It turned out that breaking through the decades-long blockade that kept south Yeupis virtually caged from the rest of the world was not the hard part of the voyage to the Shimajima. Between helping the crew carry heavy objects and reaching high places—a gift of both his northerner stature and his Initiation which he was now beginning to see as somewhat of a curse—and being a mentor to Anwen and Stefan when he was not yelling or at least rolling his eyes at them, Ivan had little free time. So little free time, in fact, that he even delayed treatment for his seasickness because of it. His Reserve helped offset the symptoms of the condition, but instead of nullifying them, it only delayed them. He would sometimes spend hours, most often at night, hanging over the beak head of the Serenity’s Song flushing out the nausea and dizziness that afflicted him. Stefan and Anwen too had their own share of seasickness but theirs was never as severe as Ivan’s. Laying on his back on the beak head after another bout of regurgitation, his eyes were glued onto the dark canvas that was the twilight sky that spanned the Global Ocean, pinpricked with thousands of specks of pristine light. The sky was never this clear in the north, and certainly not during his short time in the south.
A smile spread across his lips as he rested his head on his forearms.
“Boy, do I feel like shit,” he chuckled to himself. “But at least I feel shit with a nice view.”
Despite the hardships, he contemplated deeply about where he was. He was, by now, hundreds of leagues from the closest shore, floating on what was essentially a huge chunk of wood with about three dozen other souls, not knowing exactly when they would next see solid earth. Even some of the more experienced seafarers aboard were apprehensive about this journey. However, the uncertainty and danger it brought was all worth it, as it brought him and his two young comrades closer to a chance at fighting more evenly against the Titanian regime, drawing nearer to the end of the war, and hopefully, the cessation of the subjugation and oppression that was responsible for killing his own parents before he turned the age of five.
His father was a hardworking, humble mason, and his mother a loving, dedicated homemaker. Their time together as a family was short, as Mr. and Mrs. Hout’s lives were taken by Titanian soldiers who had not yet heard news of the war-hating Emperor Halsten’s acsession to the throne. Ivan missed his parents dearly, almost every day, even 15 years on. He was then raised by kind neighbours, but their warmth never equated to that which his own parents would’ve shown him.
That’s right, he thought, shutting his eyes as blurry images of his parents’ faces came into view. He had almost forgotten what they’d looked like. No kid should ever have to feel the way I did. That’s why I joined the Shield.
The young man was so entranced by the visages of his lost loved ones, that he neglected to listen to the sound of hasty footsteps making their way over to the beak head.
“Don’t… go…” he muttered, as his eyes fluttered open. However instead of seeing the vast canopy of darkness above him, almost his entire visual field was taken up by something else.
“You don’t just feel like shit, you look and smell like it too, pal.” the intruder scoffed.
Startled by the person’s appearance, Ivan nearly jumped into a seated position, almost scrambling backwards before remembering that he was at the edge of a seafaring vessel in the middle of a vast ocean.
The woman, who had backed up a bit, reminded him of a younger version of Manisha, with shorter hair that only went down to the base of her neck. It wasn’t Manisha, but by then he was somewhat familiar with the person standing before him.
“How long were you here?” Ivan’s brow was raised.
“After I heard you saying you felt like shit.” the woman smiled, tugging up a corner of her lips.
“What do you want, umm…”
Ivan wanted to use the woman’s name, but he had forgotten it.
“Couldn’t help but think you needed a little reminder, northerner. You like to throw up off the edge of this beak head, but this is where we do our number ones and twos as well. Is your sense of smell somehow affected by your nausea too?”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“I, umm… sorry.” Ivan sheepishly muttered as he looked in between his legs before a hand appeared below his eyes.
“Poor little northerner,” the woman said sardonically, pouting her lips teasingly. “Stand up.”
Feeling insulted, Ivan refused the hand offered to him and got up on his own. The woman shrugged and led him to the forecastle deck.
“Why’s the cook of the ship interested in my business?” he asked.
“Oh, just plain old curiosity. It ain’t every day I get to see someone like you. Besides, as the cook, Captain Rohan places a lotta trust in me, so he expects me to clean up around here. Including the mess that is…”
She looked him sweat-soaked form up and down, crossing her arms.
“…you.”
