#turning off reblogs and replies in fear of this breaching containment

[fire-faerie-nineteen]

Excuse me while I brain dump.

For so much of my life, I've considered myself to be a swiftie. Taylor Swift is the reason I started playing guitar. Taylor Swift is the reason I got through many of my interpersonal struggles in middle and high school. Taylor Swift is, in small part, the reason I am the writer and musician and woman I am today.

The first time I stayed up for an album release was Midnights, and it was disappointing. The second time was 1989 TV, and I never liked 1989 to begin with. The third time was last night for TTPD and it was...underwhelming?

Like, everyone online is freaking out about it, swifites are losing their goddamn minds and I just don't understand. She's written better songs instrumentally. She's written better songs lyrically. I think she's become so comfortable in her fame and her fans that she's just stopped trying. Folklore was a hit. Why change the formula?

I don't like her ballads very much. I never have. And this whole album (all both of them) was ballad after ballad after ballad and I simply do not care!!! There is a reason Lover and Speak Now and Fearless are my faves. Why is this woman incapable of being happy? Why is the only upbeat song on the new album about a shitty guy and why does nobody like it????

I think as I've grown and gotten older, I've started listening to people who have better lyrics and instrumentation (The Crane Wives and Madds Buckley come to mind) and Swift just doesn't resonate like she used to. Which is weird since she's gotten older too, and you think her music would reflect that.

This isn't a goodbye to Swift altogether. I will always be excited for a new album even if I suspect I'll be disappointed. I hope the next one comes out five years later and Jack Antonoff has nothing to do with it. I hope it has a new sound. And I hope there's not a single breakup song on it because at 30-whatever, it's lost its charm.

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 61 of 83 : World of Sea

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 61 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Aboard the Longin, men and women broke out every boat that could be put under oars and began the long task of dragging their ship out of the calm fog.  It took over two hours to get the Longin to a breeze. They paused only long enough to reload the boats before they set every scrap of sail that could be set and began to hunt south for the Dorton, that was sailing near to them.  Together the two ships sailed north, searching into the Dragon Sea for the Grandalor.

They ran two days north before turning in a wide search sweep of the same sort that they would have used to locate a lost fishing boat.  They saw nothing but an occasional soaring Wide Wing.

When Mord slept at all, he dreamed — — Hag taken by the poisonous tentacles of nightmares that would not stop.  The blood of the fight had stained his hands and would not come off.  Barad, ripped open by a strong Skin’s fin spine was screaming in agony until the huge fish bit him in half.  The Grandalor attackers rowing away in the fog when a Wing Ray, so large that it darkened the sky as it leaped, pancaked down on them reducing the boats to bits of floating wreckage — but they’d taken Kurin with them …

Bleary eyed from his Hag poisoned dreams, Captain Mord said heavily to his mother, the Longin’s Purser, “I hate to admit it, Alor, but we need to go find help for this search.  We can’t do it with only two ships.  Already we have lost days.”

“If we can, Mord,” Alor replied thoughtfully, “we need to get the Dark Dragon and the Soaring Bird.  Both of them are experienced in tracking ships.”

In a far different tone she went on, “I am worried, son.  I need to talk to you as a mother.  There have been some rumors about that boarding.  Did you really silence the fog drum when you knew that they were from the Grandalor?”

Angry, full of self justification, he answered, “What difference does it make, Mother?  Yes, I did.  They were from the Grandalor!  We don’t allow them onto our ship!  We never have.”

Alor looked sadly at her son, of whom she’d been so proud for so long. “What happened to the first one to set foot on our deck?”

“I repulsed her, Mother!” he said defensively.  “What difference does it make?  Stop looking at me that way! … All right!  I stabbed her with my knife!”  He looked puzzled, thinking back to the fight, “I must have.  The knife was mine, in my hand but I don’t really remember doing it.  She was boarding us, for Dragon’s sake!  I was in my rights!”

“The man who tried to pull her back over the rail?”

