The SS Serendipity was abuzz with fervour when land came into view. Trosyn spent more time out on the deck, staring at the distant strip of green in the blue expanse. The sailors passed around the spyglass, calling out landmarks, but to Trosyn it was all foreign and meaningless.

"Guess we'll be rid of you soon," came a voice. Trosyn did not look, but was aware of movement in her peripheral view. Hands, cloth, a grease smudged face. It was all she needed to know that the engineer spoke to her.

"Will the Serendipity be going in for drydock, Filmon?" Trosyn asked, ignoring his remark.

"Not this time, no. She's got a few more voyages in her." Filmon said, leaning on the taffrail, the soiled rag in his hand fluttering in the wind. "T'aint your fault you are what you are, but you've been unlucky. Storms, sicknesses, mysterious deaths."

This time Trosyn looked over at the engineer, an arched eyebrow worn and weary from its over employment. This time the engineer stared straight ahead, not looking at the redhead beside him. Trosyn narrowed her eyes and tried to focus on the land in the distance. "The cook?"

"Died early this morning. He was a friend. I'm not nearly as superstitious as the sailors, but they got it right. You're a hex." Trosyn could not help but smile, wondering how the engineer would respond if he knew she had the opportunity to stay on as the Captain's wife. But there was no sense to rake up that pile of dead leaves.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Trosyn said, quickly sobering up as she clasped her hands together. The engineer remained silent for a moment or two, his face grim. Finally he straightened up, shaking out his rag before tucking it into his belt and walking away. Trosyn watched him go, the few wisps of her red hair that fell out from her cap blowing in the sea breeze.

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"We will be arriving in Floratti soon. I suppose you won't consider just telling us how you ended up in the sea, will you Red?" Baldovo asked when the three of them gathered on the bow, the setting sun slightly to their right. It cast a brilliant golden glow on the rolling waves, its presence causing the scudding clouds to slow and blush.

"I could, but it won't make much sense," Trosyn responded, squatting down to sit on a low lying crate.

"Eh, excuses, excuses," Baldovo dismissed. He took off his coat, despite the encroaching cool air, and laid it over a coil of rope upon which he sat, crossing his legs. Volente watched this and reflexively turned up his collar, drawing his coat tighter about himself. His nose was already turning red.

"We don't have much time left," Colto observed, the loose fitting sleeves of his shirt billowing in the wind. Even in the cold he seemed unflappable.

"Yes, tell us what happened with Creena," Volente inquired with enthusiasm that bespoke his eagerness to move the narrative away from Benold and Trosyn as a couple. Certainly not because he was jealous. Baldovo let out a mocking snort but said nothing to Volente, his lifted eyebrows and knowing smile communicating enough.

Alright. I won't bore you with more of my domestic bliss.

I realised that I'd always loved Benold, but the nature of that love just shifted over time. But then I learned that he had finally caved to Sintol's plans to deal with the Unseelie Eye, despite my advice against it, I was hurt.

The Lienog had became a lot more hostile. I felt somewhat responsible. Frequent reports of skirmishes, with damages to life and livelihoods, reached me. But I was kept far away from most of it, in my gilded cage.

The clever Lienog feinted an attack on the town. When Benold went to assist in its defence, a larger force swarmed his estate. Benold's guards were overwhelmed, his fields raided, and his estate plundered. I stood in my room and watched the chaos going on about me, knowing eventually they would reach where I was. I was oddly calm. I loved Benold, but I knew he deserved this. His staff didn't, and I felt for them. I heard the maids scream. I heard the servants shout at each other, trying to barricade what they could. When the fighting reached outside my door, I just waited for my fate. I'd made my bed, I needed to lie in it.

I was surprised when it was Kerran who busted the door open. Our eyes met, and for a moment his cruel smirk convinced me that he was going to kill me. He could see I was not the lowly slave I had been before, clad in fine silks and jewellery. I was 'one of them'. I held my hands up in surrender, but then said I was worth more alive than dead. He was wary of me, but I convinced him that I may be worth ransoming.

I was bound and brought back to the leader of the raiding party. I had hoped it would be Asion, but it was not. It was a tall man who also wore a wolf mask. Where Asion's wolf furs were gray, his was black. He knew me by reputation and praised Kerran for securing me.

I was asked many questions. There were some I answered. But then there were some I did not, and I was beaten. I don't remember everything they asked, but I was careful to keep certain truths about myself secret, as well as not to expose too many of Benold's weaknesses. I wanted him humbled, not broken. This may seem cruel coming from someone who loved him, but I kept my emotions and sense of justice entirely separate. I gave them as much information as I could, however, to help them recover Creena. I even suggested using me as a trade for her.

Sadly, this plan was initially rejected. I was stuck on the sidelines of another bloody conflict. And in some ways, I felt I had been a catalyst. But maybe these events would have turned out this way whether I was there or not. I'm not sure which thought distresses me more. The responsibility for the horrors, or the idea that I made no difference at all.

