I once heard a tale of a pirate stranded at sea who made his way back to shore on a raft of sea turtles, tied together with rope made from the hair on his back.

-Quoted from an unnamed dock worker in Clissolt

Her skin was clammy and there was sand stuck to her arms and legs from where she had tossed and turned in the night. Rose dragged herself to her feet and spat out a mouthful of white sand. It was everywhere.

The fire was still blazing and she could’ve sworn it was even bigger than it had been when they went to sleep. Trent had been busy. The man himself was nowhere to be seen, however. She was sure he would come back eventually. Rather than wait around, Rose took off her stinking, crusty clothes and wandered down to the sea.

Even after a thorough scrub and being hung out to dry by the fire they would still be crusty, thanks to the salt in the water. At least they wouldn’t stink.

The water was cold, but it was exactly what she needed after such a turbulent rest. She dried off after just a few minutes in the searing sun and decided to catch a few crabs while waiting for her clothes to follow suit.

***

“You didn’t even manage to catch one? They’re only tiny little things, surely you aren’t that pathetic?”

“No, you’ve misunderstood. I caught six. I brought them over to make breakfast, but when I was about to skewer the first one something stopped me. They’re just too cute. I couldn’t. So I set them all free. I’m sure we can forage something in the forest,” said Rose.

“It’s a crab. Which part of it is cute, exactly? You’re an odd one, Rose. If you really want to go digging through the dirt for food then be my guest. Or, we could just go fishing,” he said, pulling a shoddy rod from behind his back.

It barely qualified. Trent had a good eye for sticks, which she appreciated. He had found a long, bendy one and whittled it down until smooth.

What looked like a vine had been loosely tied at both ends of the stick with a length hanging loose to form a fishing rod. The hook that was attached to the end looked razor sharp. Where was he hiding that? Rose shivered.

“Are you any good?” she asked.

“At fishing? Sure, I know how to cast a line. I’m no expert but I’m sure I can catch us breakfast. Or maybe lunch. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Rose sighed. “Give it here,” she said while holding out her hand and looking at the man as though he was a child who’d been caught playing with a forbidden toy.

“Am I graced with the company of an expert?” he said with his terrifying smirk and handed over the rod.

“Not at all. I’m only a beginner. My dad taught me a few things, though. And he might have been an expert, though it was hard to tell when half the folk back home were just as skilled. It was our specialty, after all. At the very least I won’t make you wait until lunch.”

“An appetising prospect. How could I resist? And where is home for you, Rose? I’m from Eastfel Bay, though I’d much rather not be.”

While they spoke they made their way to the rocks at the end of the beach. Rose knew that it would be more likely for her to get a bite there than near the sandy shoreline.

With the fire burning away, now sending billowing clouds of smoke into the sky thanks to a pile of leaves Trent had collected while she slept, all they could do was wait for a passing ship to notice them.

“The Emerlan Isle. It’s as backwards and boring as backwaters can be, but it had rustic charm. I might go back one day, but not until I’ve had my fill of adventure. Or at least a healthy gulp. Nothing there except the doori and the fish.”

“You have fancy doorways?” asked Trent with a furrowed brow.

“No, doori. Like ‘doo-urry’. Fur coated bovines, rove in herds and make delicious milk. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it. Milk is one of our biggest exports.”

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“Never been a fan. Makes my stomach feel heavy.”

Rose sat on the edge of the rocks, legs dangling out over the sea as it gently battered against her perch. With a practised flick she cast the line a few metres out and Trent whistled in appreciation.

“I think we made the right choice by delegating this one to you. It normally takes me a few tries to get the swing right.”

“I’ve had a lifetime of practice. And a trait.”

“Oh you’re that good, huh? Look at you Rose. You must be what, sixteen? A trait at that age is decent.”

Trent was growing on her, but she didn’t think it wise to reveal all the details of her status with the man just yet. Who knew when she might need to use one of her skills to make a getaway. So she let him think she had just one trait, but there was something she wouldn’t let slide. “Fifteen.”

