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A Side Story: Zo

When Zo was tasked with the stewardship of this particular hollow, nothing but vigor and dedication fueled his effort. It became his sacred home; a place he regarded with pronounced respect. Whether it was the need to shepherd away unwanted company (of which were typically small rodents and pests), or the necessity of maintaining its foliage. There was never a day in which he failed to stand vigilant. However, unbeknownst to him, such attentiveness rarely made a difference.

The hollow was already well hidden; it lay forgotten among a rock face, deep in a forest whose years afforded it many names. Though, every year saw more and more of those monikers lost. In more recent times (relatively), it had been called, at differing moments, ‘The Oakened Plains’, ‘Rattrap Woods’, or ‘Etera’. But now, it has come to be known as the ‘Navis Grove’, after the buzzing town of Navis proper was founded on the banks of the forest’s singular, winding waterway.

These events, of course, occurred late in Zo’s watch. By then, his memory waned with innumerable moons. Who, and why, or what placed him here was lost in the depths of his unconsciousness. For room was required in his mind. Room for more exciting things: like the onset of a new generation of people, branching out from Navis and into the Grove. Company. They did not seek to reap hills of lumber nor did they scour the land with greed. In fact, they had a peculiar preference for the confines of Navis itself.

He would find soon that all things the town required were given to it by the paltry count of boats that occasionally drifted down the Navis River. It was by the courtesy of these very boats, and Zo’s sticky paws, that his hollow now bore an excess of things, and pieces, and objects, and toys, and small stuff, and big stuff. All of which settled in great hordes amidst overgrown bushes and thick roots that pierced the cave walls some time ago. Zo really did not know how, but they had reached that size before he even realized. The plants, not his trinkets, he would always note. He was quite proud of the latter.

Did he know how everything functioned? Of course. He was not some witless buffoon whose curiosity drove him to such lengths. He merely needed to decorate the place. A home was only a home when you felt at home. And, what better way to feel at home than to see yourself in that home? - A mirror. That’s what Zo really wanted. A want that manifested recently in the shape of a standing mirror much too tall for him. In fact, he really only needed the bottom third. He was almost a foot tall before he lived here. And, he was almost a foot tall now.

Rain or shine, his days always began in front of it. His fur was a pale blue, turned white at four stumpy paws. It continued flat and short, save for a singular stripe of hoisted hair that ran down his spine and ended in a great bushy tail. A mohawk, of sorts. Always the same were the tall ears that made up most of his height. Of late, however, nothing has dominated his facade more than the pair of thick framed spectacles that sat bigger than his head; they magnified the size of his beady pupils so much that they nearly touched the frame.

Nothing puts a smile on Zo’s face quite like clear vision.

And..

The arrival of a new boat.

°°

It was with the utmost irony that the deck of the Brazen Keel was riddled with more anxiety than conviction. For such a small lugger, there was hardly any room for uncertainty. Even the smallest bit of it in these waters could vent dire consequences. So, it was with great care and unease that the vessel proceeded into the night, wading through the sheet of mist that lingered lazily atop the Navis River. And though the moon was high and silver-laden, not even its glow could lull the concern of one, Buck ‘Bucktooth’ Tannes - captain of the Brazen Keel.

“Wait, don’t cut the torches!”, Buck muttered, practically a stage whisper. “That’ll make us look even more suspicious!”

Unfortunate, that of the four crewmembers on the ship, it was this particular man who chose to fiddle with their lanterns. It seemed his nerves got the better of him, provoking his captain’s quick temper.

“Keep them burning you half-wit! We have to look like a normal ship!”

You could hear the sound of Buck’s clumped fists; his leather gloves grinded against themselves. The stress was clear and his outburst only served to further his crew’s restlessness. The sailors were positioned on the bow, stern, port, and starboard beams respectively. A layout that was supposed to offer the greatest degree of watch. That is, if they stayed attentive against the deep forest. They had moved ‘cargo’ down this route many times before. But this time, their eyes were often drawn below deck, where the gravity of the night’s shipment waited.

“Ugh, just get back to your post!”, Buck ordered. “You all need to loosen up, you’re going to screw us over. Don’t let them see you sweat!”

He was right. The job depended on their slyness. What were they so nervous about? They had made similar runs more times than they could count. Practically veterans, they were. Men that lied and stole for a living. This was but another day. - A collective nod and readjusted resolve saw that the crew regrouped. That is, only for a bold, uninvited arrow to land head first onto their deck. The second following could only be described with silence, for Buck struggled to process the dark slickness that ran down the arrowhead. And, it was not until the sailor at the stern had collapsed, that he realized: the man had been shot through the neck.

