Day Four

As dawn painted the horizon, Wilran eased herself down from the hammock, glancing through the small porthole where stars flickered against a dark blue sky slowly yielding to warm shades of orange. The moon hung faintly, ready to vanish in the sun's first light, and she paused, quietly basking in its glow.

Thank you for this day, glory divine, she thought, completing her morning ritual of gratitude to Chandeidra. Ever since she'd dedicated herself to the Goddess, each new day felt like a fresh blessing—a reminder of her purpose and the power of creation that flowed through her. Her new life was a gift. Like all gifts, she needed to show her appreciation to the Goddess by constantly expressing her thoughts of joy, peace, and adoration.

Wilran surveyed the dimly lit cabin. Sixteen hammocks swayed around her, five occupied by a new set of sailors who had quietly replaced the previous night's crew. Not that it bothered Wilran, it was a ship after all. Sailors couldn't go to sleep whenever they wanted to, and even she understood the importance of working in shifts.

Not far off, Gamma lay peacefully asleep in her hammock, bathed in a gentle yellow glow. Wilran took a small step in her direction, but paused as soon as she realized the newest of the ship's passengers was missing, absent from the place she last seen her.

Where's Zuna?

Truthfully, Wilran was worried about the poor satyr. She didn't exactly consider the two of them friends, but next to Gamma, Zuna was the closest thing she had to one. She was hurt and saddened at the sight of the female who had stumbled upon them in the desert battered, bruised, and severely dehydrated. It had taken most of the night just to pry even the smallest of details from the poor, soul none of which Wilran found helpful. Worried something more sinister was going on she left the lower deck, making her way topside. As she passed the hold, she thought she heard a giggle, but it could easily have been a squeak from one of the many rats that gnawed on the dry goods that were stored for the long voyage.

When she opened the door topside, her nostrils filled with the scent of the salty spray. It wasn't her favorite smell in the world but it had come to grow on her. Though it had no comparison to anything else in her memory banks, she likened it to the unknown and the unknown was another opportunity to explore the gift of creation the Goddess had given her.

Thank you for the ocean, my love, she mused, absorbing the endless expanse of water stretching before her. Her gaze landed on Zuna, sitting by the taffrail, wrapped in a blanket, eyes distant.

"Zuna?" Wilran approached, soft concern in her voice. "You alright?"

At first, the satyr kept to herself. If she had been laying down, Wilran would have assumed she fell asleep. A slight breeze blew her thinned hair around her horns, but other than that, the satyr hadn't moved. Wilran sat next to her in an attempt to alert Zuna to her presence, but it wasn't until she almost spoke again did Zuna break her silence.

"I thought I'd never see it again."

"The ocean?"

"Yes," Zuna sighed. "Ironically, it's never been my favorite. I've never been a good swimmer, boats make me uneasy, and I've never really cared for fish. But somehow, away from it all, I found myself missing even the small things."

"We always think about the big things. However, I think it's the little things which we miss most. We don't take big things for granted," Wilran said nodding in agreement. She wasn't sure if she believed her own words, but by the look she caught on the side of Zuna's face, she figured a comfort was better than her opinion.

"If I make it back to Esha, I think I'll build a house near the shore. I've given enough to the Sisterhood and the Beachwick. It's time to lay down my sword."

That's going to complicate Thepa's plans. Perhaps a different topic. Wilran thought but kept the worry to herself. She didn't want to put the added stress on Zuna. She could already tell by the scars that covered the satyr's body she had long lost any will to fight.

"Did you share this with the Matriarch?"

A spark of anger lit Zuna's eyes. "I think...the Matriarch will understand."

"Of course," Wilran nodded, catching Zuna's restrained bitterness. "But I'm here if you ever want to talk."

Zuna glanced away as the morning sun finally broke over the horizon, casting away the last of the stars. As the crew stirred all around her, the rugged exterior of the Anchor barking orders, Zuna asked, "What do you think of Sister Thepa's friend?"

That was unexpected.

Wilran blinked. "Rory?"

"Rory, Adreanna, whoever," Zuna said. "What's your take on her?"

Wilran hesitated, recognizing the complexity of the question. "It depends. Why do you ask?"

