Day Four (Evening)

"Not much longer," the Anchor said, leaning over the rail as he studied the darkening horizon. "We should be in Lightmount waters within the hour."

Wilran nodded, gazing out over the endless expanse the Achor's vessel glided on. The last light had vanished, and only the Goddess's moon gave a faint shimmer, enough to mark their way but a shadow against the radiance of the sun. If it wasn't for the Anchor letting her hold his compass, she wouldn't even know they were going east.

"Thank you for the passage, Captain. If all goes as planned, I suspect it unlikely we'll cross paths again."

The Anchor watched her a moment longer than expected, his voice dipping into regret. "A mighty shame lass. Sure I can't convince you to join my crew? If it's more gold you seek, I'm sure we can come to an accord. I'd hate to see you go. I've gotten accustomed to your presence."

It wouldn't be so bad, she thought. A sliver of temptation tugged at her—she could get used to a life at sea, and the Captain had his charms—but her Goddess's call led her to shore. Maybe when this was all over, she might find her way back to him.

Wilran smiled, allowing a hint of mischief to color her tone. "As I said Captain. The Goddess wills me elsewhere. As someone under authority, I'm sure you understand?"

"Under authority lass?" The Anchor answered in confusion. "I don't answer to the Crown. I served my conscription long ago. I dock where I please."

"I mean no disrespect." Wilran said. "But you serve at the pleasure of the sea. She is your mistress and you answer her call. It would be just as wrong for me to ask you to leave her as it would be for you to ask me to disobey my true love. The Goddess's will must come first."

The Anchor stroked his beard and gave her a long hard look. He raised his right eye as he assessed her words, but Wilran didn't need him to say anything. She knew they were true, even if he hadn't realized it yet.

"And if I told you I was ready to leave it all behind?"

She laughed, rolling her eyes. "Right, and what if I became a street performer in the middle of the Goldale senate? You can ignore the call of your mistress for a moment, but not for a lifetime. Eventually, you would run back. Better to avoid the heartache."

"You think too little of me," the Anchor pushed.

"And you think too little of both our hearts," Wilran countered, smiling faintly. "I'm flattered. In another life, maybe..." She paused, choosing her next words carefully.

Should I? I think I shall.

"If the Goddess wills it, I will return."

"And your Goddess wants you to follow that?" said the Anchor pointing behind her.

Wilran sighed. She didn't need to turn around to know. It was the main reason she was on the deck in the first place, not that she didn't mind the company. As she turned, she saw Gamma and Thepa were once again fighting for the fourth or fifth time that day. Honestly, she wasn't sure, she started to avoid both of them after lunch.

At first, she thought nothing was going to be said. A few minutes after the two of them left Thepa in the galley, Thepa had made her way to them decently dressed with provisions in hand. Then the three of them sat, mostly in silence, while an awkward tension grew. Gamma's aura had shifted from a calm blue to a stormy red Wilran had never seen before. For her part, Thepa tried to act natural and tried to keep a conversation going, but as Wilran watched Gamma's color change inside her, she wanted no part in it.

Did you sleep well?" Thepa asked, her tone overly casual.

"Yes," Gamma responded curtly.

"How's Zuna?"

"Resting."

"Did you get a chance to talk to Bidant?"

"He arrived in Clayborn this morning."

"Oh? Do you think he'll be able to help us?"

Gamma slapped her knee with a loud smack. "I can't believe you."

Here it comes, Wilran thought, bracing herself.

"I'm sorry?" Thepa asked, caught off-guard.

Gamma rounded on her. "Do you know how irresponsible you've been? As a leader, you should be more aware of what's appropriate."

Wilran could feel Thepa's eyes on her, but she kept her own gaze fixed on the floor. She might have been trapped in a conversation she wanted no part in, but that didn't mean she was going to engage in it.

"I'm sorry Gamma could you be—"

Gamma's voice rose, not at all tolerating Thepa's attempts to play coy. "Oh for El's sake, don't play innocent with us!". "We both know exactly what you were doing in that galley."

"I...don't think that's any of your business. So, please, spare me your self-righteousness."

"What if you end up with a youngling? Did you think of that? What will you do? We have responsibilities."

Please, Chandeidra, save me before I get dragged into this.

"And again, not that it's any of your business, but I'm twenty-five completions and the leader of a Sisterhood. I'm not some barely-conscription-aged girl who doesn't know better. I'm well within my right to do as I please."

Gamma, however, wasn't ready to let it go. "What about your future husband? Did you consider that?"

Thepa's face went cold, and her silence was a storm gathering force. Her body trembled, hands curling into fists, though she breathed deeply, visibly reining herself in. Wilran didn't need to see her aura to know the anger rolling through her satyr friend, each second pulling her closer to a breaking point.

