Ced put his body into the Larush stance. It was unusual for sabre duelling, but with him, everything was always unusual. Ivy answered with a Povone. She’d foreseen an exchange of blows. Ced would move to the right to try to push her against the sacks of merchandise in an attempt to limit her footing backwards. Cornered, she’d had no other option but to attack frontally, something that always ended in victory for him. It was not going to happen. She was faster, stronger, had much more endurance, and after endless training with the different types of styles, she was finally as knowledgeable. Her plan was to continue the fight until he, tired and frustrated, would make a fatal mistake. It was the only option to beat him for the first time. After all, Ced might be limited to his humanity, but he was inarguably much more experienced than she was.
The clashes of sabres came as predicted, but her sword master moved to the left. His quick and precise movements moved his sword without rest or regard. Ced was aware his chances of winning depended on how fast he could deliver the winning blow. The two blunt blades hit each other, dropping sparks of heated metal at each blow. Giving everything she'd learned in months, Ivy stood her ground, weathering the relentless barrage of attacks. Ced’s breath began to tight. Hers remained soft and controlled. Her movements were light. His, clumsy. His steps, graceful at first, wobbled. Her own, light and thoughtless, tangled.
“Ha! Knew you didn’t see it!” Ced said as Ivy hit the floor.
She raised the tip of the sword, menacing. After moving to a proper position of defence from the ground, her free hand rushed to speak. “What I didn’t see was a winning strike. I’m kneeling, not surrendering.”
Ced put his hands on the lower back and tightened to a stretch. “Damn, I’ll do it then. I’m exhausted.” As he moved away, considering the duel finished, Ivy’s attention tilted towards a rope that was not there the last time she checked. AhChin, the Rigg’s nanny, was delighted by little Lana’s first steps and her assistant, a young Ujan girl with little experience with toddlers, was struggling to keep in line the rest of the workers' offspring. Shien, one of the older kids, had slipped out of her sight to enjoy the show and sitting around a pile of merchandise -including moorings- was displaying a grin of naughtiness that was proof of his involvement in Ivy’s fall. With the satisfaction of a thief that has never been caught, he returned to Chin's side as nothing had happened.
“Here, this is for you,” Ced said, tossing a long, wrapped bulk. After unfolding, Ivy found herself holding a straight Hanan sword. Scabbard and handle were of a black shiny wood and the lobed hilt, same as pommel, locket and chape were made of wavy shaped copper of exquisite craft. When drawing, the double-edged blade mirrored her astonishment. The root was slightly made into a ricasso and filled with a carved pattern of round waves, resembling the style of the copper finishes. “I told them you were more into sea critters. But they had no idea how to draw anything that was not tigers and dragons so they just carved waves.”
Ivy gently moved the blade from side to side, delighting in the shines of its perfect surface. Her birth day hadn’t arrived yet, but that didn’t seem to matter to her Aunt Marie, who had given her the pretty crimson-embroidered red sash she was wearing. Neither did Ced, who was now coddling her with the prettiest sword she’d ever seen.
“It’s a great sword for starving and cutting techniques,” Added Ced with a prideful voice. “You tend to cross styles even when the sword blade doesn't allow it, so I think this weapon is perfect for you. It can also be handled by hand and a half so you can take advantage of your strike force. It’s all you need, and all it needs from you is good care and a name.”
Her hand signed a trembling thanks, followed by the first thought that crossed her mind. “The waves are like a storm. Maybe Storm,...something? Seastorm?” Her eyes shifted from the weaving patterns to her sword mentor, waiting for some sign of the new name’s approval. Instead, Ced had turned his features of eternal positivity into a glooming stare to the void, while Boran, one of the younger rangers, was whispering in his ear news that were surely not welcomed.
“AhChin! All the kids to the Red Cardinal, now!” Ced shouted, grabbing Boran by the shirt to keep him at his side a bit longer. “All except Rangers on the shallow bottom barges, ready to sail to the lighthouse. Batteries and ships at the ready. Ivy, with me!”
She jerked, placing the sword between the folders of her sash so she’d be able to communicate more effectively with both hands. “New ships have arrived demanding a parley,” Ced said, not waiting for her questions. “I’m going to the Beluga. You go supervise the cannons.”
