Started but not bewildered, Valerian leaped from her seat, and ran to the one person free of burden while the others lay those wounded in the bed. “Is the order to deploy,” asked she amidst the clamor.

“No,” the girl shrunk frightfully when her arm was seized, “I don’t know—I don’t know, Miss.”

A deckhand by the bed answered instead, “Nay, ma’am. The matter’s settled. I saw some run for the guns but Lex forbade.”

“Local fools,” said another, “tried to climb the ship. The Alares reminded them of their place.”

“Why? Why did they try to board? Are they women?” Litzia asked.

But Valerian overrode her, “Leave that for later, come lend me a hand! Avast, not you, Aster, you be where you are. Maid, fetch Salvia!”

As Thea rushed to find our healer, Valerian, Litzia and the deckhands undressed the patients and began the examination of their wounds.

From the gaps in their hurrying about, I could make out the ragged appearances of two women, covered in bruises and gashes. Those were man-made, whip and knuckle inflicted. The young girl who had been frightened by Valerian stood in a panic on the side. The way she dressed was telling, her robe and dirty bonnet that of a landwoman.

Betimes Salvia arrived, and the scent of herbal paste soon pervaded. It grew portent by the rub of hand and needful whispers, which she then slathered generously on the bleeding, bruising and gravest wounds – the chaotic state of emergency soon passed, and some of the aids were relieved or chased out of the cabin.

Near my bed, one who still lingered about remarked at my presence, “Why, an azure, it is curious to see one lay in the healer’s care.”

Not feeling like explaining my situation, I dismissed her curiosity “For the last week or so. But who are they? What happened?”

“You did not know? It’s been a row all morning. New blood came to be shipped, their men not mightily joyous about it.” The woman punctuated the sentence with a smack of her lips.

“How come, the crew did not give them the scare?”

“Lots, little azure, lots. But this time things went down bad. Those women’s folk fancied themselves of great import, see.”

“Are they of the lord’s household?”

“How do I know? But not too important for our Anemone lasses’ spearheads, apparently.”

To see is to believe, she added.

There came a sharp gasp from the crowded beds. Not from the wretched bodies but the young girl in land-garbs. In a breath, which she held tight, the girl rushed to the deckhand and me, pale of face.

“Tell, tell! Were the men all killed? Raisers have mercy, my brother was with them!”

The sailor winced, and so did I instinctively.

“Invoke not your pagan deities here, girl,” said the sailor, “the captain regards them unfavorably.”

“I will! I will, by all the Gods in this sky and Raisers from the earth, I will! But pray! My brother—is he dead?”

“Go yonder to the bow, see for yourself if his head hangs there. How the Under should I know?”

Without so much as another word, the girl stormed off in a frenzy.

Salvia, still bending over her patient, gave a frustrated howl, “After her, you fool, don’t let the poor thing walk unattended onboard!”

With a curt grunt, the woman stormed off.

Gradually the noise without and within subsided. And again the sickbay was more or less in peace.

After a bit of wandering about, Thea came back with the full story to tell. According to the inquisitive maid, some days ago, two women in Xenon had conspired in secret to liberate one of them from a particularly unpleasant and violent husband, who happened to be a trader of noble lineage, and to together seek shelter and protection aboard our vessel. Obviously, such things occurred at least once or twice every occasion at port, for one motive or another. It was unfortunate in this particular case for all parties involved, however, for the women were caught in the act before they could set out, then beaten and imprisoned, presumably until we left.

The young girl who just now stormed off had taken pity for the poor creatures, freed them and brought them to the airport, but not before the act was uncovered and chased down by the angry noble and his men. A beating thence commenced right at the shipyard, which our crew descried and intervened. Instead of making the wise decision of giving up, (for what shame is there in turning tail from one of the most well-armed vessels in this sky?) the group attempted to climb the deck to reclaim the women. Now they were but detached skulls ringing ghastly tunes at the bow to haunt the porters’ sleep. Whether the young girl’s brother was indeed among them, we never knew, for though greatly frightened by the severed heads, she never revealed the truth.

Now were I asked if such occurrences had more or less made me feel privileged to be resident in a place so desperately sought by many a pitiable woman, then I would say, not by a whole lot. But it is not in an azure slave that one may seek impartial verdicts on the like matters.

