Gele did not remember falling asleep, only slipping into a dream so vivid that he swore it was real when he awoke. He had floated in a pool, melting into the water and pouring down as rain. Below him were houses and towers of hard-gray limestone. They were built compact and close, like a maze—rigid and hardy, with spiked black roofs. Gele could see people in strange clothes marching down red-brick streets. Little children watched the rain behind dirty glass windows. Somewhere there was singing. In alleyways, paint plastered both new words and familiar carnal symbols. Below him, boys kicked a ball around, unphased by the muddy puddles. Somehow, this all felt familiar. Somehow, this felt like home.
Then as a raindrop, Gele was snatched by the wind and taken to the sea. Over the roofs, he caught sight of the Second Sea. Plumes of black smoke slithered out of chimneys, soot seeping into the water. Drab gray fish fled from the spreading smog. Dolphins with clear oozy skin struggled through dirty water to breathe dirty air. And jellyfish, numbered in the hundreds, drifted through uncaringly. Gele’s focus fell from the Second Sea, shifting to the stark blue ocean below. Like the Sea of Shrouds, rolling waves ran from one edge of the horizon to the other. The water here looked to be holding diluted sapphires rather than salt. And in whatever harbor this was, the ocean’s calm was abruptly squashed by the presence of a single vessel. A crimson warship painted with gallant murals of sorcerers and armored heroes stood proud with no rivals—armed with two hundred cannons and five masts that towered over the city. Four decks made up the hull, making its broadside seem sturdy and strong. Gele paused, stunned he knew so much at a single glance. Gele’s appraisal was not his. It was a borrowed respect, or perhaps a contagious wariness. Sawyer’s knowledge, he realized, was passed on from her to him.
At the vessel’s prow, a marble man held twin swords and had a trident in his chest. On the deck, sailors called to each other, preparing to set sail. The captain, donning a velvet doublet adorned with silver tassels, shouted commands and stomped his boot against the hard oak floorboards. No, don’t go, his heart yearned. He had only just learned that ships could be so large, and it was leaving so soon?
A rigorous clanging clashed against the memory, amplified and distinguished as the loudest. Thump. Thump. Thump. A little girl marched towards the ships. In worn ragged boots, each step roared. Clutched in her grasp was a wooden carving of a mermaid. Holding it close to her beating heart, the girl watched the Navy’s sailors with a burning gaze. She had a black eye and bruised knuckles, all mixed with a wry smile. Then, brimming with anticipation, she stopped short before yelling, “let me aboard!”
Gele knew where this was but did not know the name nor the things he was seeing. It soothed him, though. A sparse sense of homesickness he never had before. Even when his eyes first opened, he sank into the dream, yearning to walk around in the new land again. The comfort of his hammock could have kept him there for hours. But, the sun was already out, and the day called him to his senses. Far-away cities could wait for him, or at least long enough for him to get a boat.
Once the morning had dragged Gele from the dream, it mercilessly made him remember. His head throbbed as he sat up. A cold breeze did not wake him gently. Rather, it forced him to his feet. Blackened bruises held him back, but there was only the option of ignoring them. It was difficult looking around his house. Flickers of someone else’s home infested his thoughts. One felt far away but equally real. Gele rested his hand against the hardened clay wall, grounding him to Galu and not a ghost’s forgone past.
His father’s spear still hung on the wall. The bronze-tipped pike was snapped in two, left to rest. It did not come with Melaopel when he sailed out for the last time. Instead, he brought Gele’s sister Shuran and two iron clubs. A tapestry hung on the wall of two souls swimming with a manta ray up in the Second Sea, the mountains of Galu sleeping below. A gift from King Peal, a reminder that warriors are stronger than the Sea of Shrouds. If only it were true. This was what they had instead of ashes. Lost at sea, they had to burn palm-leaf dolls on the funeral pyre instead of their bodies.
Nevertheless, Gele clung to the belief that they journeyed onward to the Second Sea. Despite how dark and gray the lower ocean was, the Sea of Shrouds was merciful. From what he knew, the Anima was the only creature in Galu’s waters that could eat souls. No mermaid magicians, or Beastland chimeras, only a slow stalking fish. But the ocean was a killer in itself. Nearly drowned, Gele told himself, so close to never coming home.