“L-look south!”, Buck screamed.

In a flurry of mis-coordinated action, the remaining crew scrambled to retrieve the crossbows secured within the boat. All while struggling to find cover against the billow of arrows that decorated whatever they chose to hide behind. But, in a wild crawl, they reached the stern from which their own bolts began to loose frantically into the treeline. Whether it was the dark, or the brief peeks with which they shot, the situation afforded them very little visibility. Until Buck managed a glimpse of a singular silhouette darting through the forest adjacent.

“Hold your fingers! It’s only one guy!”, Buck panted. “He can’t keep up, just wait for the boat to outrun him!”

Absolutely. The winds were picking up. There was cover by way of the stern and speed by way of the boat. All things led to their safety. It seemed Buck was a constant beacon of assurance. They were right to follow him into this job. He could get them the payday they dreamed of. There was no doubt--. A soft thud, reminiscent of boots against wood, sounded behind the crew.

“You’re right. She’s never going to catch up now.”

That voice. Not so terrifying as to send a chill down one's spine. Nor was it enough to warrant respect. Moreso, it was not too dissimilar to that of a rival. Or, an old friend. But, it was enough to fashion Buck in an easier mood. So, he exhaled, comfortable with the man his enemy had sent. Perhaps, even confident, as for the first time in the evening, he stepped his bald head into the moonlight.

“Jay.”, Buck nodded.

“Buck.”

Stood leisurely at the center of the ship with his hands in his pockets, Jay smirked with a little too much ease. Some would say he was too friendly. Enough to get him killed. But really, he was just having fun. Youthful spirit, as it were, save for the weapons on his person. Most would be forgiven if they thought otherwise. Afterall, with such fiery orange hair and nonchalant posture, it was easy to mistake his energy for recklessness.

“You here to play cards or something?”, Buck scoffed.

“Hey, where’s Milo?”, Jay inquired, looking about, entirely unconcerned.

“He’s sick.”

“Again? Why’s everybody sick?”

“How would I know? It just happens.”

“Your crew used to be twenty guys deep. Now they’re sick all the time. Sounds to me like nobody wants to work with ya, Buck.”

Jay teased.

“Shut up! What the hell are you doin’ on my boat, Jay?”

Stolen novel; please report.

“Wait a minute, your boat? This is my boat!”

“The hell it is!”

“It is!”

Jay exclaimed with shrugged arms, half looking for and expecting support from Buck’s crew. As if they knew the truth.

“You bet the boat last time and I beat your sorry ass. C’mon man, don’t be a sore loser!”, Jay whined.

“You cheated, everyone saw it!”

“I didn’t cheat. I was drunk.”

“You cheated.”

“I didn’t cheat!”

“You cheated. And, you best get off my damn boat before I run you through like a fish.”

“I was drunk!”, Jay exclaimed. “And sorry, Buck. No can do. You know how the bossman feels about you people running slaves down our turf.”

There was an immediate catch in Buck’s throat. How did Jay find out? - It did not matter. The situation was now dire. This entire run was in jeopardy. The cargo. The money. His men. All of it. He could grit his teeth no more. It seemed there was only one option left, told as he slowly reached for the hand crossbow behind his waist. Tcht.

“Then, you’ve forced my hand, bastard!”, Buck shouted.

As he had done countless times before, Buck ripped his weapon out from its holster, nearly pulling the trigger just as it crested the peak of its brandish. Around these parts, he was known to be swift and precise. Never one to miss his mark. But to be so well known proved to be as potent a weakness as it did a strength. It made him predictable. - A streak of silver screamed through the evening air. Not by Buck’s making, but of the treeline once again. The silhouette of a cloaked female and a longbow could now be seen on the riverbank. Her shot was clean; made at the exact moment she knew Buck to attack, ensuring that her arrow found its way through his wrist, effectively disarming him. His crossbow fell to the deck and his lungs lifted into a cry of pain.

“Looks like she caught up.”, Jay shrugged.

“Kill him!”, Buck cried.

