(Small warning for light violence towards the end and more later in the series. Also swearing. Pirates aren't exactly known for keeping their mouths clean.)
The sun hung low in the sky with Ules, the day moon at this time of year, not far behind. Its red counterpart, Ibaea, would soon rise.
Zedra had her ship in port for over a week and the men were getting restless. The longer they stayed the higher the risk of being recognized… and the greater chance of her sailors getting themselves into trouble. She would have sailed out that day if it weren’t for news of a storm headed their way. Her sailors were capable, veterans of the sea, but she wouldn’t risk foul weather when the safer alternative of staying put for just a few more days was freely available.
So she lit the first candle of the night and set to balancing the books. She may have been a pirate, but she was also a Lady of nobility. There were sailors to pay, supplies to cover, damage to account for, and a season at court to prepare for.
The candle went out with a gust of wind as the door to her cabin opened, and Zedra set her teeth on edge. Her men knew better than to bother her after dark. She glared up, prepared to demand just what the depths was so important, and was only half surprised to find a stranger. She knew she’d trained them better than that.
In the doorway, backlit by the eerie red light of the moon, was what seemed to be an ambulatory bundle of rags. Further inspection revealed a woman’s face hidden under the ragged linen hood, ivory pale beneath the dirt and grime. The night itself seemed to hold its ( )eath as they stared each other down, sizing the other up.
The stranger woman moved first, taking a step inside before she closed the cabin door behind her. Zedra relit the candle and arched a dark eye( )ow, questioning without words. “You are the captain of the Demon’s Dancer.” An observation, not a question. Zedra dug around in the bottom drawer of her desk for a tin cup and a bottle of good rum, expression carefully bored. Get to the point already, it said. A burlap sack, bulging, landed on the table between her and the cup with the distinctive sound of coin against coin. I wish to procure passage to whichever port you dock at next.” The woman went on, unfazed.
“Not a passenger ship.” Zedra answered idly, though she was certainly paying attention now. Why her ship, a pirate vessel, and not any of the more respectable crafts? She didn’t ask but waited, watching as the stranger didn’t answer, but rather lifted her hands and removed her hood. She was as pale as Zedra had first thought, possibly paler as her skin glowed ghost-white in the candlelight. Straight, white-blonde hair spilled from her head to vanish under her cloak. Definitely not local. Zedra had only seen such fair hair and skin in the far north where few southerners dared to sail. The fine, delicate features could have been Ursovan, however, though she’d never known northerners to travel far enough as to mingle. But those eyes-
Deep purple, storm clouds at twilight, that second before lightening strikes, the sour prickle of coming rain, the scent of damp dirt-
Zedra pulled her eyes away to avoid becoming trapped. “Spirit-touched.” She’d heard the stories. Anyone had, though she’d never actually seen one before. Unfortunate souls parented- either intentionally or through possession of one parent at conception- by trickster spirits. They were marked by their strange, ghostly appearance that matched no human parent, and unearthly eyes in colors like red or orange… or violet. They were ill luck, a beacon for malevolence, if one believed in such superstitions, and dangerous on their own besides. Being half-spirit made them capable of using the same precarious magic. Zedra was not a superstitious woman, no matter how those eyes had unnerved her so. The woman’s face was impassive as stone as she watched the revelation dawn.
It was now clear why she had chosen the Demon’s Dancer: only a pirate ship would dare to accept her aboard. They had their own superstitions, most of them, but the bad luck of a spirit-touched wasn’t among them.
Zedra must have taken too long to answer, as the woman stared at some point on the wall behind the captain’s head, and distantly asked “Will I have to take my coin elsewhere?”
“No. Depths no.” Zedra waved her hand as if to dispel the notion. “Your coin’s as good as anyone’s. We’re shipping out at the end of the week-“
“No.”
“No?” She echoed back, eyes narrowed dangerously. This woman grated on nerves she didn’t even know she had. If it weren’t for the tempting sack on her desk…
“You leave before tomorrow night, or I take my money and leave.”
Anger burned like bile in the back of Zedra’s throat. This beggar-pariah thought herself nobility, not just in her careful movements and unreadable face but as she made demands of her like it were her own ship! It took all of her own lessons in poise and restraining her emotions to cast a skeptically disinterested glance at her guest, instead of throwing her off the pier. “I suppose you expect me to sail right into the coming storm?”
“No,” the woman smiled back. There was something about her eyes, just then. Zedra had heard the term ‘stormy-eyed’ before, usually to mean either grey or displaying anger. The stranger’s eyes seemed to hold a true storm inside them, but no trace of anger. “I expect you to avoid it. It won’t reach port for at least another two days. If you sail along the coast at first- and leave tomorrow- then you should avoid it almost entirely.” Almost? But Zedra couldn’t ask, as the strange violet churning intensified as the woman paused, seeming thoughtful. Then, the stillness of charged air- “I would not suggest going south.”