I learned from listening to talk in the camp that Creena was their wisewoman's granddaughter, and particularly gifted in sensing and communicating with spirits. She was being trained up to take her grandmother's place as the spiritual guide of their tribe. This was a very important role, and it made sense why they were willing to die for her. But I soon realised that Creena and I were more intertwined than I could have imagined.

A woman with red hair much like my own came to the tent I was kept in. She introduced herself as Creena's mother, saying she had to see me for herself. And when she did, she began to weep. I thought, perhaps, it was because I had brought them news of Creena, but it went deeper than that. She began asking me about my heritage, and I told her I knew none of it. I was an orphan. The woman wrapped her arms about me and continued to sob.

"The remorseful spirits led you here," she told me. I told her that, no, slavers brought me there. She smiled and shook her head. "They can't see it, but I see it. You are my firstborn! Not that other child who grew sicker and sicker. I always knew she was a changeling! When Creena was born, I made sure to never leave her side!"

I didn' know what to think. If I had been taken by the spirits, how did I end up in Ayokonia, where the spirits had been smothered by iron? Though if I had been spirited away it might explain some of my unusual gifts. But I was not entirely convinced, and I don't think the rest of her tribe were either, as someone soon came in and gently, but firmly, led her out. I was given a scathing look as if I had encouraged her to believe that.

It did make me wonder if we were related, but perhaps more distantly. I tried asking about that family line, if they'd had anyone disappear or go to the mainland, but none would give me a straight answer. Were these my people? Had I finally found a home? Other than Creena's mother, no one else thought so.

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They failed to recover Creena and they decided to try negotiation instead. At this point I was doubtful that Commander Slacht would even consider a trade. Not after the blood toll that had been accrued. To my surprise, I was informed that I was to be traded back, but I did not get my hopes up. Instead, I was filled with a sense of dread.

We came to the meeting place, the same clearing in the forest where Benold and I had spoken with Asion. Dubura, that's the black wolf warrior, conducted the exchange. I was expecting to see Benold there, but instead Sintol led a contingent. The Lienog demanded proof of Creena. They brought a small litter closer, and pulled a body out of it. It was Creena, but she was not alive. Howling in outrage, the Lienog attacked. The guard holding me pressed a knife to my throat to slit it, but suddenly fell. There was an ambush from behind. Again I had hoped to see Benold. But he was not leading the second party either.

The fight was bloody. Dubura fought with the brutality and tenacity of a wounded beast, and the other warriors gave him a wide berth as he was as likely to strike ally as foe in his frenzied state. But he wasn't the only unruly force in those woods. I could feel the spirits' anguish turning to rage. I tried to warn everyone to withdraw, but I was not heeded. Death was feeding some dark force, allowing it to grow in strength. By the time I heard the howling, I knew it was too late. Shadows appeared between the trees, taking form of shaggy black dogs with burning embers for eyes, and teeth so long they could not fully close their mouths.

Sintol's men were slaughtered. Every attempt to strike the monsters that beset them ended in the creatures blinking out and reappearing somewhere else in a puff of inky smoke. Sintol fled, leaving the rest of his men to die. Then to my astonishment, the largest of these beings pounced upon Dubara, tearing out his throat. The rest all howled and piled upon his remains, devouring him.

The warriors stood by and let this happen to their leader, but were unafraid for themselves. What happened there remains a mystery to this day. To me, at least. The two warriors left standing reverently collected Creena's body, but left me behind, still bound. I begged them to release me and take me back with them, but I was ignored.

I was in a field of blood. The dogs devoured every last body, lapped up every last drop of blood. They moved about me as if I were invisible to them. I was shaking and terrified. I wanted to beg for their help, but I did not want to pay the price they would likely exact. The black dogs dissipated into a mist as the spirits no longer had the power to maintain their physical forms. And I was truly alone.

It took me a while to free myself from the ropes binding my wrists and ankles. By then all I had on was the slip I'd been wearing under my dress when I was taken, soiled with sweat, dirt, and blood. And it was getting late, I was getting cold, and my feet were bare. Wandering through a forest full of unsettled spirits was a horrifying experience. I could feel them stalking me, toying with me. Sensed their mocking, their curiosity, their hostility. All of it. What kept them at bay, I do not know. And when I felt something grab me from behind, I shrieked.

While I had expected some ghostly hand to be on my shoulder, it was quite human. I turned and saw Sintol, who was injured but somehow had outran the hounds. "Help me... I know I've been going in circles... it's them isn't it?" he entreated.

Disorienting people was a common practice of spirits who wish to draw out the torment of their victims. I was tempted to pull away and leave Sintol to his fate, but then I noticed the gun he had in his hand. Using my ability to see past illusions, and his knowledge of the terrain, we made our way out and into the farms at the outskirts of town.

"Where is Benold?" I finally asked.

"Moping at the fort. I'll bring you to him," Sintol said. I'd never seen him look so serious. But after what he'd seen, perhaps he was realising that he was playing with a fire whose burns could not be healed. There was something grave that almost changed his entire demeanour as he went to the first farm house, and demanded use of their horse and cart.