Suddenly Captain Mord realized that Alor knew far more of the fight than he had realized.  “He got in front of me!  His  throat was cut!  He couldn’t attack us further.”

Her face fell.  Sadly she said, “Now I must talk to you as a representative of the officers and Masters of the Longin.”

She held out a limp fish-leather bag, weighted with scraps of the same. “What was the worst injury that we took?  I’ll tell you the answer, though you already know it.  Old Sorra got three bruises. None of the Grandalor folk struck at any of us, unless we struck at them first.  They only defended themselves.  All that they had were these pitiful coshes.”

“Mother! They were a boarding party!  They attacked us!  They kidnapped Kurin!”

“Are you quite sure of that?” she asked sharply.

“She’s gone!” Mord shouted frantically.  “What more do you need?”

“The note that she left would be a start,” she said quietly.

“There was no note!” he said desperately.

“You have persisted in lying to me about this event.  I have no choice.” Alor put her face in her hands and wept, saying through her tears, “By order of a joint council of the Masters and officers, you are relieved of your Captaincy until we can hold a hearing on your fitness to command.  You will have the right to witnesses on your behalf and to rebut all charges.  You will be notified in writing of all charges in advance, to prepare your defense.”

Three officers entered the room.  They took away the dismayed and unresisting Mord.  He was allowed to stay in the Captain’s cabin on his word to do nothing to interfere with the running of the ship during the investigation.

The Longin continued to run south through the treacherous weather of the storm’s aftermath, seeking aid as swiftly as straining canvas could take her.  

Mord, the once Captain of the Longin, looked in disbelief at the parchment that had been handed to him only a few minutes before.  It bore the familiar signatures of every officer and Master aboard the Longin. They were formally requiring an investigation into his competence to govern the ship that he had commanded for nearly thirty Gatherings.

Seeing the allegations in writing finally brought home to him just how far onto dry land he had run.  For him, the worst of the whole affair was that he could not deny any of the charges.  He could explain what he had done and even why.  He could not excuse it.

He was accused of violating the boarder’s rights under the Fifth Great Law (the right of safe haven to mariners in distress).  There were two counts.  He had silenced the fog beat and he had refused to allow them to come aboard to safety.

There was an accusation of violation of the Second Great Law.  They had the right to a fleet trial, to call witness on their behalf, and to rebut the cases against them.  In repulsing them he had prevented them from obtaining fleet justice.

He was accused of murder in the case of the one man whose throat he had cut.  There was a charge of attempted murder in the case of the woman that he had stabbed, who was still alive when last seen.

He was not accused directly of the death of the Grandalor sailor (tentatively identified as the Bosun named Modanet).  His injuries had occurred in the heat of combat and none remembered who had stabbed him.  The death, however, was put to the Captain’s flawed leadership.

He was accused of leading his crew in the above illegal actions.

He was further charged with destroying Kurin’s note and refusing to examine the tallow-slates brought by the boarders and then lying to officers who questioned him about them.

In addition to all of the above was breach of custom in the burial of the dead.

The parchment also informed him that Kurin’s note had been recovered by careful scraping away of the upper layers of tallow by Master Juris. The recovery process had been witnessed by Alor for the ship’s officers and Mistress Daeron for the Craft Council.  The note verified that Kurin had apparently left the ship voluntarily, her right as a legal adult.

One of the tallow-slates from the Grandalor had been recovered by a sailor and given to an officer.  The note had been in Tanlin’s left-handed writing.  This had been compared to documents relating the cargo survey and security agreement with the Grandalor.  The documents contained material written by both Barad and Tanlin.  It was Alor’s formal opinion that the handwriting was the same as Tanlin’s.  The contents of the note revealed that the twelve boarders were to be hostages for Kurin’s safe return, should she agree to come away.  If she did not, then the twelve would submit to trial under fleet justice.  The note’s signature identified Tanlin as the Grandalor’s Captain.

Appended was a list of witnesses and what each had contributed to the case.