"After the Galaks... questioned me," Zuna murmured, her voice taut with lingering pain, "I dreamed of her. She stood before the Beachwick gates, raining fire down on the city. I watched as matrons scattered for cover, only to die. No matter who stood up to the elf, it always ended in the same gruesome death. Then, I would make my stand against her... and every time, I failed. In the morning, I wake up sobbing and find myself vowing vengeance for the woman I barely know. Even now, I want to kill her."

"It's just a dream." Wilran answered, but truthfully she wasn't sure. Between what Delphi had told her in the frozen north and her insights into being a follower of Lilith, she was sure Adreanna and Rory were at the center of it.

Things are going to get a whole lot worse before they got better,' she thought. Maybe the attack on Goldale was just the beginning of Adreanna's plan.

"Maybe it is. Still, I can't keep watching my fellow matrons die every night. Even now that we're miles away from the Galak stronghold, I still find it difficult to will myself to sleep."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Wilran's eyes widened in concern. "You haven't slept at all?"

Wordlessly, Zuna shook her head, her face telling the story. Her eyes were bloodshot, with deep bags beneath them, each one a testament to her struggle to keep herself together.

"Why don't you try to get some sleep?" Wilran offered gently. "I could sit with you if you like."

Can we just stay here?" Zuna murmured with a yawn. "I don't think I can handle going below deck again right now."

"Of course, whatever you need," Wilran replied, sliding an arm around Zuna's shoulders. As they sat together in silence, she silently prayed to Chandeidra, asking her to grant Zuna a sense of calm. Moving her hand in gentle, rhythmic circles along Zuna's back, Wilran allowed her magic to build until she finally pressed her palm flat, sending soothing energy into Zuna's weary form.

Thank you, Goddess, for this chance to help one of your younglings, she prayed.

Gently, she laid Zuna down on the main deck, careful to slide her close to the taffrail. She'd seen plenty of sailors rest there during their time at sea, and she knew the wayward satyr wouldn't be bothered. As she made her way towards the poop, she saw Gamma coming towards her. A glowing smile lit up her face with an aura of bright red, radiating like a beacon.

bet I could see her like that from a mile away.

Wilran returned the smile knowing it wasn't meant for her. "You look happy today."

Gamma's smile widened revealing the whites of her teeth. "I just spoke to Bidant. He's safe in Clayborn. Even escorted a political prisoner there."

That explains the glow.

It had taken Wilran a while to figure out each color she could see plastered over her friend's aura had a significant meaning. As best as she could figure out, the colors had something to do with Gamma's mood. Often when she was with Bidant or thinking about Bidant the color was red. Sometime in the last few days it grew a bright red which still complexed her, but now that she assumed the colors were safe, it didn't bother her as much as it first did.

As time went on, she grew to see other colors associated with common emotions. Yellow for happy, like the time the two of them had walked through a field of flowers. Pink when she gave a gold coin to a beggar on the street outside the Clayborn docks. That one was hard, but Gamma's warm smile and disposition made Wilran think it was associated with compassion Most often, Gamma was in soft blues which she believed exemplified the best of Gamma: patience, trust, and loyalty. It was no wonder Gamma loved the goddess so much, it was as if Gamma were a living mirror of her divine radiance.

The goddess' perfect servant. They're both well suited for each other.

However, when it came to the colors, Wilran still had a problem. While she had come to understand the colors, she didn't know why she was seeing them or what she was supposed to do with the insight of somewhat knowing Gamma's person feelings. Things became even more complicated when she realized it wasn't just Gamma who radiated the colors. By the time they had reached Clayborn from the frozen north, she had come across a few individuals who also shared in their various hues, including the male satyr they had picked up in the Beachwick. Most lacked the radiance of Gamma, but Wilran assumed that had more to do with her familiarity of the person than what they had in common.

As of yet, Wilran failed to act on any of the information provided to her Even now as she smiled at the red glow of Gamma's aura, one part of her was quietly saying just tell her while the other screamed it was unnatural.

"Will he be joining us in Lightmount?" Wilran asked, bringing her thoughts away from her own personal turmoil.

Gamma's smile faded, and her glow shifted to a pale gray.