As he disappeared between columns of boxes, she strode up to the top floor dodging people rushing up and down. Sailors with merchandise, relatives with luggage and rangers with weapons, all hurried as if the news of trouble had reached their ears at once. Upon reaching the floor of the defences, the gunners, like an efficient watch mechanism, were already moving in chaotic precision. Some pushed packets of gunpowder and lead balls inside the gun tubes, others opening boxes of rifles and ammunition. The west side batteries were uncovered from the canvas and the barrel bungs were all thrown over the ground. The ten nines of the west row leaned out of an invisible wall that was nothing more than a few railings to prevent falls from the clumsy or careless, and turning over their wheeled carriages, they tilted their aim towards a group of ships that had recently arrived.
Watching how everything unfolded with enviable precision, Ivy wondered if she was really needed there or if Ced had pushed her into a corner where she wouldn't bother him. Daha, one of the gunner masters, threw a spyglass without hesitation, knowing for sure that with her speed and good reflexes, she would catch it easily. “Give me input on what’s going on out there!”
Climbing on the rail and out of the way of the bussy nest, the first thing she could report was the Ballerina arriving at anchor while the crew of the Beluga were raising sails for a rushed departure. Ced’s ship sailed without delay towards west, where a flotilla was turning suspiciously into a line that in Ivy's world, the world of the sea, meant only one thing: danger. The largest of the threatening newcomers was a three-decker ship of the line. A beast difficult defeat, although not impossible with numbers, experience and a little luck. The other two, smaller than frigates, were made of a grey metal. Not copper bottomed but full made iron hulls. A type of sea nightmare she had seen once in the far north. Ships no simple cannonball would even stain. Only explosive artillery was effective with ironclads, an ammunition that did not exist in the south. Those ships, no matter how well you outmanoeuvre them, would decimate the Kingdom navy bit by bit, one by one. "We need the wings flying now!" Ivy signed to Daha, as soon as he checked on her. Those ironclads weren't completely steam powered, and their two masts, along with the sails, were a weak point to take advantage of.
“Already in the air! Loaded with Fireballs and grenades.” Daha swelled with pride as he yelled. “ No rounds in the nines. Only chains targeting the masts and grapes targeting the crews. Those Northerner aberrations will regret their threats!"
Finding some calm in the upbeat cries of the Master gunner, Ivy tried to unwind her worries among the views below. The return of the Ballerina, her home for most of her life, bringing back her dear Uncle and friend, managed to erase for an instant all the troubles they were facing. Macha raised a greeting hand that she returned, with the gloomy thought the good times of their visit would be short if those ships remained in their waters much longer.
“Pirates?” one of the gunners asked his partner, both facing the ocean with their hands as a visor. Ivy, completely sure that no pirate from the south would dare even to sail near the domains of the Blue Kingdom, raised her monocle, seeking an explanation of why those inexperienced soldiers had come to such a foolish deduction. Her heart skipped a beat to the sight from the rounded glass. The sails rising over as a routine display for the parley were indeed the colours of piracy. A weird mixture of both. The black, the colour used to invite surrender, and the red, the announcement of no quarter given. Two meanings used usually in two different fabrics, there mixed together in one big flag framing a red monster whose tentacles danced to the sound of a background of darkness. Ivy’d like to scream their name with all her will. Warn the men of the danger it meant. But her throat could only make strange little noises that would scare everyone and nobody would understand. The vast majority of gunners and rangers, young lads who joined in recent months, did not have the slightest idea of what that flag represented. And some who knew, perhaps the oldest and most experienced, little really knew of the true evil behind it.
Years ago when she was a little girl, the Brotherhood’s colours were the gold and silver of hope and saveguard. Those colours were gone with all their values. Those mercenaries were now an army without a kingdom. A group of rabid assassins and racketeers who abused the northerner kingdoms that had survived the Decimation without enough power to rebuild themselves. And that was all of them except the Red island.
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Like every time the squids crossed her life, she felt an overwhelming embrace of harsh feelings. All harmful and all mixed deep inside. Hard to digest. hard to vomit. Swamped and confused, she felt time slowing. Silently and punishing the monocle with a frustrated squeeze, her eyes fixed on the Beluga, sailing naively, unknown of the hell preparing to unfold at destination. Ivy didn't see the rows of hatches open. Nor the barrels sticking out of them. She, too, did not see in time the smoke suddenly emerging at the side of the ship. Spooked by the blast and unable to react, she became the spectator of the last moments of the Beluga. After a coward shot and a direct hit, what was left of Ced’s shooner smeared with the waves and quickly tilted toward a grave of salt water. To the terror she was witnessing, her throat tensed, but the shriek froze before coming to life.
