The ocean sky opened in a torrent of rain, wind carrying a remnant of ley force from somewhere beyond the nearby shoreline, Shea pulled back her hood and let it soak her head, both the sheets of rain and the vapor of ley force on the wind. It was enough to stabilize the boat and keep a less erratic course. Just south of the bluffs, her gaze caught on a quiet cove, and an ideal harbor, but it was full of boats. Bad timing, sailing into harbor in the middle of a storm.
Arrowans were suspicious of newcomers arriving by storm winds, and she couldn't show up on that kind of footing. Better to find a lonely sand bar and beach the boat there.
The craft was heavy, laden with gifts below deck, and she had a letter from the Arrow's General Zulfiqar, proposing to resume trade relations, which had been neglected during the wars.
She steered the boat boat further southward, toward a stretch of long, sandy white, and with a careful concentration, cleared a channel between the breaking waves. Grabbing up the anchor, and hopping off the bow, she pushed back against the bow, and sank the anchor down into the silkiest white sand she'd ever touched--it sent her a little thrill. Was what she'd read was really true? Maybe Senkara was the secret hideaway of the gods.
*
Senkara had ley energy, but Shea Wharncliffe couldn’t get near it. The ley source was trapped somewhere beneath that enormous marble dome in the forest, which turned out to be a temple—and off limits but for the believing.
Shea had little fate with hallowed ground. She hated even cemeteries. Her mother had had to drag her to her father’s funeral.
The structure of white marble sat squarely over readable edges of the ley source she had sensed even offshore. But there was no judging its quality without further exploration inside.
She’d sat patiently through religious rites--hour after tedious hour of them. Nothing. Had given away many perfectly good catches. More nothing. She was never getting in that temple.
Interior temple rites were for adult women and men who reached specific performance benchmarks she couldn’t reach. Commitment had to be absolute. Without matrimony to one of their own people, and an oath to remain in Senkara, she wouldn’t be exploring the temple’s interior.
Not that she could report this failure. Unlike Flintstock and Grater Barren, she had no hate for the people. In so many ways, the locals were kindred spirits. They’d taught her to dive for pearls, oysters and abalone shells. They’d helped her build a home. Matriarch Lan gave her a gift--a gift that left her breathless.
*
Apparently, the mother had attacked a party, hunting for boar, and the hunters had been forced to kill it. She’d left behind a young cub, and the hunters had returned with the tiny predator in a gunny sack.
Shea named the jaguar cub Artemis, and it hadn’t taken them long to bond. Something in the nature of this big cat spoke to her more than words ever could. From the moment she held the cub in her arms and peered into its amber eyes, they’d become kin.
The young Artemis purred like a wind turbine as Shea scratched her plump tummy with her sharp grown fingernails. “You like that, do you?” She smiled at the sound, and tossed the cub another oyster, a dish Shea loved, particularly, because she could eat them raw, without the necessity of a pan and fire. It was untraditional jaguar fare, too, but Artemis didn’t mind. She swallowed the oyster flesh and licked the mother of pearl clean with her sandpaper tongue. Shea grinned. “Another six months, and you’ll be bringing me, breakfast. Do we understand each other?”
Shea’s home was remote from the village, by choice. The Shengao women had worried about her, living all alone, but the jaguar cub absolved their fears. The predator jaguar could be trained, and she would protect Shea.
After ten months, Shea’s skin had darkened, and she’d gained some needed weight on the rich diet of oysters and mica fruit, until the seams of her shirts strained at the chest buttons, and she’d had to improvise a new wardrobe. Apart from her blond hair, Shea thought she blended in with the locals pretty well, though she couldn’t blend completely.
*
It was early April when Shea spotted the boat approaching from her home on the southeast beach. She had watched him for hours through her lenses, tiny skiff bobbing up and down in the surf. When the boat came close enough for her to take in the details of the craft, her head throbbed with the old sensations of her illness. Hands tingling and her throat tightening. He was Barronite.
How would this change things? What was he doing here? Would he be looking for the same thing she was?
Shea steadied her nerves. He was one man.And his little craft was no warship. The man might be a trader or something else benign. Shea would hide, and let him return to Grater Barren unwise to her. Her small circle of Shangao maidens could keep her a secret and she knew enough about the island now to conceal her own presence.
*
But the stranger didn’t leave. And he didn’t leave. Bungling idiot with a Shanganese phrasebook couldn’t keep his distance. Handsome, though. Shea began to wonder if her small circle of women would be loyal, after all. His dark skin gleamed, as thought it were lit from the insides. And the proof of the fire inside could be seen in the glow of his eyes. The Shanganese women would look at him and think of gods. Shea thought of more than this, but she did think of it.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
On the second day, he’d visited her home. Moved right in. Brazen. The sight of his sleeping form sprawled out upon her own bed choked her. Though she knew she’d swept the the floor and had cleaned out her few possessions, she’d underestimated his interest in Senkara. She hadn’t bargained on his intent to remain.
From the looks of him, he was a naturalist of sorts, and smart enough to find some evidence of her: a single strand of hair, perhaps. A scrap of paper. Stray threads from machine woven fabric. She would have overlooked something, and he would detect it and know it didn’t belong. He might even identify her national origin and be watching for her now.
It occurred to her that she might hasten the Barronite’s departure by offering him a little assistance. Help him fill his journals and head along home to publish his work. In the short term, he was staying put, but it was a small island. Meeting him was inevitable, so she'd make sure the meeting happened on her own terms.
*
Morning hadn’t broken, but Shea awakened early, curtesy of Artemis’ growing need to go night prowling. Between Artemis and the Barronite, she’d had little sleep over the past ten days. Sleep inside the jungle growth was always plagued by mosquitoes. She absently scratched a fresh red lump upon her neck and another two upon her ankle.