Mord thought long on the problem of what was needed.  It was clear that he needed to be relieved.  As bad as things had got, now that he could see the charges, with time to reflect on them,  their justice was obvious.  He could not fight this.

The stress of nearly losing Kurin, and the rest of the Grandalor business had unhinged him.  Now that it was not hidden by his responsibility for the whole ship, he realized that he felt more for Kurin than just pride in an outstanding member of an outstanding crew.  He felt as if she were the daughter that the Birth Lottery had denied him.  When he thought of all that he had not done, his heart clenched in nearly physical pain.

He opened the port near his bed for fresh air and to see something besides walls of Strong Skin.  The sky was dark with leaden clouds and rain sweeping by on gusts of wind.  It suited his mood.

When Kurin’s mother went mad, after her father’s death, He should have fostered her.  He had let Cat, his foster sister, do it.  He should have hugged her, praised her and disciplined her.  In fear of seeming to favor one above any other, he had never done any of the job of a parent.  He had left it to others to do.

He missed her accomplishments and strange mix of adult wisdom and childhood.  She had stood up to him and tried to prevent the disaster, and he had sent her away.  He could see now how the battle combined with a few persuasive words could have made her go.  The whole mess was his fault … He would have to plead guilty with mitigating circumstances.

TO BE CONTINUED

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[shadowdianne]

Arcadia (SQ One Shot)

This story is brought by @pressuredrightnow ‘s prompt. Since I ended up writing quite a bit for it I’ve decided to divide it into a few parts, so I don’t end up bothering anyone xd. I will post the following part for this tomorrow if everything goes as planned and it will be posted on A03 as a one shot once every part is posted here 😉

And with that out of the way:

THE PROMPT

It was sent to me by the chat and in the form of a picture. What I can say though is that the original thought was made by two accounts. In the first comment one could read: Me, the living embodiment of a twelfth century maiden and willful heroine of a medieval ballad: “The words are a totally, valid, reasonable and safe place to meet new friends and men.” And, on the reblog, the answer was: “Me, the living embodiment of the fairy queen to whom the woods belong, sick and tired of all these maidens traipsing about picking my roses and trampling on my moss: “Oh my fucking god.”

PS: Since we are on the topic I fully recommend Under the pendulum sun by Jeannette Ng because that’s a book that captures perfectly well what the Fae are about. Plus, it is written in such a way that one can’t stop reading it until you reach the shocking end…

On with the story!

“Queen of the fae, she was once feared. Even now myths and stories are now whispered into the night, brought by the ashes of fires in which children gather around. Everyone knows her stories, but some don’t think them as true. And then a princess goes into the woods, trying to find a place to stay, to hide. And as danger approaches from the shadows of leaves and branches creatures watch her, waiting for her majesty to come.”

Emma knew the stories, had heard them since childhood, when she didn’t have marriages to worry about or a kingdom to lead. She knew of creatures made of moss, brought alive by the same magic wizards and sorceress alike wielded in order for the royal family to be safe from those trying to kill them. She had liked the stories even, back when she had been that child, wide eyed and dreaming of far-away lands created in the edge of summer rays and pulsing hearts.

Those times, however, were long past. So, as such, as she left the stallion she had stolen in the middle of the afternoon, -once the stable boy had fallen asleep with a tincture purchased to a smarmy man in the darkest streets of the city, on the northeast barrier of the forest, she didn’t think twice about those creatures of translucent wings and keen eyes. She merely saw the woods as temporary shelter, a place to stay as the first scouts started to, probably, search for her.

The afternoon sun was already hiding behind the first mountain range at her right and, by the time she reached the first true line of the woods, she was already smelling the mud that was beginning to stain her boots. Under the foliage, the warm temperatures that made her parents kingdom so famous weren’t there and, even if she was already accustomed to haunt and live outside the walls of the castle -never had been the kind of staying inside- she shuddered, thinking all of a sudden if the blue doublet she wore was going to be enough. Or the small dagger she had been able to put between her clothes after exiting her bedroom chambers.