The last of his crew drew swords, curved and slightly rusted. This too, was their last resort. A desperate act in hopes of securing their cargo, pay, or a simple way out. But as fast as Buck was with his crossbow, so too was Jay with his daggers. The pair bellowed what battlecry they could, charging their target with weapons held firm. And to say their opponent relished a good scrap would be a lie, according to himself, of course. His expertise always proved otherwise. Jay lowered his shoulders at once and placed both hands on the grips of the dirks behind his waist. His favorite tools of the trade. Before his attackers could even strike, they found themselves slashed across their bellies; the man they hoped to kill, now stood behind them, in no time at all. Death took Buck’s crew without delay as they both collapsed onto the deck. The steel of their swords clanged to a stop.

Buck himself was not much better. His wrist had not ceased its bleeding, having been pierced and rendered limp. He placed a strong grip in hopes of blocking the wound off, but that was as much as he could muster; he pushed himself with his feet until he could lean against the stern of his ship when Jay knelt before him. There was a near smile on his lips, half ready to execute some sort of brassy remark when another person landed on the deck.

“Good of you to finally join us.”, Jay said, who gave a lazy wave.

“Didn’t I tell you not to board the ship? I could have shot you!”

Stood beside the starboard beam was the archer from the bank, unhooded, close enough for Buck to realize her identity. To which, he could only sigh. If these two were the ones sent to survey his ship, his run was doomed from the start. They were ready for him, evidenced by their sleek and dark garments lined with a varying degree of utility. Had he known, there would have never been an attempt to smuggle such cargo. His luck was as poor as his crew, it seemed. - Black locks cascaded down the woman’s slender shoulders, hiding away a few strands of near luminescent blue. A hue that matched her eyes as they gleamed with a slight, starry shimmer.

“But you weren’t going to shoot me. I trust you!”

“You’re going to get yourself hurt one day.”

“Just admit it, Aiya. I’m good at what I do!”

“You just wanted the boat.”

“That’s a lie--.”

Buck nearly coughed out his lung. Albeit, unwillingly. This did not seem like the right time to interrupt, but since he already had done so, his eyes darted between his wrist, Jay, and Aiya. A bit awkward. A bit lost.

“So.. anyone.. got a bandage?”, Buck blinked.

“Yeah, we got some, calm down.”, Jay nodded. “But between you and I. The ship is mine now.. ..right?”

Jay whispered. Aiya stared. Buck sulked. But none were wary enough to notice the tiny patch of blue and white fur that had slipped well into the hull amidst their conversation.

Zo was not much for swimming. As such, his most inventive way of boarding his eagerly awaited ships, was to simply leap off a high branch whose shadow fell broad over the river. A tactic he devised after observing many a flying squirrel during the early days of his watch. And while they shared similar shapes, Zo had a severe lack of, well, flying. To remedy such a sad predicament, he fashioned himself a garment out of an old leather pouch; it served as both a cloak and as the ‘flying’ to his ‘squirrel’. But really, it just made him fall slower than normal.

The Brazen Keel was the first boat he had seen in a month. To which, his magnified eyes sparkled with excitement. Whether for better or for worse, his eagerness did not even allow him to notice the ruckus on the deck. His only destination was the hatch; an old grate over even older wood. Between the gaps, he fell with as much grace as he could, nearly losing his glasses in the process. A shallow puddle of river water at the base of the hull saw his arms and legs land in a splash, small as it may have been.

“Okay! What do we have today?”

His voice chimed a childlike register, high yet soft. But the thrill in his throat and the glow in his specks soon waned with haste. His mouth was agape. Where he expected a throng of trinkets and treats, he found only bareness and dim air. So silent was his surprise that even the droplets of river water seeping through the deck were heard over him.

“What the?”, he whined, dropping his tiny shoulders.

Never once during his time here, did he find a ship completely void of things. Some had more, some had less. But, they always had something to tease his curiosity. Even the worst, at the very least, had that sour water hidden away in barrels. To think this ship had nothing! Zo could not come close to quantifying his disappointment. The closest gauge? The downturn of his, usually, lofted ears; sad and defeated, as if they had emotions of their own. So, he began to grumble, half wanting to stomp the puddle beneath him and half hoping something cool would just magically appear.

That was when his ears lifted once again, triggered like a light, by the sound of weak and rattling chains. The moonlight sifted through the grate above to shower the hull with a modest silver glow. There, at the other end of the boat, sat an unconscious man. His wrists were bound to the ship by worn chains, and were lifted to where his head dangled against his chest. He wore an old, tattered tunic and trousers. His argent hair, wet with water, hung over his face.