“The top rows didn’t fire, brace!” someone yelled from behind. “Fire the nines! Fire!” Ivy jumped from the railings as the Rigg’s cannons spitted with rage. Her ears burned. “Load fellas! Load!” An arm dragged her to the ground as the nearest cannon was shot instead of shooting. The massive barrel spun fiersfully, crushing the floor at her side like a knife cuts through meat. The platform lurched to the rhythms of metal bending and wood splitting. Pieces of roof falling over. The same hand that pushed her to safety dragged her away from the floor hole. “Find your uncle and Marie, now!” shouted Daha. “Now!”
Ivy reacted without question. Her legs guided her without hesitation. Feet striding to the ramp in an instant, dribbling men desperately trying to fight back a treacherous attack. She wasn't halfway to the lower deck when the floor collapsed, holding her prisoner in a cage of a brokened ramp. Falling into her coffin, her ribs met a squared column and cracked. She retaliated to the sharp pain with an unrestrained punch, snapping the hardwood in two and leaving her knuckles raw.
Trapped, despair took over. Each kick, each push, seemed to tighten the deadly latch. All the feelings born with the vision of the kraken flag grew like foam in troubled waters. Frustration and anger grewing stronger than anything else, filling her thoughts completely. The reflection of being powerless once more. Of failing to her people once again. She surrendered, wishing she was weak enough to cry her despair out. ‘Breathe and dance. Just remember to breathe and dance.’ The old words of a friend breezed through her memories as a saving blow. ‘Only death has the power to defeat us.’ Pablo’s used to say. ‘If she has not touched you yet, swallow your troubles and keep moving!’
'You swore! Remember?’ her mind said with Pablo’s voice. ‘You swore you wouldn't fail anyone else! You said never again!' Pablo died because of her. AhRia too. The Kingdom was suffering because a silly little girl who was only concerned with hanging out with some stupid womaniser from Wei. A spoiled brat who just wanted to live her life no matter what others needed. No. She wasn’t like that anymore. And she was not the impulsive idiot who punched first and asked later, not that either.
With Pablo came the focus. The trap became a duel and the planks, her adversary. Her breaths reached for calmness, her hands for weak points. She pushed, but not to move aside an immovable wreck that was not going to, She did it to turn around. And as her body found a new position to the side, her feet reached to a new ground and her arms discovered a new aim. Her knee tensed against a weak spot and her hands pulled at the same time. A snap. Then another. Slowly, dancing against a mass of brokerage as a fencing opponent, she crawled her way to freedom. A victory that felt like a rebirth. ‘Good job, little devil. Good job,’ With Pablo's whisper fading away, she smirked with watery eyes, finding the courage to say farewell to a friend she had struggled to let go.
Out of the bulk of a former ramp, she stepped into the remains of the second floor, stopping briefly to check for blood. She found none, yet the pain at her side was a reminder of how fragile she was, no matter how skilled and inhumanely strong. Another injury to her collection, but like all of them, nothing that would stop her. Nothing would make her fail or surrender. Not anymore.
Creaks and groans followed her every step across a rubble-strewn floor that she could barely get over. Behind a jumble of junk that had been a warehouse, Ivy found Macha crawling desperately to the lower deck. Her friend, covered in dust, was dragging an unconscious Marie. The weight of her and the big bag around his shoulders were a load his limping legs were struggling to fight against. Struggling to gain a bit of ground with each desperate tug, and exhausted in doing so, he collapsed at the sight of her.
“She has a nasty cut on the head, and I think her arm is broken ,and… and” Macha stammered. “And maybe the leg, I’m not sure, the… the ‘’. Ivy didn't wait any further mumbling and flung Marie over one shoulder and the bag strap over the other. Both weights, burdens to carry for a simple human, were nothing to the strength of a freak. Bent, she continued to the following ramp, minding with care where to step next. Macha limped behind, chewing nonsense of retaliation and payback. He didn’t stop cursing and grumbling until they reached the boarding decks, and only when a shipyard man put Marie in the rowboat, did Ivy give an answer to his complaints. “Shut up and listen! You are leaving now!”