Sadness? Maybe worry, Wilran guessed. I think I'm getting the hang of this.

"No, unfortunately," Gamma replied. "He reported back to his Order when he arrived. They've got him on standby while the main forces meet Lightmount in the rockland fields."

"We could use his help," Wilran sighed. "Especially now that we might be down one. Zuna's...not herself."

Gamma's aura turned pink, her brow furrowing. It was the small facial features that helped Wilran connect the colors to emotions. They changed as often as Saintians did. "Poor thing, but maybe for the best. Did you get a chance to talk to her?"

"Yes. She's just tired, hurt, and angry. I think she's just mad at the world—and maybe at Thepa."

At the mention of Thepa, Gamma's aura turned white, a shift Wilran had noticed when others were curious or questioning, like when Fokin had asked about the mission before they left for the desert.

"Have you seen her today?" Gamma asked. "She wasn't in the sleeping quarters?"

"No, but Roan's in the cargo hold. Maybe they're in there. Want to go check?"

Gamma shook her head, her expression softening. "Maybe later. I think they could use some time alone. She's awfully smitten with him."

Obviously, she thought. It's written all over her face and his aura. She considered saying as much, but then she would have to explain the colors.

"They do look cute together. Do you think he feels the same?"

"Definitely," Gamma replied, her aura turning a warm orange.

Hmm, that's a new one—maybe confidence?

"Well, we can ask her later if you're curious. For now, though, I'm starving."

The two of them made their way back downstairs towards the galley. As they did, Wilran listened to Gamma update her on Bidant, noticing the colors shifting over her aura as she spoke. Though the exchange could have only been a few dozen words due to the Message Spell, Gamma spoke with such passionate detail, Wilran knew it had to be from a place of love.

That's when it occurred to her.

Gamma is in love. Better yet, Gamma understands she's in love, which explains the brightness of the now red and yellow hues I keep seeing. Oh, I'm so happy for her, thank you Goddess for this wonderful gift of friendship.

"Which way?" Gamma asked, eyeing a pair of doors near the sleeping quarters.

"Down this hall, the captain said. Come on, follow me."

"He seems pretty smitten with you too," Gamma noted. "Anything I should know?"

White. Maybe quizzical? Probative? Inquisitive? This one's hard too. She considered all possible meaning as she turned the knob and started to open the door.

"I think he's just..." she began, but as she opened the door, her words died. She froze, then quickly shut the door, barring Gamma from entering. Her heart raced as an uncomfortable sweat broke across her brow.

"What's wrong?" asked Gamma. Her aura flashed a spectrum of colors as if she herself could not fix on how she should be feeling about Wilran's own action. Flashes of pink, white, gray, blue, green, and orange moved so fast and flashed so bright they gave Wilran a headache. She closed her eyes, but then she could see the vision she didn't want to see, remember, or think about ever again. The whole thing made her feel weird, like she had caught someone in an iniquitous act that was too great to speak of.

"Wilran, what's going on? What's behind the door?"

"Uhh ..." Wilran fumbled, scrambling for any excuse other than the truth. The truth made her uncomfortable. Just as she debated making a run for it, the door opened, much to own cringe.

Out stepped Thepa, wrapped only in a blanket. Her hair was the most disheveled Wilran had ever seen it and a small bruise had started to form on the base of her neck. She greeted the two of them with a look that Wilran could have described as embarrassed, yet satisfied.

"Hey, what's up?"

At first, Gamma tilted her head quizzically and raised an eyebrow as her hue turned purple. Puzzlement grazed her face, as if Thepa had stepped out her own room and not a public place for cooking. However, as she started connect the dots, realization dawned on the poor human, her now red hue brightly clashed with the different shades of red and purple embarrassment plastered all over her face.

"We were just looking for food," Gamma mumbled.

"Oh." Thepa's reply came with a high-pitched squeak. "Give me a few minutes, and I'll join you—in the hold, maybe."

With that, the disheveled satyr disappeared back into the room, leaving Wilran and Gamma standing awkwardly in the hall. As they turned to leave, Wilran muttered a final prayer to the Goddess, her tone dry with sarcasm.

Thanks a lot for that, your grace.