“...fuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK…” she felt as though she had just gone to sleep. And now some dock monkey was pounding on her cabin door, demanding she attend to… something.

Before she could begin to throw any more invective at whoever was knocking, Kette gave a half roll, swinging her legs off of her bunk, and with a practiced flip, levered her body up off of the warm bed. A quick check reassured Kette that she still wore her uniform pants and tunic, which she then took a moment to retuck into her pants, and as she grabbed her jacket off of the wall peg by her bunk said, “Enter.”

The Second Mate, Chanim, popped through the door, a jolly child’s toy of a middle aged man, wrapped in the pressed, clean uniform of the Kestrel’s wardroom officers. His slouch hat in his belt, as was proper for an officer while below decks.

The man was smiling almost ear to ear as he began outlining the duty roster for the day. Kette knew quite well what that roster entailed, as she and Captain Nahvi had poured over its creation during the evening watch the previous night.

The captain, all of the wardroom officers in fact, had been mages. It was a deeply held, and securely kept secret in the sailing traditions of the Southern Ocean. Once Kette had shown her Talents in the galley, the officers had all taken turns watching her closely. Kette had been so happily distracted by her new life that she hadn’t even noticed the scrutiny. This could have been deadly, and she had spent the week after the aborted pirate attack sweating profusely, with all of her fears running riot. After the captain had told Kette that he and the ranking crew knew she was Talented, he had then spent a week working with her on the basics of “Naval Magic.”

At first she had been shocked, and a little intimidated, by the sophistication of the magic employed by the captain and the other officers in their trade. So much of what they did, magically, was done as a full Circle. Cooperative spells, usually led by the Captain himself and augmented in shifts by the ranking members of his staff.

And then she had been sent into a panic by the sloppy spell practices, and the low Talent levels of those officers entrusted with the lives of the crew and the well being of the ship, herself. Of the six officers who made up the Kestrel’s Circle, only Captain Nahvi would have made it through a full apprenticeship in a Pride, and only barely, at that. He was, for all his years of naval experience, not quite half her own strength, and nowhere near as well trained. He was almost as accomplished as One, if much more even tempered and reasonable.

Though, Kette would admit to anyone who asked, that One had been incredible at Glamours, Mental Manipulations, and all of the refined, subtle magic that lent itself to the horrific and deceitful practices that led to, on the one hand, damaged minds, and souls, and on the other hand, the use of the terms “Enchantress” and “Sorceress” instead of “Wizard” for the women who had Talent.

The Captain and the Officer Corps’ lower abilities, and poor overall training explained the feelings she had experienced during the attack of greatly imbalanced power at work. They, the officers, were, on a very basic level, doing it all wrong. They were using the magical equivalents of lock picks to pry open crates. The following months the Captain had learned, much to his horror, that as much as he could teach the newly minted Cabin Mate Kette about joining together Talents into a functional Circle of mages, Kette could teach him a hundred scrolls worth or more of actual offensive and defensive spells.

These spells would have to be greatly scaled down in scope for the Captain to use them, but the effects would be essentially the same.

The day, two months ago, when he had seen the full extent of her strength, he had called the day’s training off, and suggested to the rest of the Officer Corps they not bother him with anything less than piracy for the next four shifts. She had suspected he had locked himself into his cabin to drink away his sudden onset of anxiety.

Chanim stood before her and beamed at Kette as he told her of the training they would be doing on the forecastle during the first watch this morning. “We shall be working on farming today, Mate Kette! Just you wait, it will be the best three bells of your life!”

She had to smile at the man’s enthusiasm; he really was keen on working magic with her. The old man was unable to contain his pleasure at the idea of teaching younger officers, like Kette, all he knew. She wondered if he had lived another life, one not at sea, would he have become a teacher? Some kind of instructor for the youth of whatever town was lucky enough to employ the jolly little barrel of a man? His generally kind, optimistically keen, nature reminded her a little of Six. Whenever she showed the man something he had never seen before, he didn’t shrink from it. But, like her Pride-mate, Six, his face would light up with joy at the newly discovered, and he would laugh and shout “Show me!”

Once she had on her jacket, and straightened all of her clothes, she told the older officer that she would meet him on deck after visiting the head.

As he trundled off toward the ladder to the upper decks, she turned, and gave a quick scan about her bunk, making sure it was in order, and not a slovenly mess. Sharing this cabin with three other women in the Kestrel’s crew gave her more privacy than her last berth in the ship had, but now Kette was more aware of the upkeep, and general tidiness of her personal space in the cabin. She even had a lock on the small locker that made up half the storage space beneath her bunk.