Shaking his head, he freed himself from such thoughts. His eyes scanned the room. Tools such as fire pokers and fishing rods lived on the wall opposite the spear. Pots gathered on wood shelves, some slim and tall, others fat and short. Clothes hung on wires near the ceiling while the hammocks hovered a foot off the floor. And, slumped over in the corner, a purple phantom snored.
Gele did not know the spirit could sleep, yet the chance for privacy was welcomed. Alone with his thoughts, he stretched and splashed water on his face. The smell of the ocean still clung to his hair, no matter how much he washed it. Was life like that on the giant ships? Surrounded by the salty stench with not a spec of land in sight?
Getting dressed, Gele wrapped his scarf around his neck. Then the skirt went around his waist. It all felt right on him. It was a dancer’s attire. The garments reminded him of wriggling snakes with black, red, and white stripes. When the scarf moved, he could see the lines waver in the air, dancing themselves. That was all he needed. This was how he tried to leave before, so it would be how he tried to leave again. What if it ended the same way? Where would he go now? Stupid questions, buzzing at me like flies, he thought, trying to stay calm, trying not to disturb the spirit.
Gele knelt before Sawyer. Hesitating, he did not know how to wake her. His fingers reached out, trying to poke her. Yet, his hand only sank into her face, phasing through as the phantom’s eyes opened with immediate fright.
“Gele!” Sawyer leaped back, holding her face. “What the hell are you doing? Trying to kill me in my sleep? Gonna have to try harder than that!”
While she had jumped, Gele fled to the other side of the room, tripping over his hammock. “You were asleep,” he gasped, catching himself mid-fall. The hair on his chest stood up. Goosebumps grew on his skin. Slowly he stood back up. “I’m sorry,” he said in his head, knowing she would hear, “I did not know you were skittish.”
“Skittish?” Sawyer looked aghast, skittish, and grievously insulted. “Sawyer Jean isn’t skittish. I mistook you for a sea monster, a polar bear, or something nightmarish. You know, scary things. But still,” she yawned, “sleep is an important ritual, never interrupt it!”
Gele grew a grin, “you spent so long asleep. Maybe Sawyer Jean is feeble in her old age.”
“Who was the one who helped you walk back to this house when you were naked, and the water left your skin wrinkled like a raisin? Was it me, the feeble one? Or was it the guy looking over his shoulder, terrified of being seen?”
“Nab would be no issue if he saw me like that. But, on the other hand, the sight of a sea monster walking upright on land might be what finally strikes terror in him.”
“Ain’t a threatening man at all if you’re the scariest thing he’s seen,” Sawyer scoffed. “Mermaids stumbling on human legs, that’s an old legend in Allecrea. I’ll tell you if you want.” She paused to gauge Gele’s interest in the story but shrugged when no curiosity arose. “Where is Nab? Out stabbing whales, right? Are you ready for him, Gele?”
Gele felt his bruises, wincing. “No,” he admitted, “there’s somewhere I need to go first. Everyone will be at the mountain, where they released the lanterns for the spirits. Only until tomorrow, that’s when they finally go home.”
“Then, where are you heading? Better not be back to the beach.”
“To the site of the Beckoning,” Gele said as he approached the door. It was strange to even utter the word. Was he worthy of saying it after running away? “I need to see it again.”
The south face of the island—where Gele lived—had been gutted by the previous night’s storm. Only a small cluster of about thirty houses took residence here. Two of the structures had been crushed by toppled trees, thatch roofs flattened. Leaves and branches littered the ground, painting over the grass. The footpaths flooded into a field of mud and mire. Fences had been pulled open by the wind, and the pigs had already run far away. The village’s beach was decorated with the washed-up remains of dead fish and eels. The smell began to shift as the rot set in.
The spirits, in their arrival, always brought storms. It was easier to flee to the mountains than to resist inside one’s home. This village would be rebuilt slowly, just in time for the next full moon. The spirits tested the homes of Galu, month after month. Though, it seemed the warrior’s houses by the island’s west face, the city of Gulw, were invincible to such squalls, with foundations of deep-earth stone and metal dressings. Everyone else, even Gele’s family, had to beg the ghosts above to send the wind to the wilds instead of their home.