“Is it normal for southern women to have such damn big mouths? Where I’m from, if you’re a lady, you get a light pinch for talking the way you do.”
Manisha’s feisty too, but she does it with love. This chick… she’s just a bitch.
“Is it normal for the barbarians and marauders I grew up hearing tales about to be so fragile in truth?” he giggled, slapping his chest which prompted him to take a step back.
“You’re a weird woman… ah, that’s right,” he remembered something. “Bhavana. That’s your name. You stay away from me, alright? Have a good night.”
Ivan prepared to descend a nearby ladder below deck, but Bhavana grabbed his forearm and pulled at it.
“You and I still have business!” she cried as Ivan rolled onto the top deck.
“What do you want from me?” he grumbled.
She produced an item from a pocket of the baggy three-quarter pants she wore, something that was about the size of a thumb and woody in appearance.
“Eat that slowly,” she instructed, shoving the root into Ivan’s palm. “It’s ginger. Tastes awful, but it’ll help you feel brand new again.”
Ivan glanced at the foreign delicacy in his hand, then back at the woman who gave it to him. Her face was becoming red from holding back a storm of laughter.
“You held a cure for seasickness from for nearly a month?” he narrowed his eyes.
Bhavana let out a great guffaw, prompting Ivan to bury his face in his hands out of embarrassment.
“I only wanted to see if would subside by itself. It didn’t. Ah, now I can finally tell my ancestors I made a northerner suffer!”
“Damn you…” Ivan turned with his back away.
“Hey, Ivan, whatever your name is…” she rested a hand on his back. “You’re a funny fella, ya know. You really are. I’m going to have a lot of fun with you on this trip.”
“Cook me up something good, and I might say the same for you. Maybe.”
“I might have to take you up on your offer.” she patted his shoulders, before leaving.
--
Deep in the depths of Serenity’s Song, inside one of its many spacious holds, a welder worked, using tools powered by Reserve to fuse together long but sturdy pieces of metal together. The only light in the area was the piping hot, orange glow coming from the forge the welder worked with, a temperature that was not naturally possible to attain. Yet the welder’s father had taught her well, and she used his teachings to fabricate a structure inside the ship that would help feed its crew members for the long run. All it needed were seeds and soil, which the Serenity had plenty of stored aboard, and the installation of glass walls and powerful Pool-based lamps. But those parts would come later. Amidst the clanging of the welder’s hammer, a pair of feet softly made their way to her. She safely put her tools aside and removed her welding goggles. The figure of a boy soon entered her view.
“How’s the greenhouse coming along?” Ilias asked his elder sister.
“I really only just started,” she shrugged, wiping sweat from her brow. “But we should be ready to start planting in a few days.”
“We never need those in the south,” Ilias proclaimed. “We get to grow all year-round. Do northerners not eat veggies when it’s cold?”
“No, we do. Most of them don’t have greenhouses, but we store a lot of them at the end of the growing season. Are you satisfied now?”
He asks so many questions, the girl noted. Like Stefan used to. Before the war.
“I got another question.” Ilias smiled.
“Yes.” Anwen nodded, doing her best to keep a smile on her face despite the stresses afflicting her, the annoying inquiries from her brother making it harder to maintain. Being the de facto head of the Black Shield’s mission, doing all the technical work it required on her own, learning a foreign language with no one to teach her, and facing the reality of having a new sibling were all eating away at her. And she wouldn’t tell anyone about it. She didn’t want to be a burden.
“Did Pops teach you how to do that? If he did, he must’ve been a real smart man.”
“He did,” Anwen let out a soft sigh. “Everything I know, he taught me. I learned a lot from him, and because no one else knows what I do, I was sent on this mission. And don’t use past tense when you talk about him. Gareth’s very much alive. I know it.”
Ilias rubbed his hands apprehensively in reaction to his sister’s sudden tone raising. But still, he wanted to use this time to try to learn more about his father. Including his relationship with sister.
“Why do you call him that?” Ilias craned his neck. “You don’t call him Pa, or Pops, or Dad?”
Anwen stood up, took a few steps, stopping just in front of her brother. She kneeled bent over slightly to match his eye-level and put her hands on his shoulders, narrowing her eyes as she stared into the boy's.
“Gareth wasn’t a normal dad,” she answered, her tone sharp. “He didn’t want to be a dad, okay?”