"My people don't marry, in case you've forgotten," Thepa finally said, her voice a low, warning growl. "And let me say it one last time: IT IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS."

At that, Wilran made her escape, slipping away before either of them could drag her into the fallout.

"Well..." Wilran said to the Anchor, working to steer the conversation back to some semblance of calm. "The goddess's book says that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope. And hope," she mused, "is exactly what Sainta needs right now."

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The Anchor burst into laughter, a booming sound that turned the heads of every deckhand save the arguing pair. His mirth was infectious, and Wilran found herself laughing along, briefly feeling lighter despite the tension.

"Aye, my crew knows that tale well enough. We call it the Judge and the Judge Not. Seems Sainta would be happier if more folks minded their own."

"I don't know," Wilran said thoughtfully. "Gamma might have a point or two. It makes me wonder what our goddess teaches on matters like these. I'll have to study up later."

The Anchor leaned back, a glint of curiosity in his eye as he asked, "So, which one are you?"

Wilran hesitated, a slight flush touching her cheeks. Neither, maybe...or both? How does one answer that? Thepa was right; the man is brazen.

"I'm..."

"Captain!" a sailor's urgent shout from the crow's nest interrupted. "Incoming toward the bow!"

The Anchor's face sharpened, and his hand drifted instinctively to the hilt of his cutlass. "Colors?" he barked.

"Nay!"

Wilran squinted into the distance and saw two large shapes approaching, their silhouettes looming on the horizon. She felt a chill creep up her spine, and as the vessels grew closer, she instinctively began sorting through her spells, mentally preparing for a fight. But as the two ships came into clearer view, she realized they were hopelessly outnumbered.

"Sister, quit your aching and get your arse up here. We got trouble brewin'."

Thepa, snapping from her confrontation with Gamma, glanced their way before barking orders for Gamma to take Zuna below deck. She then approached, her expression tense as she surveyed the advancing vessels.

"Are we fighting, Captain?" Thepa asked, eyeing the ships as they flanked their smaller galleon.

"Hopefully not," he muttered, a hard edge in his voice. "We're outgunned. Might need some of that Sisterhood diplomacy you carry."

Within moments, the frigates had them hemmed in, and Wilran's hope that they'd merely pass by faded. Both ships slowed, coming to a stop alongside them, and a horde of armed sailors swung down on thick ropes, outnumbering the Anchor's crew by a daunting margin. Instinctively, she reached for her mace, but stopped when she saw the Anchor subtly shake his head.

"Search the ship!" ordered a Galak voice.

For a Galak, Wilran thought the male ugly. His left eye was covered by a patch, and a long scar marred his right cheek. Unlike most of his race, his hair was short, lacking the unusual ponytail that had been marked by the completions of growth. His skin was cracked and pale, his every movement taut with pain. Whatever afflicted him, Wilran doubted any remedy of hers could ease it.

"Greetings, Captain," he addressed the Anchor, his tone icy. "What brings you to our waters?"

Our waters? Wilran thought, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach.

"I must say, Captain...?"

"Saan," the Galak answered, his lips curling into a predatory smile.

"...Captain Saan. This isn't the sort of welcome I've come to expect from Lightmount."

"Colors change all the time," Saan replied smoothly, his voice a mockery of friendliness. "I'm sure you understand."

What? Wilran thought, her unease growing stronger by the second.

"Naturally," replied the Anchor. "The winds shift as they will. I go where there's gold to be found. Is there opportunity in these new waters?"

"Oh, there's always gold for the taking," Saan replied, his yellowed teeth glinting in the dim light. Wilran caught something sinister in his gaze—a darkness she doubted could be trusted. She only hoped the Anchor saw it too. "But for now, we're kindly asking ships to turn back. It's a time of transition, you see. Feel free to visit on your next voyage through."

"Much obliged, Captain Saan," the Anchor replied, keeping his hand fixed to his cutlass.

Saan's eyes drifted, lingering on Thepa and Wilran. "Quite the interesting company you keep, Captain," he said with a sneer. "Not every day you see a matron or an elf on the ship's poop. Tash, recognize either of these wenches?"

A hooded Galak standing beside Saan lowered his hood. Wilran's heart skipped a beat—Tash was one of the lost members of Elite Team One. She hadn't heard from him since the mission, and though she tried to school her face, she knew recognition had betrayed her. Luckily, Saan had turned, oblivious to the slip.

"Can't say that I have, Captain," Tosh said, casting a quick glace her way. "I think I'd remember a few pretty faces. Captain over there seems pretty lucky if you ask me."

