ask her if she would have a problem with me throwing her off the ship, but I bite my tongue. We’re still on land anyway, so my threat wouldn’t have the intended effect.
She asks me to remove my jacket before briefly wiping a damp cloth over the wound for a few moments and roughly jabbing the needle into the open skin.
I suck in my breath and clench my teeth as the pain resonates through me but manage to keep my composure. I won’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me suffer.
“What happens to the pirates now?” I ask. I don’t particularly want to strike up a conversation with someone who despises me, but I need some kind of distraction.
For a moment, I think she’s ignoring me. “Their ship will be left here and then we will make a note of the approximate coordinates,” she says finally. “The prisoners will be taken to the nearest city and handed over to the authorities. They will make arrangements to have the ship collected, and any loot onboard will be kept until it is claimed. If no one claims it, it will be auctioned off and the money will be used as city funds. We will also receive a sizable reward for apprehending them.”
I gasp and flinch involuntarily as she jabs the needle through once more. I almost see a smirk on her face.
“It serves you right for allowing yourself to get stabbed by a child. Your negligence could have cost you your life and the lives of other crew members. Perhaps next time you can carry out your duty,” she says hotly.
I seethe at her accusation. “He’s just a child, would you have me kill him?”
“Enemies are enemies, you will find that they come in all shapes and sizes but your job is to dispose of them all the same. The captain asked the crew to kill on sight did he not?”
“I’m not willing to kill a child under any circumstances no matter who orders it,” I argue. “If I had killed him, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Perhaps if you had an actual heart instead of a lump of ice in your chest, you’d understand that. Are we done here?” I demand.
“Yes, we are done.” She snips off the loose thread from my arm with a small pair of scissors.
I manage to storm from the medical room without stumbling this time, and fortunately, my rage numbed any pain I was feeling.
----------------------------------------
As exhausted as I feel, I can’t sleep. I toss and turn in my bed, but the torn muscle protests no matter what position I try, and the knife wound is continuously throbbing unbearably. I try to distract myself by reading an old book that Dusty had given me, but my stitches had pinched every time I shifted to turn a page, so I had eventually given up.
As soon as he had found out that I had been injured, Dusty had come running straight to my room to check up on me. He had even made a honey dressing for the rope burn on my wrist and then lectured me about almost dying. I hadn’t told him about sparing the boy, or about my argument with Freya. I don’t know where opinions stand on the matter, and I have had enough of being judged for one day.
A faint knocking on my door startles me, and I reach over for the box of matches to light my candle; pain shoots up both arms as I do so. Who can it be at this hour? It’s definitely not Dusty. I would have heard the sound of his hooves.
I paddle across the room quietly with the candle in hand and partially open the door. Cail is leaning against the door in his usual lazy way. I know he promised to check in on me, but I didn’t expect it to be at this hour. His hair is mussed up and his shirt is unbuttoned at the top. I have never seen him looking so casual.
“Did I wake you?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Arm hurting?”
I nod, resting my head against the door frame.
“I figured as much. I brought something to help with your pain.”
My interest is piqued, and from behind his back, he reveals a glass bottle half-filled with amber liquid.
“Care to join me for a drink?” he asks with a smile that anyone would find hard to resist.
I don’t normally drink alcohol, the one time I had tried with Finn and Kai, I hadn’t liked the way it made me feel, but right now I’m willing to try anything that eases the pain and lets me sleep.
I open my door wider to invite him in, but instead, he gestures with his head for me to follow him outside.
“I have somewhere else we can drink. We don’t want to wake the crew up with our talking.”
I follow him out into the cold night and shiver. We had taken flight again, but this time in the direction of the nearest city to drop off the prisoners.
The deck of the ship is much more deserted at night, and I find it almost eerie. The fact that the sky is covered with thick clouds that block the moonlight doesn’t help, and I’m glad that I brought my candle with me.
One of the large deck hand brothers—either Zerk or Zaret, I still can’t distinguish between the two—fumbles around the rigging of the mainmast, and Tom the carpenter is at the helm. Neither of them pays attention to us as we walk across the deck, but I nearly jump out of my skin as sudden wailing and screaming reaches my ears from the deck below.
“Don’t worry, it’s just our guests in the brig. They’ve been kicking up a fuss since we put them there,” Cail chuckles. “They’re not hungry; your faun friend insisted on giving them all hearty meals.”
I smile. It appears that Dusty is as compassionate as I am after all.