“Damn. When I was fifteen I had already been in a pirate crew for two years. I didn’t have a trait though, that’s for sure. Impressive stuff, even if it is just fishing.”

“Thanks.”

***

It was her third day stranded on the island. The fire had been burning non-stop since she managed to light it and there was an abundance of wood to keep it blazing.

The fish were plentiful and though Trent had started complaining about the lack of variety in their diet, it was just like being back home for Rose. She had even earned another level in the skill, bringing it to thirteen.

That morning she had spent a lot of time looking at her status. It had filled out far faster than she thought it would, but that wasn’t a problem.

If anything it was validation that her decision to leave home had been the correct one. Most of these skills were ones she wouldn’t have even earned back home even with ten lifetimes worth of experience. She definitely wouldn’t have earned that title.

Name: Rose Everblue

Race: Human

Occupation: -

Title: -

Available Titles: Murderer

Skills: Cleaning 10, Reading 9, Fishing 13, Swimming 8, Writing 6, Butchery 6, Cooking 5, Herding 2, Focus 10, Drawing 11, Sailing 7, One Handed Weapons 3, Blades 2, Pistols 1, Firearms 1

Traits: Sensitive Line, Deft Hand, Good as New, Tunnel Vision

“There’s one thing I’m confused about,” she said.

“Oh? Pray tell, my fabulous fisherwoman,” Trent replied.

“We were pretty close to Derridas when you guys attacked.”

“I’ve already told you it was nothing personal.”

“No, I’m not talking about that. I mean this place. We can’t have drifted that far in the little time we were unconscious, which means this island should be a little off the shore of Derridas. Yet this island wasn’t logged on any of the maps and we haven’t seen a single ship in three days. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re right. It is strange. There is one possibility.”

“Which is?”

“We somehow managed to stumble into a convergence. I really hope that isn’t the case, however. It would drop our chances of survival to near zero.” He scratched his temple and then threw some more leaves on the fire. “Everything here is blue. Even the smoke. Damn weird leaves.”

It was subtle, but Trent was right. Even the smoke was blue. Rose hadn’t stopped to think how peculiar it was that all the flora and fauna on the island shared a similar shade until another person had mentioned it out loud. A little blue crab scuttled across her foot and she suppressed a giggle. Rose had always been ticklish. “What’s a convergence?” she asked.

“I’m not surprised you haven’t heard about them before. They’re quite a rare phenomenon. Less so in wilder seas than Bluestone, but never a common occurrence. I’m no scholar so you’ll have to deal with my terrible explanation. The oceans produce energy and to a lesser extent so do the continents and even plants and animals of the world. The tide collects that energy and turns it into a supplement of sorts. That’s why you have traits and occupations that let you do things beyond the norm. It’s also why animals mutate into monsters.”

Trent paused when he noticed her eyes widening. This was all news to Rose, but she wasn’t surprised that a crappy little island like Emerlan Isle had a poor library of knowledge.

“Sometimes that energy is too much for the tide to handle, however. That’s when you get a convergence. The buildup of excess energy has nowhere to go. Rather than leave it to fester and cause a disaster, the tide has a neat way of fixing the issue. It gathers all that energy and shoves it into another dimension, creating a little pocket world with rules of its own and unique monsters. They’re often beautiful and filled with treasure and opportunity which is why all the great seafarers hunt them down. With all that bounty comes fearsome danger, however. No risk, no reward.”

“Wow. That sounds incredible. I sort of want to see one. How would we know if we were in a convergence?” She turned the skewers that were laid over the fire. Their lunch was almost grilled and the tantalising scent of charred fish teased her nostrils.

“Strange phenomena are the first clue. Unique wildlife or unusual weather conditions are telltale signs as well.”

“Strange phenomena like everything on an island being blue, you mean?”

“Yup. Exactly like that.”