Soon we were back at the fort. I should have known better than to trust Sintol. No, I didn't trust him, but I let hope that he saw the error of his ways cloud my judgement. I was not brought to Benold. I was instead restrained once again and taken to the dungeon. "You can finally repay your debt..." was all he said, though I did catch just the slightest hesitation. Maybe even regret, before he left.

I was too exhausted to dwell on my situation for much longer and slept. In the morning my cell was opened, and I kept hoping it would be Benold, come to set me free. It was not. Instead a guard and a man in robes I had never seen before took me out. I was brought into a room with a large altar in the centre, and lit candles all around.

"This is the replacement?" a deep voice asked.

"Yes."

"We must hurry. The Wild One is close to breaking free."

I was stripped down and then placed in robes with a very rough texture. I asked them what they were planning, but was ignored. Anything I said was ignored. And my attempts to fight them were easily quashed. I felt something present, something that gave me a sense of foreboding. I could feel a caged animal, waiting to be released. And I had a strong suspicion that this host or sacrifice Creena spoke of was what was about to happen to me.

I was stretched out on the stone altar. They chanted and waved various props over me, such as stag's horns or feathered wands. It is very surreal to think back, and the recollection is becoming fuzzy. It really feels as if it happened to someone else. I can almost see myself, staring at the ceiling trying not to cry, as these men surrounded me, performing their ritual. They gave me cuts on each of my arms, my blood filling the channels and dripping into vessels. But death was not the aim, for they staunched the wounds after enough had bled. I was feeling dizzy and was on the verge of passing out when I felt that presence getting nearer and nearer. I heard it shrieking in anger. It was being brought to me against its will.

Then there was a crash and the door came open. A loud bang rang in my ears and one of the robed men sank to his knees. Another boom and a second fell. I could not see what was happening, and I was struggling to maintain consciousness. The spirit raged and I felt a searing pain in my abdomen. A mark was burnt just below my navel. Then there was a sudden, I don't know what you'd call it, a sort of release of power that overwhelmed me and knocked me out.

"I know it's cold, but you are vibrating like a tuning fork, Volente," Baldovo remarked, reached over to place a steadying hand on his fellow researcher, as if by doing so he could still him. Volente crossed his arms, his cheeks and nose quite red from the chill, and the handkerchief had been liberally employed to catch the offending nasal drip.

"I'm fine," Volente weakly insisted, fooling no one.

"Well I am feeling quite worn out. Keeping myself from feeling the emotions of these memories is exhausting. Perhaps we ought to stop there." Trosyn admitted, her shoulders sagging and elbows resting upon her knees.

"Oh my, you needn't hold back. You've been through some harrowing things I could only dream of," Volente said, placing a cold hand on her shoulder. She did not respond, staring at the deck in silence.

"Yes, it is like a dream, and I wonder how much of it is true. Were you ever going to tell us how you wound up on our side of the Blazing Crescent?" Baldovo asked. This caused Trosyn to look up, her gray eyes reflecting the nascent moonlight.

"Tomorrow morning. We'll still have time before we disembark."

"Oh, will you? Because you've really been stringing us along this whole voyage," Baldovo said, getting to his feet. He whipped his coat off the rope pile.

"Surely she couldn't have made all of that up," Volente challenged. He looked at Trosyn, waiting for her to nod and agree with him. She said nothing and instead went back to staring straight ahead of her, as if in a daze. "Trosyn? Trosyn, tell us it's all been true."

Trosyn lifted her chin, looking at Volente as he crouched in front of her, shivering. A small smile touched Trosyn's lips. "It's all been true."

"Well she could tell me she was a goddess and I wouldn't care so long as I learn how she got here," Baldovo said as he shrugged on his waist coat. "And we never did hear about Baron Thing or how she ended up in the Loyalist army. I don't suppose there will be time to explain that."

Trosyn shook her head, grunting as she pushed herself to her feet, legs shaking a moment until she steadied herself. "No. But then, there will always be things left unknown."

"That's not an acceptable answer to a scientist," Baldovo retorted. "Ah, we'll see what offering you have for us tomorrow morning. Come on Volente, let's get you in and warmed up. It's painful to look at you." Baldovo gave Volente a hand up, and slung a good natured arm about the shivering man's slender shoulders. Baldovo began guinding Volente away, who looked over his shoulder at Trosyn as he walked away, then looked ahead so as not to trip.

"You think it's in you, don't you?" Colto asked, causing Trosyn to jump. She'd nearly forgotten he was there, as he was even quieter than usual. He had been standing against the railing, staring out at the silvery reflection of the moon on the water.

"What?"

"The spirit. Your womb. That's what Creena meant by host," Colto said without turning around, Trosyn's eyes went wide as she fixated on Colto's back. She walked over to an empty spot beside him, gripping the railing with her chilled fingers.

"Do you believe in spirits, then?" Trosyn asked by way of avoiding the question.

"Maybe. But not in Lomany," Colto's deep voice seemed at home in the darkness with its richness and weight. The two stood in silence, letting the night wash over them. Without answering Colto's question, Trosyn turned and walked away, cradling her stomach.