Cail leads me through the doors under the forecastle deck into the corridor. This is my first time being here, and I find it much more ornate looking than the crew’s quarters. He starts unlocking the second door on the right and at first I think he is taking me to his room, but when he steps back to let me enter, I realise that it must be the navigation room.
A large, round table is placed in the center, and on it is a large map, numerous smaller maps, and a few star charts. Against one of the walls is a large desk, while along the other is a line of shelves holding all kinds of instruments and gadgets. A cosy reading area is situated at the far end of the room, with a small, round fur rug, a comfy-looking high-backed chair, and a stack of books on the floor.
Cail gestures for me to take a seat in the grander-looking chair while he pulls up the wooden one from the desk. He takes out two small glasses from one of the shelves and fills them a quarter of the way up with the alcohol before handing me a glass.
I take a cautious sniff and then pour the whole contents of the glass down my throat. Instantly, it starts to burn as though I had drunk acid. I look to Cail in shock, and he laughs at my expression. When he said the drink would help with the pain, I didn’t think he meant by killing me with poison.
“I’m guessing that you’ve never had whiskey before?” he says, still smiling.
I shake my head. I have heard of the beverage but never tried it. Judging by how feral it tastes, I’m wondering why anyone would. “I never normally drank alcohol back home,” I tell him.
“Don’t worry, a few months with the crew will probably change that. They tend to drink the taverns dry whenever we dock in a town or city.”
“After today, I’m surprised you still think I’ll survive that long.” I still haven’t registered how close I came to dying today.
“Or perhaps I just like betting against the odds,” he says, refilling my glass.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
“For what? Drinking all the whiskey? That’s what it’s there for.”
“I mean for messing up earlier, on the pirate ship when I let myself get stabbed. I didn’t follow the orders.”
“You’re apologising for not killing a child?” He raises his eyebrows.
“Freya told me that it doesn’t matter if an enemy is a child, we are to kill them all the same. I just don’t think I can, I’m too weak.” I admit. I didn’t want to kill any of the pirates if I’m being completely honest with myself. My fight is with the Vardrans. It hadn’t dawned on me until I was alone in my cabin that I had taken a life for the first time, many of them. I am a killer, and I had to bury my guilt in the same dark place inside where I keep my grief.
“Compassion isn’t the same as weakness,” Cail says softly, “you risked your own life to spare that of a child. That takes strength and bravery. And as far as defying orders goes, I would have done the same in your position, even if the captain had told me to kill the child directly. Even during a war, you have to protect your morals, otherwise, you’ll lose more than just a battle.”
I smile, his words of reassurance have lifted the heavy feeling in my chest that I have had since my encounter with Freya. I take another drink of the whiskey but only a sip this time. The fire in my chest has subsided to a warm ember, and I find that I don’t dislike the feeling.
“Make sure you don’t tell the rest of the crew we were drinking. Alcohol on the ship is prohibited. Captain’s rules.” He warns. His voice has taken on a lighter tone.
I gasp in feign shock. “I’d love to see the captain’s reaction if he finds out his golden boy has been smuggling alcohol onto the ship.” I quip.
“The captain won’t find out,” he chuckles, “and even if he did, it’s not mine. I took it from Leki’s secret stash.”
“Leki as in the engineer Leki who is currently operating the engine right now?” This time, my shock is real.
“The very same, he has somewhat of an alcohol problem, and I may or may not have caught him smoking the sea sponge once or twice.”
“Surely not?” I’m flabbergasted. That explains why he always looks comatose and is so difficult to wake. “How do you sleep at night knowing that a drunkard is operating the ship?” I ask. How am I going to sleep at night? I swallow down another drink.
Cail merely shrugs. “He hasn’t crashed yet. Besides, if it comes to it, I know how to operate the emergency balloon.”
I stand suddenly and teeter a bit on my feet as my head feels slightly woozy. I gesture my arm out wildly, nearly spilling my drink. “But what if …” My voice trails off as my eye fixes on an unusual object on the shelf.
“What’s this?” I place down my drink, harder than I intended, and swipe up the metal object. It appears to be made out of—I hold it to my nose and take a sniff—brass? And it looks like a small strangely shaped crossbow. I try to crock it back and aim. “Where does the bolt go?”
“It’s not a crossbow,” Cail says in my ear. I hadn’t noticed him stand and move so close behind me.
I jump back and giggle. “How do you do that? You’re always so quiet.”
“Perhaps you just don’t pay enough attention. And this,” he plucks the gadget from my hand, “is a sextant.”
“A sex what now?” I ask, confused. I am well aware of the birds and the bees, but I can’t fathom how this device could be incorporated into such acts.