A quick scrub of her face with a damp washcloth, down the corridor to relieve herself, then up the aft ladder to the main deck. There, she took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the early day’s sunlight. The sun, when you were at sea, was merciless on a bright day, she had learned. “Unless there is an emergency, always take a moment to adjust. It will allow you to make decisions with a clear head.” The captain had told Kette during the early days of her training, and Kette had taken it to heart.

While her first few months aboard the Kestrel had been mostly spent in the galley, the following months had been up on the various decks in the sun, the rain, the wind, and spray of the sea.

The first port the Kestrel had made after the attempt by the pirate sloops she had witnessed had been a raucous week spent either drinking with the crew in every quayside tavern they could find, to forget the terror of the incident, or spent with other officers rounding up the now drunken crew so they would make it to their posts.

She had always been accompanied by a senior officer whenever she had gone ashore. It was subtle, and she hadn’t noticed during that week in port, but once they had pulled anchor and set sails, she had noticed a distinct lack of officer oversight in her day to day routines.

But the training to be the Kestrel’s newest officer was a constant, day to day and hour to hour trial. Kette was never certain of when she was expected to be the Officer on the Spot, and when she was supposed to kick the issues up the command chain.

One day two of the crew began fighting, and she kicked the issue up to the next rank, and was given a dressing down for not handling the “minor fracas” herself. On another occasion, she found several tied hawsers from the lesser port mast in a horribly messy bird's nest of a state, and made the deck crew of that watch recoil and retie all the lines… and was promptly dressed down for not alerting the Watch Commander. Some days she just could not win.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Eyes now adjusted to the brightness of daylight, Kette stepped out onto the main deck and caught sight of Chanim standing at the bottom step to the forecastle. Striding to join him, she watched with her peripheral vision the reactions of several of the crew. Jens, an elderly Gorma who had spent so much time in the upper rigging, the sun had made his leathery blue skin almost purple, was speaking in Kjol to Adina, a younger Piincar woman with as many tattoos as any Kjoltan Battle Master she had ever heard of; they both scowled at Kette as she passed them at their work repairing the reinforcement patch of the forecourse sail.

She didn’t break stride, but she was instantly interested in what they might be saying about her. It made her nervous when people talked about her.

Gossip was gossip, but on a ship put to sea, the citizenry of the world was condensed to less than a hundred people, and the changing winds of “public opinion” could be devastating in such small spaces. She knew most of the crew liked her, or had no strong feelings about her; but Kette also knew that could change with just the right agitation. It was a bothersome itch she couldn’t scratch.

Reaching Chanim, he turned smartly, and proceeded her up the steps, leaving her to follow. Once on the Forecastle, they relieved the two officers who had just finished their own watch, and would be headed to bed, the galley, or the head. Possibly all three, in random order of need, and availability. Mate Harkey, her raptor-like nose leading the way, nodded to her as she passed Kette, and made her way down to the main deck, the woman’s long frame swayed with the subtle motion of the Kestrel as she moved.

Kette stood at parade rest behind and to starboard of Chanim, both of them facing into the breeze as Kestrel gracefully cut through the dark blue waters of the southern coast of Selmet. In another three days, they would pass beyond that kingdom’s shores, and be near the southern tip of the Kingdom of Blasilma. Most of their current cargo of grain would be sold in one of Blasilma’s larger ports, probably Bearadhach. The small city was nestled among the seaside cliffs, and half of the city climbed the walls of those cliffs, with railed walkways connecting the buildings built on, and dug into, the walls hundreds of strides above the harbor. With all she had read about the city, Kette was quite excited to see it.

Chanim turned to her abruptly, “RIGHT! Now, let's see how you do with Smoothing the Ways! On me!”

And with that, Chanim turned back to the ship’s prow, and put his hands on the rail to steady himself as he sought the center of his being, and called upon his talent to reduce the friction of the water against the Kestrel’s hull, and in such a way increase their rate of travel. It lessened the roll of the ship on the waves, and lessened the tug of water on the great, bowed hull.

Kette dropped into her own Center, and after a brief reaching, linked her will to his. As the more experienced officer, he would lead the exercise, while she added her strength to his, and in so doing, lightened his load.

She could feel the Kestrel increase speed slightly as Chanim made the otherwise wide and wallowing bulk of her hull slide through the sea with less resistance.