And all the more, for in retrospect, this event played no small part in what to come, and had somewhat altered my view on what could and could not be fortunate for a person's fate.

For many days after as I lay in the sickbay, the injured women were tended to by the young one under the supervision of the chief healer Salva. Ramona her name. It was all well and good to catch a new face, for the days in that mostly vacant cabin quickly grew dull and insipid. Ramona’s initial timidness barred her from entering into conversation with me, an azure. And all I had to amuse myself were the frequent visits of Thea and Litzia, and the pondering over the matter Litzia had raised of a malignant force. Which with our limited evidence never did amount to aught but a series of disjoined conjectures.

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But all the while, another queer thing caught my eyes, amidst the white sheets, curtained portholes and herbal scent. A constant presence lighter than a breeze and as quiet as regular breaths of sleep.

Valerian.

Salvia, being our chief healer, did not spend all her time in the bay, for her little cabin was a bit across the hallway, where she “takes respites from the depressing butcher house.” And yet a living corner adequately furnished had been set within that very butchering place. If it was an arrangement by the second mate Pax for the old healer’s comfort or the person who then most made use of it, I knew not. But in that corner a chest had been set, filled with clothes and books; a little table to provide some mild convenience; and a hammock under a lamp by the porthole. That corner was Valerian’s place. All day she lounged, perusing one little book or another, as miserable beings lay within sight, soaking in their sickening aura. Only for our Ala’s patrols and supper would she quit her little nest. And, I strongly suspected, my stay in her domain was less an unfortunate thing and more a convenient excuse for her to neglect dinner and the subsequent function in the Hall altogether these days. Likewise, I was not under the impression that a deep concern and admirable friendship had bound her to my vicinity, but rather an unknown, unnatural whim. Notably, for all the time we shared, not once have I caught sight of Valerian’s pledge-sister, Marigold. Not before the knight went out for the patrol, nor when the maid came to deliver a meal. If I had neglected to mention the presence of this wyverness of few words thus far, it is because she never had much of it. And ever Marigold kept to herself, so much so that I could not even recall aught distinctiveness to her voice. And after so many days unseen, I could not be sure if the face I had assigned her in my memory was indeed real and not a substitute for the one that I had forgotten.

When I remarked upon those facts, politely of course, Valerian looked a tad surprised, as if under a secret pact I did not recall making, we had agreed not to say a word of these queer quirks of hers and her pledge-sister’s, but to treat it as the most natural thing ever, which I had broken quite brazenly. So astonished was the blonde knight and so awkward the long look she gave that at the time I promptly changed the topic, yet ever it nagged at the back of my mind.

Then one day, it took a turn for the worse, when the new girl Ramona decided at last to be sociable. She was helping move the wounded women’s belongings to the forecastle, as they were now healed. From tomorrow, she and her friends would start working as fresh sailors of the Daybright. It was late at night and Thea and Litzia had retired to their berths, and I was asking her questions. Idle ones, inconsequential ones, out of boredom more than real curiosity. And instead of keeping persistent with her nodding, head shaking, or grunting sound, she glanced over in the middle of folding a cloth piece, as though had only just now divined my presence to be something more than an ephemeral fiend endlessly whispering fell words in her ears; and, as though only just now had she noticed the hue of my hair.

For a moment she seemed about to speak, but didn’t. Then she looked to Valerian, seeking permission to open her mouth perhaps. It seemed the act of conversing with an azure warranted in her mind a high order of allowance from the nearest figure of authority. But the blond rider, having been delivered dinner by her maid, was setting her mind on the food.

Poor little thing, and that came right from a slave’s mouth, she cowered at every a little thing. From the sight of her garbs, the girl’s household was nothing impressive, though her brother had been among the mob brought by that ill-fated noble. She had not the grace sometimes Thea let slip, but not quite the able body of a farmer's daughter either. From the stories told, it was pity that embarked her upon this vessel, not a pressing desire to escape an unwanted life as with the other women with her. And here in the brutal environment of an open-sky vessel, where merits are found in usefulness, she seemed a foal tossed off to the sky.