Trudging through the mud, Gele and Sawyer marched up the green grass hills towards the smallest of the mountains. Tree rats spied on him as he entered the forest. Can they see Sawyer too? Gele thought, staring back at their speckled eyes. Maybe it would have been better to exercise caution. Though, Sawyer had no worry at all. She jumped at the trees, phasing right through the trunks. It was a game to her. She enjoyed kneeling into the underbrush or climbing effortlessly into the heights, whatever it took to see Galu’s spiders up close. She made her unusual circumstances look fun. Gele envied her a bit. How could a spirit be so carefree?
When they stopped, Gele took time to watch the wildflowers. Their petals hosted an array of yellows and purples. And, from Gele’s observations, the flowers always seemed to be in bloom the day after the full moon came down from the sky. Even when hiding under the canopy, the Second Sea still puppeted nature. Maybe it was the spirits tending to gardens long forgotten. It had to be, Gele thought. The sparse trail of flowers led him to his sanctuary. No, rather, he was already there. It was so many years ago that he planted the flowers. Shuran and her partner Emned did it with him while discussing their plans to run away. While he dug and sowed the seeds, Emned told him stories about the Shadow Isles and the upside-down mountains rooted in the Second Sea. Meanwhile, Shuran would shrug and ask if Emned knew of what lay beyond those places, where only legends lived. Like the Beastlands in the far, distant west, a realm mankind had yet to tame, or the empire of wizards in the east. That was her fixation. Gele would stay up late into the night, listening to his sister talk about the rumors. Shuran always had a look in her eyes. An intense yearning, one unmatched by any other want. She never stopped thinking about the answers to her questions about the world. She would stare off at nothing for hours sometimes. That was when she would trap herself, her mind continuously routing back to the day she found the sea serpent.
Gele had heard it second-hand but repeated it so often he knew it by heart. Shuran found the corpse of a sea snake washed up on the beach. The monster’s open sores stained the sand red. The smell was supposedly putrid. Shuran was a child then, small enough to climb inside the serpent’s mouth. A gate of sharp fangs opened to a rotting tomb. Skeletons wearing silver armor clung to swords as tall as her. In their hands were gold chalices and flasks of strange oil. In their pockets rested papers in words no one could read. Every month since, when the spirits lit up the sky, her lantern asked the world where the skeletons had come from, begging for an answer she never got. Emned, in retort, would tell her that they may have fallen from the Second Sea, just to add more questions. Shuran humored the idea for a bit, adding mermaids to her theories. Those little moments came back as Gele navigated the little forest path. The land was the same as it was then, even if the storm pushed down a few trees. It wrapped around Gele, weighing him down as a reason not to leave Galu. But it contended with a horde of wants that could be sated by setting off across the sea. A drop of regret versus an ocean; a painful yet easy choice.
A gateway of stone and driftwood marked the border of the forest and the entrance to a meadow of vast purple grasses. Gele watched for stalking lynxes and snakes. Yet, the protectors of the field worked vigorously to ease such concerns. Little clay statues—about two feet tall—stood among the swaying grass. Dressed in grass gowns and seashell crowns, they danced hidden from sight. They became more prevalent the deeper they went, small armies all frozen mid-twirl. The clay dancers remained as the grass peeled away, following Gele as he entered the gravel plains. It stretched on until the peak of the small rocky mountain—a road about four-hundred feet long. The midday sun watched over Gele as he stepped onto the blanket of pebbles. A legion of tiny rocks shifted under his feet. He could feel the earth react to his every move.
“This is it, Sawyer,” Gele announced, “this is where I grew up. Dancers have been training here, on this hill, for as long as people have been able to stand on two feet.”
“Out on the rocks?” Sawyer wandered around, leaving no footprints, and disturbing none of the stones. “Why?”
“Shuran, my sister, said there is no better way to become one with the earth.” He knelt and rubbed the grit between his fingers. “It cuts the skin at first. You are covered in blood for the first few months and the wrappings they use to stave off sickness. But after that, you’re like hard leather or stone. It’s been twelve years since I took Shuran’s place here. The gravel, it’s soft to me now, Sawyer.”
“What happened to her?” Sawyer asked, “I saw her in your head when you were looking at the flowers.”