“A sextant,” he repeats, “it’s a tool we use in navigation; it measures the distance between the horizon and a specific star, or the sun and the moon. It helps us to determine our latitude, longitude, and altitude.”
“Teach me how to use it,” I plead.
Cail smiles. “Maybe next time, when you’re not drunk.”
“Why do you think I’m drunk?” I demand with my eyes narrowed and hands on my hips.
“Because you don’t look quite so in pain.”
I pause and poke at the wound on my arm. He’s right, I’ve been moving around normally and I never noticed the pain.
“I wasn’t talking about your injuries,” he says lowly.
I try to comprehend what he means, but I am distracted once again, this time by the large map on the table.
“Is this really the whole world?” I ask.
“Yeah, that’s the full map of Ranvia. Have you never seen it before?” He asks, bewildered.
I shake my head, my eyes still glued to the map. “We never had use for a world map back on the islands. No one ever left other than to deliver goods to the mainland. I never expected it to look this big.” I try to look for places I recognise, but I don’t even know where to begin.
“This is where we started.” He leans over me to point to the southern coast of a continent near the center of the map. For a moment I have to fight the temptation to lean back and rest my head on his chest. I’m feeling sleepy.
“This is around where we are now,” he points further up to the northwest of Winstar, “and this is the city we are headed for to drop off the prisoners.”
I look more closely at where his finger taps the parchment. Wycliff.
“So where is Torver?” I ask.
Cail raises his arm further up the map to point at the city within the outline of the country of Kestria. This one is also by the coast.
“Why are most of the cities by the ocean?” I question.
“Because being near the ocean makes it easier to trade by ship. These cities were once small settlements that were made long before the first airship, so maritime vessels were the only means to import and export goods between countries,” Cail explains.
“Which city are you from?”
He hesitates for a moment before pointing to a mountainous area in the north. The name reads Arcstead.
“What’s it like there?”
“Cold,” he replies bluntly, “even in the summer. The winds are so bitterly cold and sharp that most people wear goggles to prevent their eyes from stinging and watering.”
I shudder at his description. I have been cold enough since we left Winstar, I can’t imagine being any colder.
“Is that where Freya is from?” I remember Dusty telling me she was from a cold northern region.
“No, Freya is from somewhere around here.” He points to a large island continent near the very top of the map. Her country is glacial, much colder than Arcstead. There is thick snow on the ground permanently.” I have never seen snow, so I find it hard to imagine.
“No wonder she’s cranky all the time,” I mutter.
Cail doesn’t attempt to hold back his laughter. Perhaps I’m not the only one who has noticed Freya’s attitude.
“Why is that ocean so big?” I gesture to a large expanse of empty space on the left side of the parchment.
“I don’t think the ocean is that big, or I suppose it might be, but no one knows. No one has been able to explore far enough in that direction to discover land.”
“Why not?”
“Because the weather there is extremely tempestuous. Some even say that the skies are guarded by Zarla herself.”
“The ship?” I wrinkle my nose in confusion.
“No, Zarla is a goddess of the skies, sometimes known as the storm goddess. The old tomes depict her as a woman who can shift into a wyrm dragon. Haven’t you noticed the figurehead at the front of the ship?”
“I have, but I thought it was just some pretty woman the crew picked out because, well why not?”
Cail shakes his head and smiles.
“We should go,” I say suddenly.
“Go where?”
“To explore past the ocean. We can be the first to set foot on some unknown land.” The prospect excites me. A place with no war where the Vardrans can’t touch us.
“You wish to face Zarla?”
“Why not? I’m named after the sea goddess Zepharina, I think we would be able to come to some agreement.” I say confidently.
“I think you might have some trouble convincing the captain to take part in your little expedition. Besides, we have a war to win.”
I don’t want to think about the war tonight, I’m having too much fun learning about a world that I have never known.
“Tell me all the places you’ve been to,” I request.
Cail is happy to oblige and spend the best part of the next hour picking out various places on the map that he has been to and describing them in detail. I sit and listen to him diligently until he notices how much I’m yawning and how heavy my eyes are.
He declares that he has told me enough for one night and, after cleaning up the glasses and hiding the bottle of whiskey, he insists on walking me back to the cabin.
Once again he walks with his arm supporting me around my waist, but this time it is to stop me from stumbling and alerting the other crew member to my drunken state. He also keeps a hand pressed lightly against my mouth to suppress my uncontrollable giggles.
I don’t remember saying goodnight to him at my cabin door, nor do I remember climbing into my bed and drifting off into a heavy, dreamless sleep.