Saan let out a laugh that grated on Wilran's nerves, a twisted, mocking sound that made her stomach churn.

"Yes, well we can't begrudge the captain for good taste and I bet they do taste good." Saan replied. "Perhaps he's willing to share?"

Not on your life.

"Forgive me, Captain Saan," spoke Thepa for the first time. "My name is Matron Keylee. That over there is my mentor, Rina. I am a recent convert of the temple of Chandeidra. My three companions and I are on a missionary trip to the city of Goldale. We we're hoping to pass through Lightmount and share the good news of the goddess's love and mercy."

"Bah! Holy wenches. The worst kind," Saan said with a snarl, though Tash chuckled beside him—a short, hollow laugh that was more dutiful than sincere. "I already told the captain," Saan went on, "there's nothing here for you. Lightmount's in the middle of some... transitions. And as for Goldale—well, wouldn't waste a trip there. They're under siege."

A Galak ran up from the under belly of the ship and whispered something into Saan's ear. He turned and pointed to two more sailors and directed them to follow as the three of them went back under.

Thepa pressed on. "I understand, Captain. But the goddess wills us forward, and we trust in her protection. Never underestimate the kindness of strangers."

"Kindness, eh?" Saan sneered, now emerging again, his scarred gaze sweeping over them. "Listen, you're welcome to follow along, Matron, but I'll tell you right now, neither I nor your goddess promises any protection. Anything that happens is on you—and frankly, one less missionary wouldn't be a loss. Still, I must insist the captain over there move on, and at least with one less passenger."

Wilran's pulse quickened. Who? she mused, but she didn't have to wait long to find out. A loud cry broke from the ship's depths, and Wilran's fingers clenched around her mace as Gamma's furious shouts echoed up from below. Four of Saan's sailors muscled her up onto the deck, her wrists bound, her face flushed with rage, though her captors bore fresh bruises and cuts for their trouble. Wilran's heart ached for her friend, but the faint trace of a smirk crept in at the sight of her handiwork.

"Let me go!"

The Anchor bristled. "Captain, I won't stand by while you manhandle one of my passengers!"

"I must also insist," replied Thepa. "She is part of our missionary team. You have nothing to fear from a follower of the divine."

"Your god is worthless to me!" Saan shouted, his voice thick with contempt. "And even if she wasn't, that human might be a Lightmountian guilty of crimes against the Galaks. She has refused to provide documentation of her homeland."

"That's the problem," Saan sneered. "She doesn't have any."

Wilran felt tension build like a coiled spring. Gamma struggled against her bonds, her aura flaring with a dark, angry glow, and Wilran could almost see small fractures forming in the air around her.

"I'm sorry?" said Thepa.

Gamma gritted her teeth. "I left them in Goldale—ages ago."

Thepa sighed, shaking her head in frustration. "I can vouch for her, Captain. She is a citizen of Wildehaven. I'm sure a quick Message Spell could confirm it."

Saan's face tightened, his expression unreadable but dangerous. Wilran felt her stomach twist.

"For now," Saan said icily, "she's coming with us. You're welcome to join if you'd like. But remember—you're on your own."

Thepa's hand shot toward Wilran's arm. "Rina, fetch Fokin," she said quickly, her voice tense. "Let him know what's happening—he might have to leave Roan behind."

Oh. That's me.

Wilran barely turned to follow orders when Saan's voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade. "Hold it. Apprentice giving orders to the 'master,' is it? Why does that seem... odd?"

Thepa and Wilran exchanged a quick, anxious glance. Thepa began to respond, but Wilran's eyes darted to the Anchor. His hand crept toward one of his daggers, his face darkening. Wilran took a step, blocking his line of sight.

"Don't," she whispered. "Take care of Zuna. Let Fokin know what's going on. We can take care of ourselves."

The Anchor's face softened for a moment, his fingers releasing the dagger. He brushed a lock of hair from her face, giving her a quiet nod, before reluctantly stepping back.

"Take all three of them," said the Anchor pushing Wilran in the direction of Saan. "If they're liars, easier to let authorities sort them out. Just let me and my crew go back to making an honest living."

"Chain them up," Saan commanded, pointing to Tash. "If they struggle, throw them overboard. Council can deal with the lot tomorrow."

Tash stepped forward, and clasped a manacle around Wilran's wrist, then did the same to Thepa. The cold metal bit into her skin as she cast a a final look towards the Anchor. With Gamma dragged along, they were marched over to Saan's ship and thrown into the brig, the dim, musty air pressing in around them. Only when the guards were gone did Gamma finally snap.

"Great job, fearless leader. Now there's three of us. Some plan this is turning out to be."

Wilran winced, biting her lip. It was going to be a long night.