Chapter 89

Testing the Water

The ship travelled north, following the coastline so as to not alert patrols to their true destination. Once they were out of Avriem’s territory they would alter their course to the east, making a direct line for Nordock across the gulf.

It was cold up on deck. Femira had never been this far north and had never experienced the brisk icy sting of the north. She wrapped her cloak tight around her up on deck.

The benefit of everyone on board knowing her abilities was that Femira didn’t have to hold back in her training. She hadn’t been able to fully let loose since she had left Epilas so she was now taking the opportunity to practise.

Nyth was already proving to be an exceptional asset in her personal arsenal. As a weapon it was incredibly light and strong. As armour, Nyth had been able to deflect the crossbow bolts from the soldiers at Krastac’s Hall without even taking a dent.

Femira could shape Nyth far faster than she could regular metal and she suspected it was because Nyth was aware. It knew what it wanted to be in the moment, Femira was just the sculptor but Nyth was the artist.

But there was always room for improvement. At Krastac’s Hall, there had been a few instances that were too close for her liking. She and Nyth to get better working together, but they needed to work so seamlessly together that their minds acted as one in a fight.

So Femira used the same methodology that Endrin and Misandrei had taught her. Repetition. Performing the same moves and actions, over and over and over until her muscles screamed with exhaustion. And then keep going. If she could do the shaping exercise through exhaustion then she could do it in any situation.

She stepped through a slightly modified version of the weapon dance Misandrei had taught her in Epilas. Her adjustments were on the strike manoeuvres where, instead of thrusting a weapon, she would have Nyth form a length of spear or the helix blade. When stepping back into a defence stance, she would recall Nyth and reform it into armour or a shield.

Femira had wanted to do this in Epilas but she didn’t have the space in her room to do it in private. She wanted to keep Nyth a secret so it meant that she had to be very careful about when and where she trained with it. As everyone on the ship already knew about her abilities and had seen her nythilium weapon, she figured that she would capitalise on the situation.

After a few rounds of the weapon dance, there was a notable improvement in her and Nyth’s synchronicity. We make a good team, Nyth. Nyth sent back the impression of a river meeting the sea. Am I the sea or the river in this case? She thought with a smirk. Nyth could be confusing sometimes but Femira felt they were building a friendship… sort of.

Femira could feel the eyes of the crew members on her while she was practising. She was used to people watching her. In the weeks following her battle with the Kragal, most of her training bouts had attracted groups of highborn spectators, eager to see her combat skills. Connie, Sleek and Lydia were having a conversation near the helm of the ship, and Femira didn’t miss their stares as she stepped through her weapon dance.

After a few hours, Femira was panting with exertion. That’s enough for today. She recalled Nyth, who evaporated into a cloud of shimmering black dust and was absorbed back into her body. She walked to the rail and leaned against it, her breaths heavy. She’d long since discarded her cloak and the cold breeze now felt refreshing against her sweaty face.

The big man that Femira remembered from Krastac’s Hall approached her. He had no hair on top, but the man had enough body hair poking out of his shirt to make up for it. The threads of his shirt were stretched to breaking point across his shoulders and chest. He offered her a waterskin which Femira accepted gratefully. He had a bell strapped to his wrist that jingled as he handed it to her.

“You’re Cowbell?” Femira asked after she took an extended guzzle of the waterskin.

“Mmm,” the man replied, nodding.

“Why do they call you that?” She asked.

Cowbell lifted his arm and clinked the bell.

“‘Suppose that’s obvious,” Femira acknowledged, “you don’t talk much do you?”

In response, Cowbell pointed at his mouth and shook his head.

“Ah,” Femira nodded, “you can’t. The bell makes more sense now.”

Cowbell nodded and grinned. He had one of those incredibly friendly faces that deepened the creases as he smiled.

“Can I ask you something?” she started.

He nodded in response.

“Connie doesn’t seem to trust Lydia, all this revolution stuff seems a bit sketchy to me. Do you think Lydia is lying about who she is?”

The man shrugged.

“Something about her seems off. Frankly, I’m not sure who I can trust… Connie seems to care about you guys… at least enough to have me rescue you all. Do you think I can trust her?”

Cowbell pointed at his eye and then placed a hand on his chest, then pointed over to Connie.

“You love her?” Femira asked sceptically.

Cowbell barked a laugh, or at least, she figured it was a laugh but he sounded more like a barking seal. Cowbell shook his head mirthfully, then tried again, this time performing a salute.