Gele shot her a glare but calmed when he met the spirit’s eyes. “My father Melaopel wanted to make me a warrior. The training starts at six for boys. He put a knife in my hand when I was four. We went out there, on the beach, every day, with him teaching me how to fight. Shuran, though, came here. When I could, I would follow and do cartwheels and kicks too. She showed me the flowers and told me about all the legends and myths the traders shared with her. ‘Gele, a man from the western seas, said that the sun and moon are giant jellyfish polyps. How so? I did not have the gems to trade for the answer!’ She would laugh at things like that.
“When I was eight, though, my father planned a trip to Ail. The island was close, a journey just to sell some old tools. Really, the trip was to teach me how to sail. But the sea was full of monsters, and that night there would be a full moon, Shuran said. So, I refused to go. She took my place, and the two went out in his canoe. That was the last time I saw them. I waited through the first night, where the storms were fierce, then the months after the funerals. They never returned, but I still wait for them. The flowers she planted are still here, so she can find her way no matter how long it’s been. If not, I will find my way to her.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Gele,” Sawyer said, walking ahead. “The ocean’s a nasty bitch. It’s to blame.”
“I was guilty for a long time,” Gele admitted. “But the other dancers took me in, taught me everything. They’re my sisters as much as she was. My mother, too; I was not alone in my grief. But what I did have were stories. About the spirits and the sun, mermaids with magic flutes, and a monster queen in the icy sea.” He smiled at the last one. “Merchantmen, they gave her love for a world she could not reach because she was not a warrior. Do you see now, Sawyer? Love gets passed on, and so do questions. I want to see it all for myself. Sick of hearing second-hand tales, now more than ever.”
“You already lived a legend. The next one is not far off. Let me correct myself, Gele. We still have a legend to continue .”
“Thank you,” he kept walking, “but this was not what I needed to see.”
Sawyer ran after him, a warm breeze following. The ground got steep as he trudged up the hill. The gravel moved under Gele each time he took a step. He was used to the little landslides, but his bruises ached as he climbed. Then, halfway up, Gele halted. The rain had not yet washed the blood from the ground, still staining the stone. He stepped onto the spot, a circle of red, right in the middle of the slope. From here, he knew every shade of the sky, luscious morning, and ensuing night. He knew every feeling here. This was his place.
Sawyer stood a foot away, away from the blood “Where you trained?” She asked. “Wait,” her face turned stern and sickly, “were you beaten here?”
“No, not at all,” Gele answered, “this is the spot of my Beckoning. For three days, I was here on this slanted plain of rocks, and I danced until I had nothing left.”
“Nothing?”
“I had a loyal friend, Emned, with me. She watched and gave me water. But, I could not stop. If I rested, there would be no way to fall back into the rhythm. There is no drum or music to follow. The rhythm was mine, something I found myself in as I tried not to fall. But, Sawyer,” a wide grin took over Gele’s face, “I cannot describe how it felt when everything fell away.”
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He just had to blink, and he could fall back into the moment as if it had never ended. It was a place where Gele of Melaopel had peeled himself away. There, in a trance, he was free. Layers of sweat swept across his skin, turning it into water. His arms and legs morphed with the wind, and everything else became earth. The rhythm latched to his mind, the next move his singular thought. Instincts, the last vessel, dragged him forward. It was the only place to go. No worries, only bliss. In the pit of absence, an euphoria of interwoven exhaustion and endless vigor. There, Gele danced, his legs turning and swinging, his hands following, keeping balance. Each breath lasted a lifetime, crawling inside and out. Any mistake and all of it would stop.
On the third day, it rained. But by then, he was already swimming in his sweat, its sting forcing his eyes shut. His arms swatted the raindrops as they plummeted from the sky. His feet splashed in new puddles and resisted the slippery gravel. No. Remembering the moment became strange. All he could recall was drowning, choking on water as Sawyer pulled him onto the boat. Meshing into one, Gele looked upon the Anima’s hundred eyes as he sank back into that unraveling sequence. But then, he remembered what it was like to hit the bottom, where the rain heightened into a downpour. Was it like drowning? The trance came back. No. Drowning was entrapment, being swallowed, falling asleep under a blanket of water. Then, in the rain, he woke up. Gele remembered the third day when his eyes opened. All his energy had returned as if the fatigue in his lungs and muscles had never existed. The limits of his stamina vanished. Water and wind went through him because he had crossed the threshold. Triumphing over the Beckoning, Gele had completed the ritual, reaching a state only possible through dissolving everything else.
