It was the early morning of a sunny day. On the Polaris’ deck Ainsley was lying against the bulwark of the ship, looking at the horizon with a bored expression. It had been three weeks since the ship departed from Victoria. During that time Ainsley had done nothing but read, talk with the crew and fiddle with some machines in the laboratory.

With a yawn, Ainsley stretched his arms and looked around for something that could keep his mind occupied. Maybe he could chat with the young boy that was always mopping the deck or help one of the sailors with some chore. Life on board was so monotonous that even scrubbing the floor was starting to sound exciting.

But there was almost no one on the deck, and the few sailors that were walking around were in a hurry to end their tasks and get back inside. It was the cold’s fault, the temperature had been steadily decreasing as the ship moved north. Ainsley himself had wrapped his body in a warm blanket after his trusty coat had proved insufficient to protect him from the bite of the northern winds.

Ainsley pondered if he should follow the sailors’ example and just burrow himself under the sheets until lunch. But sunny days like this one had been a rare sight lately and only a gentle, yet freezing, breeze was blowing at the moment. Fixing a lock of fiery red hair that the wind had messed up he noticed a shadow pass by the deck and turned his head up.

In the blue sky not a single cloud could be seen. But high above the ship a winged silhouette was slowly flying in circles. It was the ship’s lookout, a member of the so-called skyfolk, the only race that could soar the skies.

The members of this race were all small people, usually one or two heads shorter than the average human or merfolk. Their slender bodies and arms were shaped like a bird’s wings and allowed them to break free from the pull of the ground. But that came at a cost. Skyfolk were physically weaker than the other races and their hands, situated halfway through their wings, weren’t very skillful.

This made it difficult for them to be accepted in the factories were the humans’ deft hands had no equal, or in the ships were the merfolk’s abilities gave them an edge over the rest. In fact there were few jobs were the small skyfolk, that were unable to carry heavy loads and manipulate things, could fit.

In the past a lot of them had worked as messengers, but nowadays quite a few had been left unemployed by the invention of the radio, whose messages traveled faster and further away than any skyfolk ever could. As time passed more and more found themselves stranded in the slums and only the lucky ones had conserved their jobs, carrying personal messages and small parcels between the islands.

“Brrr” Just peeking at the lookout made Ainsley shiver. He was wearing a pair of boots and dull brown pants that looked thick enough to endure the cold weather, but on the upper part of his body he only had a sleeveless whitish shirt that didn’t even cover his shoulders.

As Ainsley snuggled further in his warm blanket the skyfolk slowly descended and landed on the deck near the bridge. He folded his long wings and a tiny pair of hands with four fingers appeared at the end of his arms. Ainsley had learned how this worked after observing some skeletons back at the Institute. They had in fact six fingers, and two of them, that corresponded to the human’s pinkies were strong and extremely long and could fold almost like a bat wing.

The lookout threw Ainsley a glance that could very well be a stare before turning towards the bridge’s door. He had slightly long dun hair, with feathers of the same color mixed in it, and a touch of white here and there. Ainsley thought he looked like a boy in his late teens, but one never knew with a skyfolk.

The door to the bridge opened before the skyfolk could reach for the knob and the young boy that always mopped the deck appeared and offered him a thick coat with wide sleeves. He helped the lookout, who had started shivering the instant he landed, put it on and then the two of them entered the warm room.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Ainsley, piqued by curiosity, hurried after them. He knew the lookout only descended every half an hour to rest, but it had been barely ten minutes since he had had his last break. That could only mean he had something to inform the captain.

“I spotted land!” Ainsley heard him exclaim as he closed the door behind him. Protected from the cold weather the lookout’s face had visibly brightened. “There is a big island towards the bow, north of us.”

“So we have finally reached Saravela.” Captain Smolger commented in a neutral tone that had a hint of relief. “It’s good that we haven’t come upon any trouble on our way here.”