She could go back, a voice on her head whispered, but she didn’t listen to it, touching instead one of the knot-filled side of one tree at her right, peering between it and the next one. Mottled with green, the soil around the tree was wet, however, and didn’t provide enough comfort for her so she kept walking, leaving behind the path made by those who navigated through the woods with carts and goods between the kingdoms.

Hissing when her right foot slipped, she grumbled a curse between clenched teeth that didn’t travel far within the thick leaves and ferns that covered that side of the forest. Their colors still bright enough to provide enough comfort as the light dimmed.

Unknown to her, however, ears heard the word, and worried eyes followed her movements as they separated themselves from the soil and wood she had just stepped in.

“The queen is not going to like this.” They all whispered to each other, the buzzing of the words getting lost to the human that kept on traipsing through the woods that, once upon a time, had been given to them in a treaty so ancient for humans and mortals alike it could already be dust.

One of them, covered in verdigris, nodded sagely and disappeared, letting the others keep on looking at the princess, her blonde curls a lighthouse into the night that was already beginning to set.

Deep into the forest, in a place that even some could say that wasn’t in the actual forest anymore, the trees thickened and grew in height until nothing but them could be seen. To humans, the place oozed a strange sense of discomfort. Although not many had seen such place.

The fairy that run from shadow to shadow, however, didn’t have such qualms and so, she pretty quickly found herself in the middle of a few dozen of trees that, to non-magical creatures didn’t seem any different than the others around her. For her, however, the wood was different, pulsing, and the dust that covered the large square-shaped leaves spoke of her from the few hundreds like her that did their best to keep the magic inside the bark of the trees contained. A slightly difficult as magic -like every other creature- didn’t like to be told what to do.

Swallowing, she stepped inside the trees, her body merging with the trunks before she breathed inside of them.

The room that greeted her was, unlike the forest outside, illuminated with will-o-wisps trapped inside ash-made jails. Their tremulous light didn’t make her shudder but the sudden transformation her body went through did; her stature growing from her usual one to the one she very rarely got to use. Wincing, she craned her neck as her wings folded around her body, iridescent colors covering her skin in the same way the verdigris was still staining her fingers and wrists, her eyes completely black as she blinked.

Once upon a time that spell managed to make her almost human, sans, perhaps, the ability to breath and eat human-made food. Now, however, that knowledge had been lost. With one exception.

“You know how I prefer to talk to you like this.” A voice reached her as she closed and opened her hands, waiting for the tingling from the magic to fade.

“I’m sorry your majesty.” She replied, her voice hoarse as her vocal chords trembled, not used to words been made like that.

On the far end of the almond-shaped room, a shadow manifested itself outside the walls. The shadow transforming in silhouette as brown eyes opened, red lips turning into a smirk as a head covered in brown-colored locks nodded.

“What brings you here?” The silhouette said, her lips barely moving but her voice reaching the fairy even stronger than before.

Taking a step forwards, the faery bowed, the now wrapped wings cracking with the movement, sensing the presence of magic that emanated from the Queen.

“There’s been a breach.” She murmured, raising her eyes just enough so she could she a barely there tremor on the back of the majesty’s eyes. “A human girl is walking through the woods.”

The words, albeit said at some point in the past, felt strange and alien as a flare on the will-o-wisps light seemed to punctuate her words. Returning to her apparent boredom, the Queen rose her brows as she took a step forward as well, purple light enveloping her as black sap climbed through her legs, creating a similar dress than the faery was already wearing albeit the small drops of sap that remained forever liquid and yet crystalized, made the faery gulp.

“Let her grow bored.” The Queen said, her lips curving into a feline-like smile. “All humans do.”

“She is leaving the mortal path behind.” The faery pushed, knowing very well that she shouldn’t but still willing to give the information.

The queen huffed at that, the sap falling now from her wrists towards her fingers as she rose her right hand, purple sparks falling out of her in almost drops. The faery felt the magic closing around her, squeezing her empty chest in a painful enough way that made her gasp even if she didn’t have any lungs to speak off.