And then there was nothing but violet in those strange eyes, and Zedra found herself remembering how to ( )eathe. “I’ll take you, but you’d better be right. The men won’t like this.”
A genuine smile, this time, as the woman gave a small bow. “That, I believe, is your problem.”
When the door was closed behind her Zedra finished her cup in a gulp and poured herself a second. There was no way this would be worth it. Where was she even going to put her?
- - -
The trip had gone surprisingly well. The woman- who did not give her name, and Zedra told herself she didn’t care enough to ask- kept to her room below deck, except for when they passed the storm… just as she said they would. Never did she gloat, just stood below the foresail and watched the distant storm with frightening intensity. When they docked in Catclaw Cove for supplies for the long trip across the ocean she left with a polite bow and a word of thanks.
The crew, though slightly ruffled by her presence, made no mention of her once she was gone and Zedra tried to pretend those eyes didn’t haunt her sleep. That she didn’t dream of violet and white-gold whenever there was a storm.
- - -
The second time they met was nearly a year later. The Demon’s Dancer had once again come to port in Catclaw. Zedra’s plan to take ships all across the ocean and sell the goods in Helviveos had worked out nicely, and now there was time to rest a little before she was forced to head homeward. She’d missed the last two years of social season and would have to make an appearance or risk scandal for her family. It was not a thing she looked forward to, but the patronage of her relatives was what made her lucrative ‘little side-venture’ possible, and she owed it to them to keep up appearances.
Her men had invited her down to the tavern before they were to leave. A last hurrah, she supposed, before she was forced to play nice. The drinks were pouring freely- they had plenty of money to spend, and the tavern appreciated it properly- and Zedra was discussing the business of captaining with one of her sailors. Few pirate vessels turned away women sailors, but it was considered rude to point out a person’s gender. Different places held different rules- all along the Merchant’s Coast, where Catclaw was, sailors were typically male-exclusive but out east towards Atleos men were forbidden to serve on ships and executed despite surrender if boarded by an Atlean crew. Zedra, and most women sailors outside Atleos and similar regions, kept themselves ambiguous without discarding their femininity entirely. It was a careful balance and she was explaining the finer points to Aindara, who she was considering making a captain, building a fleet… but then she saw the spirit-touched. The crew saw her too, and when Zedra sighed and unhooked her arm from around Aindara’s waist they parted just enough of a path for the woman. With a gesture a chair was ( )ought, which the spirit-touched gracefully settled into.
As it had been nearly a year since they’d last met, Zedra took a moment to take her in. She was, somehow, even thinner, almost skeletal under the rags. The bag of coins she once more produced was smaller as well, though certainly not meager, but she still maintained a carefully smug poise, a dare to the world to strike her down, as she smiled and offered the bag to Zedra.
Even her crew was surprised by her answer. “Absolutely not.” She was going home next, and the thought of the woman in her hometown made her oddly ill no matter how big the city was. “Not for this much.” She added, sure the woman couldn’t scrounge up more before morning. Checking the bag’s contents confirmed her suspicion: it wasn’t higher denomination coin, but in fact less than she was given last time. The laugh that followed chilled her, chimes and rainfall, as if the woman thought her opinion on the matter didn’t count.
“Not even a stop along the way?” She asked, beginning to smile something cruel and playful. No, no, best to end this before it could spiral. Zedra closed the bag and tossed it back, face hard as she could make it. The woman was a second slow, and some of her fingers didn’t bend as she caught it, as if they were injured. She didn’t make another attempt at trying to convince her, just stood and walked out, her laughter ringing in Zedra’s ears. It was hard to enjoy the rest of the night.
The pounding headache of the next morning was bad enough, but the torrents of rain were another matter entirely. Seemingly overnight the weather had gone from calm and clear to an absolute downpour. Well after sunrise it was still dark, the clouds blocking out both Ules and the sun. Zedra found the spirit-touched by the beach, up to her waist in the water. The waves were strong enough to knock a large man over but she seemed unfazed, her head up towards the sky and her eyes closed. Her usual rags were bundled up on the beach despite the fact the rain soaked them just as much as the seawater would have, and she was down the bottom layer- little more than a shift.
Zedra was smart enough not to enter the water to approach her, but stood safely on the hand where the water just licked the toes of her boots as she called out. “Whatever the fuck you did, you’d better hope you can undo it.” The woman lowered her head to look over her shoulder back at her. “I’ll take you, depths be damned. But not if this rain keeps up.”
The spirit-touched turned and waded back to shore and bent to gather her rags. “And what, exactly, made you think I could control the weather?” She asked with a laugh.