Nearly full grown, Artemis stretched her feline body and pressed against her legs, purring. “You want a handout? Here. Take the last of the dried fish. It’s drawing bugs, anyway.” She tossed the cat the last of the fish, and her own stomach groaned. She hadn’t wanted to go out, lest she have to confront the new-comer, but now she would have to do something. It was time to quit hiding.
Shea packed her most private belongings on her person. The coms she couldn’t carry, and buried in a new location which she marked with coordinates. Even with Artemis, she wouldn't go unarmed. A knife lashed to a pole could be a fishing tool or a weapon. She took it and another utility knife and hiked down the mountain to the beach.
When her feet sank into the dry sand just inside of the jungle line, she left the path and crept toward the squatter from the back of her little dwelling. If she had to kill him, she wanted to make quick work of it.
Kneeling down on one bare knee, she peered through the darkness inside the layers of dried palm fronds. If he were sleeping, she could spear him through the chest. But before she could even adjust her vision to the hut’s darker interior, a dry voice spoke, “I’ve been wondering when you were going to return.”
Shea flinched at his golden eyes, blinking at her from within the blackness of the interior hut.
She rejoined, “I’ve been wondering when you were going to leave.”
The man stood to his full height. “Sorry to trespass.” His eyes widened as he took her in, then narrowed as he took in Artemis.
“My name is Sol--Monteson. I didn't expect an Arrowan. But I don’t believe in spreading hostilities to neutral territory. I’ll leave that up to you. For my part, we can be as friendly as you want to be.”
Shea nodded at this. “Maybe we could start by your vacating my home.” She scratched the mosquito bite on her neck.
“I have a good ointment for bites,” Monteson offered. “The least I can do is offer you something for your hospitality.”
He joined her outside, and his eyes dilated upon his female visitor and her predator pet. “Pledge of good faith. Let me fish you up some breakfast.”
Shea accepted the ointment he’d offered, sniffing it and dabbing it upon her bitten ankle while Monteson packed up his belongings, exited the hut’s front door, and headed toward the beach to spear something for a breakfast.
She hadn’t invited the Arrowan to linger, but she let him use her fire pit and wood stash to cook his morning catch, a respectable squid, which he’d managed to spear without bursting the ink sack, a feat she hadn’t managed on her own until quite recently. He had obviously speared squid before.
She watched to see how Monteson would prepare it.
He cut the tentacles off first. and then made several long vertical cuts along the cylinder shaped body. Gently, he slid the central ink sack out from its fleshy casing. The exterior flesh, he flattened upon a rock and cut into strips, scoring them cross-wise with a kitchen utility knife. Finally, he tossed the tentacles and squid into a heated iron skillet with some oil and a generous sprinkling of salt.
Monteson was a much better cook than she, and the aroma of the roasting squid made her mouth flood.
Removing the skillet from the coals, Monteson brought out a clean fork and offered it to her. She declined it at first, but when he insisted, Shea cleaned the fork, and an involuntary grunt of satisfaction rose from her throat. Quickly, she speared another morsel of squid and tossed it into Artemis’s mouth. Monteson grinned, and impaled a piece with his fishing spear. They ate like that, until one piece remained between them. They both looked at it ,and Monteson made an open handed gesture for her to take it. Shea forked it into her mouth.
The Barronite was at best a nuisance, but he could cook. “Thank you for breakfast.”
“Thank you for lending me your home.”
“I hope you don’t plan on staying.”
His amber eyes widened, and Shea smiled at this. The predatory kind would have suggested sharing it.
“No, no. I’m sorry I imposed at all.”
It was definitely too small for the three of them.
“I camp remote to the village out of respect, but they’ve accepted me as a close neighbor. If you intend to stay, you’ll have to earn your own welcome. There’s good beach around the southwest side of the island. It’s a bit of a hike to the fresh water spring from there, but you probably came supplied with a few empty skins for storage.”
The Barronite nodded. "I promise to leave you a wide berth. But do you mind if I visit occasionally? I’ll cook you dinner for language lessons.”
Shea Wharncliffe was an intelligence collector—not a soldier. By training, she spotted, assessed and developed targets. She didn’t usually need to shoot and kill them. If Sol Monteson were working for Grater Barren’s military, then their relationship would come with considerable risks, but this risk was part of her job. Headquarters might have different ideas, but for now, Shea liked Sol Monteson’s cooking, his mosquito ointment, and the casual way his lips pulled into an expression of amusement. He was unarmed, but for fishing equipment, and though he was well built and ought to be able to out grapple her, she was confident in her training and access to ley force. Besides. She also had Artemis. Shea wasn’t worried he would turn aggressive.
He gave her a tentative glance. “I said I’d cook in exchange for language lessons, but I’d be your slave for a formal introduction to the locals.”
She laughed open mouthed at this. “The locals don’t believe in slavery.”
“Very decent of them, but that does me no good. I have to offer something for your service.” Monteson’s voice was casual, almost teasing. Shea liked it.
“We’ll keep it as an unsettled, and I’ll collect on your debt when I find something good you can offer me in return.”
Monteson grinned easily, apparently pleased to be indebted. Her Arrowan origin might only increase his pleasure. Not Shea. She nursed plenty of hatred in her Arrowan breast. Training which taught her to befriend a target didn’t cancel her prejudices—though it twisted them and her antagonism mingled oddly with the sense of ease that familiarity always invited. She had learned to like one or two Barronites that she'd worked against before--liked and even admired. This Barronite had the same challenge to him. She would have to draw lines, and honor them strictly. She wasn’t worried. In fact, her pulse faintly accelerated with the idea.