“There is a deal, a contract.” The Queen snarled. “Don’t interfere. She will go back to her world as soon as she realizes there is nothing for her here.”

The faery knew it was her queue to leave, to go back to the trees and soil she so much adored, to the trickling magic of the forest. Enchanting but not as much as the one of the Queen. She, however, had been a godmother to human children once, many years ago when tales were still told about them, incantations and favors asked from them and, perhaps for that, she could remember something the presence of the Queen couldn’t.

Or perhaps she had a death wish.

“Shouldn’t we look for her? Under the moonlight the woods change in ways mortals can’t handle.” She wheezed and the power around her disappeared as she spoke up, the hands of the Queen falling back to her sides.

“That should be her concern, not ours.” The words, albeit regal, hold a smidge of worry and the faery smiled to herself even if she could feel her entire body trembling like a leaf.

Unknown to them, however, many other eyes were already following the steps of the blonde mortal that, still walking deeper and deeper into the forest, was beginning to feel tired.

[scottishvix]

The One Chapter 2: Temple, Sacred Ashes

I was so overwhelmed by the way you guys received chapter 1. This really is a labour of love. I absolutely cherished every like, kudos, comment, reblog and tag you all left me. It meant the world to me.

Eve, Lily, and the team head for the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The reality of landing in a war zone really hits Lily.

Since Tumblr seems to be making posts with external links unsearchable, if you’d prefer to read it on AO3, you can find the link to my AO3 page in the sidebar.

Now onto the story...

The trip to the mine entrance was uneventful. The wind had picked up, whistling sharply between the jagged peaks, piercing my soft shell and making me shiver. The ladders we had to climb to reach the top were slippery with ice, and being battered by the wind didn’t help.

The trip through the mines was just as I predicted. Cassandra insisted we go slowly and cautiously, even though I had played through this introductory session enough to predict every fight. There was a realness to it now, though. The light cast by the torches was more flickering and the patches of darkness between them blacker. After the cold of the mountain face, the mine interior was stifling. The air didn’t move. Even here, on the highest level that contained only abandoned offices and empty storage rooms, it was claustrophobic.

True to his word, Varric stayed with me at the back of the group and when we attacked it was Cassandra with her sword and Eve with her daggers that took on the brunt of the fighting. She was graceful as a dancer with them. If she had been dark and lithe instead of blonde and stocky, I would have said it was like watching River Tam. But I could take no pleasure in watching her work. Every time I saw one of her blades flash through the air to slash at a wraith or stab a shade something hurt in my chest and tugged at my brain. I pushed it away, concentrating on aiming and firing my bow. All that mattered was getting through this and out of here.

The light and air of the cold mountain was welcome when we exited the mine. Not so the scattered bodies. I caught sight of one scout who’d had his bowels ripped out by a clawed hand and turned to retch into the snow. Tears of shame froze on my cheeks as the others stood around listening to me bring back up the cheese Eve had forced on me. She rubbed gentle circles between my shoulder blades, trying to soothe me. I loved her for that kindness, as I hated myself for my weakness.

Varric sighed heavily. I assumed he’d seen worse sights after the Kirkwall Chantry had been destroyed. “Guess we found the scouts.”

“That cannot be all of them,” Cassandra murmured, sounding worried.

I shook my head, standing again and taking a lungful of clean air. I stared straight at the trees down the path, trying to avoid having to look again at the ripped-up bodies around us. “It’s not, I promise. I’m sorry,” I gestured vaguely in the direction I’d been sick.

“Do not be,” Cassandra assured me. “You told me you were no warrior and I believed you.” She offered me the flask from her belt. “Rinse and spit. You will feel better.” She was right. The water took the tang of vomit from my mouth and cleared up the fuzziness from my head. “You have never seen a dead body before?” I shook my head.

“From what Oracle said before,” Varric interrupted, “the rest of the scouts will be holed up ahead.”

“Our priority must be the Breach,” Solas cut in, his voice sounding pompous and self-assured. “Unless we seal it soon, no one is safe.”