He could not explain why, but for a moment, Zo’s unconsciousness spewed forth a jumbled mix of old memories. Old times. Old purposes. He had spent more years than he could remember avoiding people. So why now, did he suddenly feel as if he wanted to approach this one? - He lingered no further and pressed ahead with a sizable gulp. Because he so chose, his paws made no noise and left no marks. Until he was at the man’s feet, Zo moved with a softness. But, even there, he could not catch a clear glimpse of the man’s face.

He gave no consideration in climbing the man’s leg, coming to stand on his shin. Curiosity saw Zo’s head, ears, and glasses tilt to the side in perfect unison. By his best judgment, the man appeared to him, no more than twenty-nine years of age. Perhaps twenty-eight. An oddly specific number, but something he was inexplicably sure of. He never questioned the answers that came from the recesses of his mind. He simply knew them to be true. However, there was not much else in the way of truths for Zo to uncover here. The grate above opened without warning and footsteps among damp stairs began to sound. In a scurry, his small frame tucked away behind a nearby post, peaking only when the boat swayed little.

“One guy?”, Jay questioned.

Down the set of stairs came Buck, held at knife point as he was escorted down the hull. Jay knew better than to let him roam freely. And as they had no rope, the threat of being cut open would have to suffice. Aiya followed several steps behind. Her vigilance, like distant stars, fell immediately upon the chained man at the end of the area. They moved closer, albeit at a rough pace. Buck stumbled a few times trying to balance his bleeding wrist and the knife that was so casually held to his back.

“Okay.. We’re no slave traders, but even I know one guy isn’t going to make you much.”, Jay commented.

“Oh, he’s plenty. Or was, at least. Makes no difference now that you ruined the party.”, Buck grumbled.

“Party? This place is a dump, if anything we brought the party!”

Jay nudged him lightly, nearly a joke. But still, a reminder of the knife between the two. Such light heartedness was common for him, though it was always tinged with an ounce of competitiveness. Typical for his type. The streets were in his blood, and for it, blood was on the street. - Aiya walked ahead, passing the two and their bickering for a clearer look at the chained man.

“Who is he?”, she took a knee at his feet.

“No idea, but he pissed off someone important. Enough for a thousand petal bounty.”, Buck answered reluctantly.

“That’s a pretty catch.”, Jay commented with a whistle.

“Must have been pretty bad for a price like that.”, Aiya added, still gazing upon the man.

“Oh it was. Apparently, he took the Descra lad off his coach and turned him into a punching bag for an afternoon.

“Felix Descra? The Lord’s son?”

“Yup, and now daddy wants to work him into the dirt. Or have him hanged, could be anything. I really don’t give a crap.”

“Welp, lucky for this guy, we’re not in Lord Descra’s domain. What should we do with him, Aiya?”, Jay added.

Things were clear now. Less his story and more so his face, from which Aiya struggled to look away. Under those silver strands, he was beaten, bruised. His left eye had swollen shut and a trail of dried blood ran from his nose. He was alive, but in terrible shape. Yet, his body never failed him. His arms laid resting, not limp. His legs sat him without struggle, unlike a true prisoner. His breathing, most of all, was steady.

“Aiya?”, Jay repeated.

Before she could reply, the man choked off a raspy cough. His right eye narrowly flickered with life. Curiosity fired through every inch of Zo’s tiny figure, nearly slipping out from cover. Fortunately, he was overshadowed by Aiya’s quicker show of concern. It did not take much for her waterskin to leave her belt; it was offered with two careful hands. She had hoped he could understand his situation to some degree.

“Here, drink this.” she spoke softly.

Though he struggled, she tilted the pouch to help. A warmth she rarely showed. Jay however, found little revelation here. Aiya had always been slightly more tender to those destined to be slaves. You could almost forget that she took a life without hesitation near moments ago. Almost. This side of hers was common for most to mistake as a weakness. An assumption with historically harmful consequences.

“Your name, can you speak?”, she asked.

To the man however, the blend of hazy memory and a darkened room was too difficult an obstacle to shed. A fog that shuddered in and out of view. But there was one thing amidst the murk that made itself known. Aiya’s gaze, twin pools of glistening blue, showed as clear as daylight. They were familiar to him. A sign of assumed comfort. Perhaps, they even suggested his freedom. So, his voice struggled and reconstituted.

“You’re..”, he hesitated.“..a Saffire.”

His head fell, with more calm then he had awoken. Now his bruises beat not with pain, but vindication. A consolation for now as he felt the echoes of fatigue return.

“Dame.”, a smirk. “Call me Dame.”

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