She smiled to herself as she felt the ship accelerate even more once she had added her own Talent to Chanim’s. The Kestrel now clipped along at almost half again the speed at which she had been traveling moments before.

“Gently,” Chanim said in his rough rasp of a voice. “ Don’t make the Captain spill his tea, nor Hoggart drop a bun.” With that, he chuckled. “Everyone up on the upper decks just swayed in place, and all of the hammocks in the general crews’ quarters just rocked harder to the stern than needs be. Might help them sleep tighter, though. Maybe make them dream of their long lost Mas.”

Kette had thought her transition to increase their speed had been smooth, but apparently not smooth enough. She had had her hands on the railing, and knew it was coming so she had braced herself unconsciously against it. Maybe she needed to not hold the railing until she had a better grasp …HA!... of how this all worked. Until she was more practiced.

Otherwise, this exercise was a simple one for Kette, and was one that would add almost no extra stress to her mind or body as they worked through the first three bells of this watch together. Compared to what the Masters put her through on a daily basis, this was the magical equivalent of a determined, yet leisurely, walk to one trained as Kette had been.

A full bell passed as they stood at the railing, Smoothing the Ways.

Chanim chuckled where he stood at the railing. “You realize that we are now moving faster than the Kestrel could move with even four of any of the other officers Smoothing the Way?”

“Aye, Mate Chanim. I do.”

“And you realize that you could probably increase that rate even more?”

“Aye, Mate Chanim.”

“You know why the Captain has forbidden this?”

Kette paused. She was getting better at this “thinking before she speaks” talent that the Masters had despaired of her ever learning.

“Permission to speak freely, Sir?”

“Granted.” She could hear the smile in the sound of his voice. He rolled his R’s when he was very amused. She had heard he rolled his R’s AND his L’s when he was mad.

Kette took a few breaths, so as not to look like she was just throwing out the first answer to come to mind. “There are a few reasons, though the first is to not risk asologee.” She saw Chanim’s involuntary shiver at the word run up his spine and move shoulder to shoulder before it dissipated. “Then, it would look very suspect if the great meandering tub that is our lovely Kestrel regularly shaved weeks or more off of the times it took her to make her ports of call. Others would take notice, especially if it became a regular thing for the Kestrel to make port from Makab to Cliff’s Eye in a week rather than a month.”

Chanim, grunted in the affirmative, then nodded.

“And third, the Captain, Gods of Sea, Sky and Land praise him all his long days, knows that he and all of the other Talented members of the Ward Room Staff are not as strong in the Talent as am I, and it would vex him greatly to have too many officers start hating the new girl for outshining them all.” It may have been her expressionless delivery of this last part that set the old man off in fits and peals of wheezing laughter.

And then Chanim burst into real peels of laughter, he snorted in a most piggish way as he attempted to regain control of his composure.

“And where do you come up with THAT idea, Mate Kette?”

“The Harpy, sir,” Kette said, referring to Mate Harkey. “She was emphatic last week that I stop showing up the other officers, especially the older men. Their egos, she said, were more brittle than glass arrows, and just as useful.” Kette smirked as she said it. She knew Chanim would find it funny, rather think that he was included in that body of “older men” and be offended.

His pudgy, weathered face turned back to her, and he favored her with a wink. “Oh, a glass arrow, am I?”

She broke her bland expression and smiled back at him. They resumed their duty in quiet earnest. “Finest of Crystal, Sir. From the greatest artisans of Hrishak.”

“Ooooh! I like that!” The old man said. “I may have to get that embroidered inside my best coat, next time we make port.” She shared a broad smile with him at that.

The rest of the morning was spent in earnest concentration on moving the Kestrel as quickly, yet smoothly, through the undulating waves of the sea. After a bell had passed, Kette had begun to sweat with the sustained effort.

Years of training under the tutelage of the Mages of the Golden Tower, followed by the years spent in the forward war camp of the Kingdom’s efforts to obliterate its most hostile neighbor had toughened her mind and body to the sustained use of magic at brutally high levels. It was the rigor of holding to a single set of spells for a prolonged period that she was finding difficult.

She had begun to think of this in terms of carrying stones versus throwing stones; while she had trained for years to spend span after span of time throwing stones, she was now being asked to pick up one stone, and carry it at arms length for several spans. While the stone was slightly smaller than the ones she had been throwing, this one had to be held up. At arm’s length. For a long time.

And it was exhausting.