Gele stood there on the gravel, looking into the spirit’s eyes. She was down there with him, inside the memory. “I needed to feel it again,” Gele admitted, “before I fought Nab, I had to stand here. Just as I did before, I lost. All that effort was wasted away by a punch to the stomach. I cannot let it happen again, Sawyer.”
“Incredible,” she said behind wide eyes, “only a slim picking of people could succeed in a trial like that. Even myself, with drillings and sword practice, I have never gone that far.” A hint of envy radiated in her voice, mixed with the sudden joy to know there were things the ghost could still feel. “To be drunk on that, I’m lucky to even get a taste.”
“Shuran, I was there when Shuran did it. I believe she would have been younger than me then by two years. And for her, it rained two days and three nights.” Gele glared at the phantom as he pointed at the Second Sea. “To go anywhere, even there, I have so far to go. You said it yourself, in the face of sea monsters and ships, I have to be more than sweat and blood.”
“You got more than me, with your sweat and blood.” Sawyer chuckled. “So, are you ready to face the trial again?”
Gele did not answer. He breathed in. Air filled his lungs. Then, it flowed out again, soothing his nerves. He stretched his arms and legs, waking his muscles. Stepping on the tips of his feet, he slid across the gravel field. Not one pebble shifted as he passed over them. Gele skirted towards the spirit like a weaver’s thread, with no sluggish or wasted movement. His body mimicked the wind, carving a path through the air, with his legs as fluid as a river slicing through stone. He threw himself into a cartwheel, his body twisting as he rolled. Then, back on his feet, he stood an inch away from Sawyer, smiling. “I’m ready now.”
“Show off.” Sawyer tapped her fist against his chest. “One day, I’ll give a show too, with steel swords and gunpowder. That is if I’m ever lucky enough to hold a blade again.”
“Can you hold a sword with that hand of yours?” Gele glanced at her two missing fingers.
“No, that’s why people have two hands, feet to kick with, and mouths to spit with.” Sawyer said, “plus teeth to bite with. Us humans have so many tools and all the imagination to use them. That’s the difference between living and dead thieves, ingenuity.”
“You’ll have to tell me all the stories, all the fights, when we’re drifting out to sea,” Gele said. His fingers brushed his bruises. “Let’s go. I can do it. The warrior’s trial won’t be a problem now. I remember what I am fighting for and know what it’s like to lose that sight. I know how close I was to losing everything.”
As they passed over the hills, the gravel fields faded beneath a wall of trees and marched towards the Galu’s western face. The mountain path was clear, leading straight from the dancer’s realm to the edge of the ceremonial grounds. Up here, the trees held the ripest fruit. Bright yellow citrus shone like little stars, with a spiky shell and a sweet core. Blue fruit, shaped like tiny bells, clustered together on the end of thick branches, ruthlessly sour. Monkeys usually got to it first, throwing seeds at each other as they chewed. Halfway clever creatures, it was them who planted the forest, who maintained it. Galu was theirs as much as it belonged to the people. Fluffy fur, the macaques had short tails and blue faces. Their ears were green and constantly twitched when they heard someone coming. Then, with a spritely hooowwwlll, they rushed up to the canopy and disappeared. They did not enjoy the nights of the ceremony, and if they could, they’d strike down the lanterns as they floated up to the Second Sea. Even more, they eyed the western shore of Galu with envious eyes. Or, as Gele suspected, he was projecting his wishes onto the timid little things.
The mountains overlooked the city. From where he stood, Gele could see both the beach and the palace. The docks stretched out over the sand and far beyond the shallows, embracing ships of all different origins. They all slept here, longships with red sails, rafts made of bundled logs, and hundreds of canoes. The city of Gulw accepted all merchants. All types of treasures exchanged hands for the precious metals pilfered from the mountain’s stone. Towers of smoke rose from the chimneys of tall clay houses. Forges and refineries dotted the marketplaces, giving life to ore and building the city from the molten metal. Most warriors became members of a forge, reaching status through craftsmanship.