“We will help them,” I didn’t know where the conviction in my voice came from. Maybe it was seeing the bodies of the poor lads scattered around me. “We pass the rift they’re defending on our way to the Temple and I’m fucked if I’m just going to walk past and leave them to die!”

“Atta girl,” Varric gave my arm a squeeze. Cassandra turned and started down the path. “Don’t look down,” the dwarf whispered. He placed my hands on his shoulders. “Just follow me. You don’t need to look.” I kept my eyes on the back of Cassandra’s head, letting Varric guide me as we picked our way through the bodies.

“I don’t know how to thank you, mo caraid,” I whispered to him as we walked. “You’ve been so kind to me.”

Varric shrugged it off. “Never hurts to stay on the right side of someone who can warn you when a demon’s about to pop out at you. That’s us past them, you can let go now.”

We could see the Breach closer from here; follow the spinning trail of green energy that travelled from the hole above our heads to disappear in the valley below us. Looking at it made me feel dizzy so I kept my eyes on the path at my feet until Eve’s hand began to spark and crackle. “They’re just around the corner now,” I told the group.

Eve smiled. “Then let’s kill some demons.”

The scouts had backed themselves into a corner, effectively preventing the demons from flanking them, but also keeping them trapped between a wall and a rift. Varric’s first arrow turned the tide. The wraiths had to split their attention and the appearance of reinforcements gave the trapped soldiers their second wind. A lieutenant cried out in surprise when she saw her rescuers. Cassandra spun around, splitting the last wraith in half. “Lieutenant Allred, you’re alive!” I could hear the relief in her voice.

“Just barely,” the scout called back. “Watch out!” The ground behind Cassandra had begun to bubble and she darted back in time for two terrors to emerge. Magairlean. I’d always hated terrors. In game, I’d never got the hang of moving from where one was about to emerge in time to avoid being knocked on my arse. And now fighting them for real they were an archer’s nightmare: tall twig thin body, with four twig thin limbs and a twig thin tail. There was fuck all to aim at. And they moved like spiders. I could have cried in relief when Solas froze one for us. At least it couldn’t move, giving me time to line up my aim, and it shattered under combined shots from me and Varric. Eve took the chance to disrupt the rift, stunning the second and allowing Cassandra to lop off its head. Closing the rift was merely a formality after that.

“Sealed, as before.” Even Solas sounded out of breath as he steadied Eve. “You are becoming quite proficient at this.” It also seemed to be taking more out of her. That had to improve after stabilising the Breach. She’d never last through the rest of the Inquisition if it didn’t.

“As long as it works on the big one,” muttered Varric as he joined me and Cassandra in tending to the wounded and exhausted scouting party.

“Well enough for now,” I promised, passing the water skin Cassandra had left me to a scout who was hobbling but still on his feet. He grinned at me and raised the skin in a silent toast before downing its contents.

The Lieutenant had been knocked off her feet by the shockwave of the closing rift. Cassandra was the one to help her back up. “Thank the Maker you arrived, Lady Cassandra. I don’t think we could have held out much longer.”

Cassandra glanced over at us. “Thank the prisoners. Lady McKichan said you were alive and in need of help. She insisted we come this way.”

“The prisoners?” Lieutenant Allred was clutching a gash in her side but she sounded stunned enough. “Then you…?”

“Closing rifts and saving soldiers,” Eve also seemed to have got her breath back. She grinned at me. “It’s what we do.”

“Then you have my sincere gratitude.” Allred put her fist over her heart and nodded to each of us in what I recognised as the Inquisition’s version of a salute. I replied in kind, and even under her helmet I could see her eyes widen slightly.

Cassandra patted her still stunned soldier on the shoulder. “The way into the valley behind us is clear for the moment. Go, while you still can.”

“At once,” she saluted and went to begin gathering the rest of her troops. We moved together to the path that led down towards the temple.

Solas glanced at me. “The path ahead appears to be clear of demons as well. Just as Lady Lily predicted.”