“You’re loyal,” Femira grinned, realising now what Cowbell had meant. He nodded, and gave his bell a shake for emphasis.

Cowbell then took on a serious expression. He performed the same mime, pointing to his eye, then a salute and then pointed at Femira.

“You’re loyal to… me, too?”

“Mmm,” Cowbell nodded decisively, then showed her his wrists pressed together and mimed breaking them apart.

“Because I freed you,” Femira nodded, “you’re another one then.” Cowbell nodded too, his face showing that he took that very seriously. Cowbell then pointed back to Connie and placed his hands on his chest, but more gently this time.

“She cares…” Femira acknowledged and Cowbell nodded.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“You think she’s a good person?” Femira asked and Cowbell responded with a warm smile and a gentle shake of his bell.

There was something very calming and reassuring about Cowbell's presence and Femira found herself trusting the man. He did say that he owed her for saving his life too. Well, he didn’t exactly say it. But Femira felt that was another reason she could trust him. He seemed earnest that Connie, too, was a trustworthy person. Femira had little choice, really, she had already embarked and committed to this trip. Too late to start questioning if you can trust the smuggler or not.

“What about Lydia?” Femira asked.

Cowbell shrugged. He doesn’t know her. Cowbell’s attention was then pulled from her to the horizon. He squinted then pulled out a small brass eyeglass. Well, anything would look small in his hands.

He frowned, putting the instrument to his eye and peering out past her. He grunted, then began fiercely ringing his bell.

“What is it?” Femira heard Sleek call out from the helm. Cowbell grunted loudly and pointed out to where he was looking. Sleek pulled out a similar eyeglass and a moment later he spoke. “Shit. Purple sails,” he announced to the deck, “Everyone get in tight.”

Femira felt herself dragged by Cowbell to the centre of the ship. The crew began hurriedly finishing up their tasks and pooling together in the middle of the deck. Both Connie and Lydia had moved down from the helm too.

“Don’t get near the edge,” she said to the group although her eyes were moving between Femira and Lydia.

“Purple sails most likely means Avriem’s patrols,” Connie went on, “we’re a small ship and it’s likely they’ve not spotted us yet. But they won’t be long. Luckily, ye’ve got me on board for this little venture… so grab onto some rope and brace yerselves. We’re going to press hard to the east, and I don’t want any of ye lot falling overboard, ye hear?”

Connie leapt up to the front of the ship and Femira watched in bemusement as the woman began making circular motions with her arms. The ship tilted, and veered. Some crew members were still working the sail and began pulling on ropes. Femira thought they were adjusting the course, but then both the sail and mast were brought down. The mast nestled into a designed holding nook. The winds hadn’t changed, but there was a lurch as the ship was pulled forward by some unseen force.

She’s a wavecaller. Femira realised, then looked to the edge of the ship where the waves had begun to rise up higher than the ship. She’s using the waves to hide the ship while manipulating the current to pull the ship to the east.

Femira knew that wavecallers could manipulate ocean currents, and could protect cities from the ravaging tides during Lua Nova and Unionsday. But the only wavercaller Femira had seen in action had been Selyn when they had been fighting the kraglings along the Tidewall. Selyn’s approach was more localised, being able to lift streams out of the ocean or create small whirlpools. Selyn had also been soulforged so her abilities were heightened.

Femira was surprised by Connie. She hadn’t expected the skills of an everyday wavecaller to be so impressive, let alone one that worked as a smuggler. Why wasn’t she earning top gold working for some merchant fleet? The mystery of Connie just got another layer.

The necessity to hold on to the ropes became clear as the ship turbulence was kicked up a notch. The ship began lifting and falling with the disrupted waves and Femira soon found herself gripping hard on the ropes to save from being thrown on her back. After her vigorous training session, her muscles ached with the effort.

The ship continued in that manner for what felt like hours, lurching in a rhythmic pattern. Salt water splashed up over the sides, spraying them at regular intervals. Femira’s hands quickly went numb. Her shoulders and arms shook with shivers but she held on tight to the rope.

Femira focused on watching Connie. The woman was in a trance, using her arms to guide the flow of her edir under and around the ship. Femira sent out pulses of her own edir to sense Connie’s. She could feel it but the edir of a wavecaller was trained differently to a stonebreaker. Femira’s worked by pulses and vibrations. A wavecaller, by contrast, flowed like a river or an ocean current. Femira could sense the flow of Connie’s creating a slipstream in the current, funnelling the ship without the need for a sail.