Everyone else on the bridge celebrated. Ainsley was excited to finally see land after such a long time, but he resisted the temptation of going outside again and was content to watch from inside the bridge. Anyway, nothing yet disturbed the line of the horizon.

Ainsley ignored Captain Smolger and instead walked up to the mop boy. As much as he wanted he couldn’t recall the young sailor’s name. He didn’t even remember if the boy had mentioned it during the past weeks, and he was too proud to ask for it now. Instead he greeted him with a “Hey!”

“Oh! Hello, Mr. Wilkins. Do you want a warm tea?” The rookie sailor politely offered handing him a cup.

This was the reason Ainsley had approached him. He had seen the boy distributing steaming beverages to the rest of the crew. Nodding Ainsley took the hot drink and gulped the bitter liquid like a castaway who had been stranded at sea for weeks.

“Haa!” Ainsley exhaled after emptying half the cup. “I really needed something warm. Thank you.”

“It was nothing.” The boy said with a bright smile. “If you need more don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Daniel, are you wasting time with this guy again?” The ship’s lookout suddenly asked, approaching them with a cup in hand and an unfriendly expression on his face. “If you don’t focus on your job the captain is going to scold you.”

The skyfolk had a rude attitude, but Ainsley let it pass. Thanks to him he had finally learned the young sailor’s name. Everyone on board always called him mop boy, which frustrated Ainsley to no end.

“Jack, you can’t be so rude to Mr. Wilkins!” Daniel strongly reprimanded him.

“Oh, c’mon. He isn’t my superior, he is not even part of the crew.” Jack said in a flippant tone while rolling his eyes.

Ainsley hadn’t really talked much with the skyfolk, but he had seen him and Daniel interact oftentimes. Jack acted as a sort of big brother around the mop boy and jumped to defend him every time the crew’s pranks got too far. Ainsley also had a younger sibling, so he could somehow understand the protective attitude of the lookout.

“Let’s go to the kitchen to make more tea.” Jack said grabbing Daniel by his hand.

“But this kettle isn’t empty yet.” The younger boy protested.

“That one is getting cold.” The skyfolk replied as he dragged the young sailor towards the door with a mischievous smile on his face. It was clear he just wanted an excuse to fool around while the rest of the crew was occupied with the arrival in Saravela.

With the boys gone and the rest of the crew preparing the ship for docking Ainsley could only watch the line of the horizon while sipping his tea. After a few minutes a dark line finally appeared at the edge of the sea. The redheaded researcher kept looking as little by little it grew into an island.

Saravela, the white island, was one of the many small masses of land that dotted the far north, and one of its main commercial ports. It stood barely a day away from one of the two ice caps that, according to experts, covered most of the world’s surface.

Despite being in the earlier days of the spring the island was covered in snow. Towards the center of the white landmass Ainsley spotted a few low but steep mountains. They had the rough appearance and sharp edges characteristic of terrain that had been sculpted by ice. Vast amounts of ice.

The young researcher found the place quite picturesque. This kind of pale scenery was rarely seen in Victoria, or anywhere in the Tainsregn archipelago, where snow only fell in the most crude days of the winter.

As the ship approached the island the grey buildings of a port town slowly distinguished themselves against the white background. The inhabitants of the island had taken advantage of a natural bay to construct the city. At its entrance, on the right side, there were some dangerously looking cliffs and sea stacks with a few precarious houses built on top of them. They seemed about to plummet into the foamy waves that crashed against the rock and the winged silhouettes of skyfolk could be seen flying near them.

Inside the bay, constructed all around the basin, stood a big harbor that hosted a couple dozen medium ships the size of the Polaris, as well as countless fishing boat and small vessels. There was even a big liner that transported passengers from far away lands.

“Welcome to Saravela Mr. Wilkins.” The rough voice of Captain Smolger sounded just behind Ainsley, startling him. He had been too deeply focused on the sight of the island to notice anyone around him.