The fighters, though, took the path to the mountain. And, of the greatest fighters, they lived in the palace. A pyramid of basalt loomed over Gulw. His father said it was a volcano once. Others said it was the chair of an old god. But the history had died to time. Moss had chewed away the carvings that told the ancient truth. Rotting statues told half-lost stories. Resting at the top of the pyramid sat a forge, where treasures were cooled in water collected from the Second Sea and given holy runes. Royal things, Gele had never seen one up close. The inside of the pyramid, its rooms and splendors, was barred to him. He had seen the inside only once when Melaopel had taken him. But an infant only remembers little, and his mother took him from Gulw when his father died at sea.
His eyes shifted to the vast taro, yams, and rice fields. He and Shuran would sneak out there at night with the other children. Just a baby then, the sounds of stick swords clashing in the darkness frightened him, but he never cried. Gulw, the city of warriors, kept him safe when it was his home.
“Shit,” Sawyer stamped her foot against the dirt, “all these boats, and I can’t recognize any of them. How wrong were those fucking maps?” She gnarled her teeth as she spoke. She leaned forward, trying to see them closer. “You said they talked about an ice queen, right? That could have been so many people, maybe not me. How far am I? Were we just little fish splashing in a puddle?”
“I saw it in a vision, your ship,” Gele said, “it was bigger than all the ones here.”
“Ship?” Sawyer puffed out her chest. In a haughty voice, she made her tone gruff and grumbly. “Boy, the thief known to history as Admiral Sawyer Jean helmed a fleet. My Harpy was only a flagship. That frigate, hull painted black and white, with sails that blended in with the night, was a treasure before a boat. The mast matched the Second Sea in height, and she was sturdy enough to be considered a floating castle. And to no surprise, her sisters were just as strong.”
Gele visited the ship as she spoke of it. A glimpse of what it was like to stand atop a frigate. He could see the sails above him. Peering over the deck, he looked at a line of cannons peeking out through their gun ports. “What were the others like?” He asked as he looked out over the imaginary sea.
Sawyer finally got to boast. Never had she smiled so wide. Continuing her fake voice, she leaned on Gele’s shoulder and spilled it all. “Well, Gele, the legend of Sawyer Jean runs deep. First, you have Angel, a real warship stolen from a Navy captain. Trust me. He wasn’t making any use of her. I saved her from mundane life, surely” Her voice went deeper. “Mermaid, another frigate, earned in a duel. And finally, a small schooner called Reaper, the one she did not get to name.”
“Why’s that?”
“Sawyer Jean, the dumb bitch, got drunk and lost a bet. Maynard, a good friend, bet his bronze nose, and she had to win it off him, no matter the cost.” She said, the gruff old-sailor voice falling apart as a short giggle came out. “They’re telling stories like that back home, I guarantee it. They sailed across the great gray seas, picking fights and raiding the villages. Blood and ashes are left in their wake. A war waged against home.”
“When will you tell me all of it?” Gele asked. Don’t hide it from me, he thought. I need to know how dangerous it is out there. “No stories. When will you tell me about the people you killed, the villages you burned, and the war you fought? That is far more dangerous than rumors of sea monsters and old mermaid myths. I need to know, Sawyer.”
Sawyer sighed, her throat growing tight. She clutched her coat and crossed her arms. Even without prying, Gele could feel walls rise, blocking him from something horrible. “Soon, I promise you that. I’ll tell you when we’re on the sea after you get a boat. If you want to hear about the corpses I caused and the graves I’ve dug, though, we may not have enough ocean for me to tell you every single detail,” Sawyer finally said.
“Thank you,” Gele said. He blinked and saw a woman holding a torch, setting loose an inferno that ate houses, trees, and people alike. Pirate. The word hung in his head when he looked at her. A foreign word, but that is how she saw herself, he knew. But, what did that matter compared to the trial ahead? Stranded at home, only one thing mattered.
The evening glow took over the world when Gele finally reached the ceremonial grounds. Up above, the Second Sea’s waters shifted to a luscious orange. Shadows of fish swarmed around suspended coral reefs, growing on the skeleton of a basking shark. They all strayed away from a fat octopus camouflaged to mimic a second reef. Some fish ventured out to see the new lands but were devoured by the octopus, only for the bulbous thing to be attacked outright by a ferocious eel. A cloud of blood became a blemish in the sky, casting an overcast over the great brass gateway as Gele crossed through. The metal was adorned with seashells and painted figures, half-man half-fish things. Maybe, thousands of years ago, it was Galu getting accosted by octopuses and eels.