She found herself highly impressed by Connie’s skill and—more notably—her endurance. Femira was soulforged and she doubted she could maintain Connie’s level of focus and concentration for the length of time that Connie was capable of. It was yet another piece that baffled Femira about the woman. If she was so skilled, then how did she end up as a small-time smuggler?

This information didn’t do much for Femira’s mistrust of Connie, or of the whole situation. She wasn’t even sure what she was mistrustful of. What could Connie do to Femira anyway? Try to sell her to a trafficker? Femira could easily break out of any cell, take down any opponents. Yesterday, she’d managed to free an entire procession of criminals on death row. So why was she nervous of Connie?

Because you like her. Because she was what Femira had aspired to be when she was just a thief trying to scrape by in Altarea. Because she was self-assured and her crew trusted and followed her. It felt like a trap and it was trying to lure her in. Femira couldn’t shake the thoughts that, secretly, Connie was selling everyone she smuggled into slavery or worse. The memory of the five people in the soulforging ritual room beneath the barracks came unbidden into mind. Femira had trusted someone before and had been betrayed.

After a while, Connie abruptly stopped. She collapsed to her knees, panting heavily. The high waves that had been shielding the ship from visibility fell instantly. The ship didn’t suddenly lurch forward, instead it glided through the break in the current that Connie had created.

The rest of the crew were quick to action. They pulled on ropes and levers. The central mast was reraised and the sail let loose. Within moments the ship was operating again as if nothing unusual had happened. Sleek was still at the helm and was barking out orders to the rest of the crew.

“Cowbell!” Sleek called out, “get Con into a hammock, will ye?!”

Cowbell had been twisting a large metal disc set into the central mast. Femira couldn’t even guess what its purpose was for, but the man’s muscles were tense as he strained to turn it. Whatever he was doing, it looked important.

“I can do that, Sleek,” Femira shouted and started making her way to the front of the ship. Her joints were stiff from crouching in the same position for so long in the cold. She was eager, herself, to strip off and climb into her hammock.

Connie looked exhausted. Her eyes fluttered in that state of semi-consciousness. Edir fatigue. Femira had experienced it many times. Pushing yourself past your limits for extended periods of time took its toll on your body.

Femira reached down and pulled Connie up, draping the woman’s arm over her shoulder. She noticed that Lydia was next to her, supporting Connie from the other side. She nodded to Femira. Connie was mumbling something incomprehensible.

“You did good,” Femira eased her, “let’s get you to bed.”

Once Connie was laid into a hammock, Femira peeled off her wet travelling gear. She hung it up on a rack to dry. She changed her underclothes and was about to climb into her hammock when she noticed Lydia shivering while taking off her prisoners' rags. Femira noticed there were lashing scars covering the woman’s back.

“Here,” Femira said, tossing Lydia her only other spare change of underclothes.

“Thank you,” Lydia replied, tentatively looking at the garments in her hands.

“I’m guessing you’ve got no money with you,” Femira said.

“That would be a no,” Lydia sighed, hanging up her wet rags, “they relieve you of anything of worth before you sit on the throne.”

“I’m sure Connie’s got some spare clothes on this ship. We can buy some from her. Can't have you wearing those rags,” Femira stated, then added, “I’ll spot you the coin.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it… seriously don’t. I want to keep my presence in Rubane a secret.”

“Maybe you should refrain from destroying any government buildings when we get to Nordock then,” Lydia gibed.

“I mean it,” Femira replied in a serious tone, “Connie and her crew are smugglers, discretion is part of their gig. I need your word that you’ll keep quiet about me… and what I can do.”

Lydia was quiet for a time and Femira found herself becoming impatient with the woman’s lack of response.

“I owe you my life, Femira,” Lydia responded eventually, “if you want me to be silent about you I will… Do you mind if I ask what your plan is when you arrive in Rubane?”

“I do mind,” Femira said curtly, then wrapped herself up in a coarse homespun blanket, putting an end to the conversation.

The blanket was scratchy against her skin and she found herself missing the luxurious silk sheets of the palace in the Pillar of Reldon. It was funny how quickly she’d become accustomed to the palace’s comforts and the beds in the inns she stayed at on her journey so far. Femira had spent most of her life sleeping under blankets of far worse quality than this one. For years she’d slept under an old potato sack, before she and her brothers had started working for Lichtin and his crew. But now here she was, irritated by a rough itchy blanket.