“No, no, we have to find-“ Ivy grabbed his shirt and yanked before hugging him tight. Gently she patted his back, receiving a hesitant caress in return. Then, she pushed him towards the boat with equal forcefulness. Her subjugation put Macha to a resignation. He knew how stubborn she was. Stubborn and determined. And Macha, just like her, had grown smart enough to know in a moment like that, no safety should be wasted arguing. “You take care of Marie. I’m going to find Em and bring him to the Ballerina. We will follow you north and meet at the lighthouse. This is no time to fight. It’s time to retreat.”
The Rigg shook to the return of its punishment and with a loud groan, the floor began to tilt. “Go!” she said, waving her arms impatiently towards a sea filled with small boats and other shallow draft ships, including the three rigged barges Ced had designed himself to sail big amounts of goods and people around the shallows of the maze. All of them, rushing away from the firestorm, were sailing to the intricacies of the Blue Kingdom reefs, to safety, knowing no red squid had the charts to follow.
Crossing a dock that had become an almost impassable path, she made her way towards the half side of a platform surrendering to the sea. Her duelling boots wet with water seeping between the floorboards. Barrels rolling in mindless runs and boxes falling from crumbling piles rose the stakes of an already difficult trek. An westerly breeze filled the air with the smell of gunpowder and burning wood. A battle smoke reached soon after, engulfing her like mist from the high mountains of Lei.
The raging battle turned into a fading noise. Without being able to see what was happening, Ivy could imagine the struggle of the Kingdom navy. Their ships, conscientiously prepared by Marie for months, were well equipped and their crews well trained. Yet, the Kraken ships were superior. And having slightly seen the other Tampra ships raise anchor just after the attack on the Beluga, it was assumed that the numerical superiority they had against the red Squids was a mirage. And that didn’t matter either. Ironclads were unsinkable.
Legs slow. Rising water and floating debris became a burden. Ivy had never minded not being able to talk like normal people but how much she wished she could call her uncle's name in that moment of need. She felt it well inside her heart that he needed her more than ever. With the water at her waist, she crawled over to where the Ballerina had moored. Her beloved ship was not there: She Didn’t follow the Rigg’s edge. If she did, the mooring lines would have dragged her partially underwater, still leaving visible masts. Either Em had released her or the compactness of the hulls resisted the drag and snapped the ropes. Whatever it was, the catamaran was gone.
With the clumsy skill of a shark trying to climb like a monkey, Ivy raised through a net hanging over the side. Away from the rising surface and the thickness of the mist, she grabbed the railing of the second floor. The broken bar doubled with the strength of her grip. Em’s ship was a few feets away, floating away out of the fire line. No cannonball had reached her. She was safe. Then, Ivy’s heart jumped with the realisation the sails were not down. The Ballerina was drifting away aimlessly. Without a captain.
Trying to find hope in her despair, She returned to the ground floor from a net silently willing to entangle her feet and delay the rescue of her uncle. After a jump and a shallow swim, she climbed the last boxes still standing together. The Rigg, anchored in a shallow sea, lurched as it hit bottom.
Ivy screeched like a sea creature. An unnatural tone that Em once described as the song of a whale. Her throat ached from the exertion of something she wasn’t ready for. She pushed her up with the struggle to sing again. This time, succumbing to the pain, only a soft gurgling came out. Em didn’t answer. Just creaks and groans from a dying structure and explosions streaking through the mist.
And just like that, the intrusive thoughts returned. Thoughts of defeat and death. Em, complaining of how unprepared they were, how vulnerable the Rigg was. Rangers and sailors questioning Marie’s blindness and Ced’s naivety. The failure in Lei, the failure in Ujan and the failure in Muet. All of them, all of her fault, leading to the disaster unfolding over them.
Ivy slapped her face, pushing away the whining little girl once and for all. What has happened cannot be changed. You can just learn from it. Ivy repeated to herself: Words learned that now became hers. Filling her lungs with a bold breath, she jumped. Em needed her. At the surface, she may have been a clumsy little monkey, half blind and mute. But The shark under the surface was not going to fail him. Not ever again.