“Here we are,” he whispered, “now to reach the King’s seat.”
Singing and laughing, a crowd of people danced to the call of drums and flutes. The instruments dressed in gold were as large as the people playing them. The music boomed, roaring over the cacophony. There were two sections of people, two hordes that did not mingle. Gele walked between both, keeping his head low. No doubt, the rumor of his instant defeat had already spread. The trials of men who dreamed of becoming warriors were popular among spectators, especially those who made a fool of themselves.
To his left were men and women clad in velvet skirts and exotic beasts’ furs. Gold necklaces choked their necks, and gemstone circlets rested on their heads. Brass bracelets jangled together as they swung their arms. The people were either fat, with sweat glistening on their plump stomachs, or muscled and lean. Warriors and their families, Gele did not dare look upon them long.
On the right was the rest of Galu, who worked the fields, herded the pigs, or mined in the caves. They outnumbered the warriors ten-to-one and were equally merry. They only wore barkcloth skirts and wicker sandals. Seashell necklaces danced on their chests as they twirled. But, a few stopped and stared at Gele as he passed. Then, the crowd of villagers slowed to see him trudge past. He glanced over his shoulder to Sawyer. The ghost waited by the gateway, fingers tracing the images of mermaids. He could not go back alone.
“Gele.” A voice, much quieter than the music, halted him. Sound could not be poisonous. However, the gentle call nearly killed him on the spot.
He turned, bowing his head. “Mother, I’m back.”
Clow was a tall woman, originally from Warrl, a cluster of smaller islands to the west. She still wore the opal earrings and brass bracelets from her homeland, alongside Melaopel’s gift of a bronze necklace. Yet, with no warrior left in the family, she had become a skilled weaver, wearing her barkcloth skirt interlaced with brown wooden beads. Clow’s wrinkled face formed a sad smile as she hugged him. “Where did you go?” She asked, hands trembling.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Fear. Gele’s heart pounded inside his chest, all eyes were on him, and he was trapped within his mother’s embrace. Alone. He had to go alone. Why? His eyes darted to every face, every expression. Pity, concern, apathy, each person was too uncaring and emotionless to tell how they saw him. Thump. Thump. Thump. He had not answered his mother’s question yet.
“He was with me!” Sawyer screamed. “He saved my life!” The phantom scrambled across the ceremonial grounds, nearly falling. The panic was on her face as well, sharing the fear. Yet, the eyes did not shift from Gele. Their attention did not break. They could not hear the ghost nor see her. Gele was alone.
“I ran, but now I am back,” he gulped. The truth came out thick and slow. “I came back to become a warrior, as my father did before me, and to explore the world, as Shuran wanted.”
“But you already lost,” Clow whispered, “let’s just rest for now.”
“No, I can’t.” He pulled away from her. “Mother, I need to go now, even if the bruises are fresh, even if it is futile. There is a part of me that cannot wait any longer.”
Clow gathered her words. “What will change?”
“I have seen a lot today,” he spoke low, hushed so no one could hear him but her, “I have seen an Anima, a spirit, and ships the size of islands. I nearly drowned trying to escape the island. I met ghosts.”
She stared at him, horror-struck. “An Anima? Ghosts? Gele. . . Melaopel and Shuran, in the Second Sea, do not lie to me because they will know the truth.”
“I would not return if I intended to lie,” Gele said, “so let me go. You can’t stop me from trying again. I cannot go back now.”
“Good luck then,” she wiped her eyes, “for both now and when you go out onto the sea.”
“Thank you,” Gele nodded as he carried on from the dance circle. This time, he held his head high. “Sawyer,” he said in his thoughts, his stream of consciousness calmed, “thank you too.”
“She couldn’t see me, no one could. . . only you.” She scoffed, swinging her arm through someone’s face. It passed through without them stopping their dance. “Damn it all.”
“It’s better they don’t see you. We would be here all night answering questions.”
“The rumor of a ghost pirate reborn would go far, maybe even back home if the stars aligned.” She patted Gele on the back. “But today, another story will begin yours, my friend.”