“What are you going to do?” I asked her again. “The captain will not contain you against your will, as you came a free woman. Yet this life is not for everyone.”

“I had nowhere else,” she said resignedly, not without a pained sigh, which she had earned a habit of, “I tried to convince those women to flee elsewhere, but they had wanted it here, and I knew none but them.”

“I know little of the outside world, but some say there are many places for the worse. What told you them? Where else had you set your mind to?”

“Foreign places, far from here, so long as a woman can settle and be welcome, that could serve as a new home, and none the worse it would be than this city.”

“Any in particular?” I asked away.

In a reserved and automatic way, she answered while her mind wandered to those places she spoke of, not dreamily but with a guarded wistfulness, as her eyes blurred, “I was told the Empire ever needs for missionaries and women hands to send for their remote settlements, but those are harsh, harsh places. Oh, we have not coins to get there, and it is so, so far away. Then there’s, this I do not know, oh I do not know at all, but the other day a traveler told of an Order by the name of Aurumare, whose arms open to all the poor and the helpless. It’s said they serve the good Gods, and would have mercy upon us also. But by all, is such a thing possible?”

The talk started Valerian, presently she cast aside the fork. The knights looked up with an immense inquisitiveness about her. “Did you speak of the Aurumare? Have you tidings of them?”

Once more the girl shrunk.

“Come now, speak freely! Once I was with the order, but much time has passed since my exile!”

“Miss! I do not know, do not at all! I heard but what they were about and none much else! Only many travelers who came to town spoke of them!” So frightened was she by Valerian, a human proper, that she would shut up for the rest of the night, notwithstanding my probings.

There was another who was even more arrested, transfixed by things unseen, as she sat there, motionless, touching not her dinner, not even her books. Long into the night Valerian bent her brow, affixed a knuckle to her lips, lost to the real world. My long and shameless staring did not budge her. But something whirled beneath those golden locks, that austere garbs like that of the ascetic friars, of strangeness and varied intensity, positivity and negativity. That something’s ebbing and flowing manifested in her heavy breaths.

That night I dreamed of a pitiable soul resembling Thea in appearance, only far weaker of mind and easily maimed by the hardship of life. A damned and cursed soul! She seemed to have lived a life similar to that girl whose body I inhabited, with a family and friends and a home. She stood where I stood to starboard of the vessel, holding fast the shrouds as if her dear life was at risk. But all about things were unfamiliar. And she became a cowered wretch, shrinking smally as loud and fearsome women walked the deck, condemning her for her alienness. What is this, the girl cried, Who are these people? Ah, my home is no more, my days, my people taken away, and here I am where I do not belong. Where is my sister, where is my mother, whom I love? Without them what life have I? So desired for deliverance, she looked to the only way out of this solitary hell. Where freely the clouds hung, and ever the blinking stars shone upon. And she let go of the shroud, full of mind to throw herself overboard. And did. Her eyes shut.

I started awake.

The air was oppressive. The room was dark, the candles had all been snuffed. Ramona had already retired to the forecastle with the women, yet in the slant moonlight stood a lone figure, gazing out, and it was in this very figure I felt the oppressiveness issued.

By her marksman’s keen sense, Valerian perceived my stirring from sleep almost instantly.

“Awake, azure?” she said icily, “I am in need of a favor only you may render.”

How saintly darkness could be. The Valerian I knew was mirth, joy, and lightheartedness, if somewhat laden by an old sorrow. She, being one so honorable in deeds and words, was still a gentler soul than our sterner leader, Gladiola. An admirable temperance governed her every gesture, save but for one instant shorter than that of a blink, right after a grief still deep in mourning - that time when I first met her.

But not until that night was I made aware of this woman’s emotional rampart’s full heights. That night, under the slanted moonlight, surrounded by the bedsheet pallor, and inherent sickness of the bay, she revealed for the first time to me something different. Starkly it seemed her real nature, her resting state when all things exterior had been hidden away from sight. And even as a blemished beauty finally washed of filth as she is beheld by a fairy tale prince, so did the truthfulness Valerian now wore impressed a sorrowful handsomeness to awe beholders. This was her, the real Valerian, ridden of sunlight and compassionate smile, leaving only a graveness etched seemingly too deep for discerning in the night.