The rain let up within an hour. The skies were clear by noon.
- - -
Zedra didn’t believe the superstition that spirit-touched were inherently bad luck. Her first voyage with one had been largely uneventful, after all. She still blamed her for the day’s events. Perhaps if they’d left port in the morning like she intended to then she wouldn’t have been boarded by a ship belonging to an enemy family, the Rienei, on the second-to-last day of their journey. It was well she planned to kill them all anyway- if there were survivors who returned home they would reveal her for a pirate. Sumorcian law regarding piracy was particularly unpleasant, and it would drag her entire line down with her. This simply would not do.
Which was why she was now panting for ( )eath as she and her men fought desperately, cutting one down here, putting a bullet through another there. They were thoroughly outnumbered, but her men were loyal and well trained, fighting as one. She was down in the thick of it, sword in one hand and boarding knife in the other, never one to order a sailor to do what she wouldn’t. At this very moment her thoughts were far from the spirit-touched she had ordered back below decks when the ship was spotted, but instead concerned with the flash of unfriendly steel from her left while she was busy fighting the enemy captain with both blades, far beyond sportsmanship.
More startling was the sudden hand taking her pistol from her sash, and her left ear was deafened as it went off. Instead of the bullet in her own head as she was expecting, she was splashed with warm and wet. Turning her sword in her hand she hit the captain in the throat and hooked her foot behind his ankle, ( )inging him to the floor. She kept one boot on his chest as she turned to see just who in depths had taken her gun… and was perhaps more surprised than she should be as the spirit-touched strode past her to stand over the Rienei’s youngest son. His mouth gawped, like a fish, in fear- more than he shown when Zedra had dropped him. The spirit-touched’s face was cold, emotionless, as she pulled the trigger without a word. Zedra could kiss her, but there was no time to fall in love as his men ( )oke and tried to make their way back to their ship. The Demon Dancer’s crew whooped as they chased them.
She didn’t take the jump with her men- they had it well in hand, so turned back to her guest and snatched her gun back. “Told you to stay in your room.”
“You’re welcome.” The spirit-touched just smiled at her, as if there wasn’t blood and grey matter on her face. Where had she learned to shoot? Instead Zedra looked back at the Rienei ship, watching her men board back and forth with boxes of cargo. The remaining sailors had surrendered, grouped into a corner on their knees. Finally the last crewman made it across and passed on his burden before approaching her.
“That’s the last of it.” He offered with a salute.
Zedra nodded, eyes on the enemy sailors. “Burn it down.” Another salute, and she was left alone with the woman again as her men snapped to fetch barrels of oil and powder. “Drinks later?”
The rainfall-and-chimes laugh was her answer.
- - -
She was honestly a little surprised she wasn’t left waiting. The spirit-touched had settled into Zedra’s second-best chair, looking utterly amused while she looked through the cabinet for actual glasses. The seas were calm and it was very much a wine night. “Where did you learn that? You looked like you’d handled a gun before.” She asked, more to fill the silence than anything.
“Wrong question to start with.” The spirit-touched laughed, gaze boring into Zedra’s back. There seemed to be no anger in it, though. “I would have thought even a pirate would have better manners.”
Zedra snorted derisively as she set the glasses on her desk and went to fetch the wine- the good stuff. “Fine. Let me make up for earlier rudeness then; I don’t think I ever caught your name.”
The silence lasted longer than was comfortable, and she turned back to find her guest staring at her empty glass as if it could answer some question that haunted her. Finally, at last, she spoke. “I’m a spirit-touched. I’m not worth a name.” Perhaps she had been fighting bitterness, as there was barely any in her voice. Another snort.
“That’s bullshit and you know it. The fact that you’re alive means your parents didn’t get rid of you immediately. You had to have a name at some point.”
The apparently nameless spirit-touched smiled, but there wasn’t a trace of kindness in it. It was more a baring of her teeth, all threat with the barest pretense of courtesy.
Zedra set the bottle down with a thud and dropped into her own chair with a loud sigh, worked the cork off with her knife. “Look, I can’t keep calling you ‘spirit-touched’ or ‘woman’ or ‘guest’ all the time. It’s cumbersome as depths.”
“I’m sure you can figure something out.” The woman said disinterestedly, taking the glass once it was full. Zedra took her own and rolled her head back to look up at the ceiling, listening to the ship creak and groan around them.
“You know, I read once about the Everlasting Women in Iyil. They used to study your kind. Had their own name for you- Mora. Singular Mara. It has a kind of simple elegance to it, don’t you think?” Zedra said at last.
The spirit-touched –Mara- was taking a sip at that moment, but Zedra swore she saw her smile behind the glass. |