Past the dancing and music was the great feast. Roasted pig and sliced fruit filled tables upon tables. Families of foreign merchants and Galu’s warriors ate in giant tents—made of velvet and hosting an array of bright, cheerful colors—with drunks trading stories and giggles. The villagers ate from long tables set up outside. Yet, the children were the only ones still eating. They were a rare sight, for the mountain was a big place, and the forests of palms and fruit trees nearby were an excellent place for games.
Foreign traders took their wares to the market. Shelves stocked with weapons and jewelry forged a thousand miles away caught Sawyer’s eye. Drinks, potions, and elixirs brewed by wizards offered the answer to any ailment. Sawyer stopped to examine each one, eyes wide and smiling. The selection was so vast that she could have been vexed for hours finding her favorites. But instead, she ignored her heart’s want and trailed behind Gele. Caged animals he had never seen before snarled at him as he made his way straight to Nab. Beyond the velvet tents, statues of lynxes and monkeys built from bronze, brass, and black basalt called for him. The shrine at the center was a large flat circular disc, about a hundred feet across. Mosaics of waves and surf made from seashells and gemstones made up the floor. And standing above them, ten stone chairs surrounded the altar. Of the thrones, only seven were occupied, with a crowd gathered below them. They shared food and kept warm beside bonfires. Singing and music hit Gele’s ears. Emned, he realized, breaking into a run.
Below, at the center of the altar, twelve dancers jumped and swayed to the beat of a giant metal drum. Their skirts were laced with colorful ribbons and adorned with flakes of gold—feathers from far-away birds sewn into their scarves. In between breaths, they chanted alongside the drummer. The pulse of the beat matched the words as they spoke to the King, the spirits, and the island. The head dancer, Emned, wore a crown of flowers and twine. All along her body, green ribbons with brass bells chimed alongside her as she sang. Though soft, the ringing would reach the souls above. The runes scrawled on each bell ensured it. Gele stood at the sidelines, eyes locked on the performance. His heart raced alongside the dance, yearning to be up there too. But Gele had made his choice, despite solemn regrets.
Emned noticed him in the audience as the dance reached its peak. A flash of surprise took over her face, but she hid it behind a sharp glare. Her scarlet red eyes flickered in the firelight. She inherited the color from her mother, who hailed from the Shadow Isles. A lifetime ago, Shuran would ask her so many questions about the place. Emned, who never actually left Galu, would simply lie, make up answers, or repeat what her mother said to her. Somehow, they forged a friendship from this. Shuran and Emned used to dance together during these ceremonies, Gele recalled. Nostalgia and sorrow mixed as he watched Emned and the others. He came here to announce his desire to leave Galu in front of everything he loved about it. But he had already run away from it once before. So all Gele could do now was ensure he said goodbye.
The dance concluded with a quiet finale, with Emned stamping her feet against the stone and the beat of the drum fading into silence. Applause broke out, with Emned waving to the audience. A sly smile had taken over her face. Something wicked crawled in her thoughts, Gele knew. The same happened when he declared his intention to leave the island upon completing the Beckoning. But whatever she had in mind, she kept it secret. The dancers shared hugs and laughter as they left the altar. Emned went to her wife, whispering something in her ear, before going straight to Gele.
“I thought you’d be halfway to the Beastlands by now. Either that or already making friends with mermaids. What’d you come back for? Was it the food? “The bells laughed along with her. “Listen, you better have practiced before coming back here. Shuran used to bitch at me to the moon and back about bad form. I’ll make you wish you reached the ch–” She stopped, out of breath and needing to sit down. She glanced around at the audience, then to the altar. “Whatever, Gele, just be careful. A second chance is unlikely, and a third? You won’t get that. It’s not just the King and Prince either. With the moon like this, Melaopel and Shuran will be watching, your sister especially. So tread carefully, brother.”
“They were here the whole time,” Gele said. “Thank you, Emned. But I have to keep going. My Beckoning cannot end until I earn the right to leave Galu. Nothing else. I must keep going.”
As Gele stepped up to the altar, his lungs grew tight. He was under the sea again, drowning. Stares and glances pressed against him from all sides. It scratched at him, peeling away as he stood at the center of the ceremony. Everything halted as he stood before his people and below the Second Sea, preparing to beg. What would a pirate do? The question emerged as he soaked in the shame, exposed to the judgment and disgust. But it was a necessary risk. He would not run away again.