“Still no lady,” I muttered. Varric laughed at me, handing me a pile of my arrows that had gone wide.

Cassandra moved into the lead with a huff. “Let’s hurry before that changes.”

Just as I predicted, the path along frozen cobbles and down scaffolding ladders was demon-free and quiet. I hated it. Too much time to think about, and I didn’t want to think. I knew there was something that had precipitated my waking up in Haven, something that had caused me to come here from the little English village where I had tried to make a new life. But there was a part of my brain that told me I didn’t want to know, didn’t want to remember. Waking up in a war in a fantasy land of elves and dwarves and magic was traumatic, but I had lived with trauma for nearly ten years. There was a worse, more personal trauma somewhere in my head that I didn’t think I wanted to remember.

Varric didn’t like the quiet either, or so it seemed from the way he constantly tried to question Solas and needle Cassandra. “So… holes in the Fade don’t accidentally happen, right?”

“If enough magic is brought to bear, it is possible.” Solas, I thought, sounded as emotionally involved as a brick wall.

“But there are easier ways to make things explode.” I wondered if he was thinking of Anders and Kirkwall. I had never played DAII–by the time it came out Martin had banned me from playing with the Xbox–but I had looked into it enough to get an idea of the story.

Cassandra tried to hush the men. “We will consider how this happened once the immediate danger is past. Which is when there will be time for explanations.” I couldn’t read the look she was giving me. Her voice was as harsh and cold as ever, but I thought there was confusion and doubt, too. Maybe I wouldn’t be handed over to Roderick as the Chantry’s scapegoat.

The sight of the Temple was as bad as I’d feared. Jagged shards of melted rock, veined with Fade-green light, jutted out from the main explosion sight. Whole chunks of wall dotted our way around to the main courtyard. There were fires scattered around, burning what little was left to burn. Cassandra pointed to a point on the path. “That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you.” Her voice was quiet, the Nevarran accent more lilting.

“You’ve told us what people saw when Eve came out of a rift, but what of me? How did I appear?”

That surprised Solas. “You have knowledge of all of us and of the future, but not of your own immediate past?”

How could I put this? “I have never Seen my own part in any of this. I cannot See my own future. I have no more knowledge of my own path than you do of yours. Probably less. As far as I am aware I arrived unconscious, and I do not even have the vague memories of being in the Fade that Lady Trevelyan does.”

“Fascinating.” Oh, good. I interested him.

“Two rifts appeared next to one another,” Cassandra interrupted, answering my initial question. “Most eyes appear to have been drawn to the woman behind Lady Trevelyan, but one or two looked behind you.”

“And?” I dreaded the answer.

“They are vague, but all agree that there was white light, a mirror reflecting your back, and a horned shadow.”

“Well, that’s not at all ominous,” I sighed. “I suppose we’ll figure it out later.”

The courtyard was like something out of a nightmare. I gagged again and had to turn away, my eyes watering, unable to take a deep breath because of the smell of burning flesh. It was like pictures I’d seen of Pompeii. Only instead of white statues that had once been people, the bodies were still blackened and charred, some still smouldering away. They were frozen as they had been when they had died–running in panic, cowering in fear, kneeling in prayer. I was grateful the faces were too charred to see their expressions.

“Oracle?” Again, it was Varric who was concerned for me.

I blew out my breath, lifted my head high, and turned back around. “I’ll be okay, mo caraid.” As he turned to walk away, I grabbed him and looked into his eyes. “In the Temple itself, we’ll find your personal nightmare. I’m sorry.” I hurried off after the others without saying more. I couldn’t be the one to tell him we were about see the red lyrium that had driven his brother mad.

Inside what was left of the Temple, it was worse. The bodies weren’t all blackened. The ones that weren’t had all died screaming. I tried as best I could to keep my eyes on the back of Eve’s head, focusing on the intricate braiding of her golden hair. Until we were standing on a balcony overlooking the rift directly under the Breach. It was just so much bigger. Each one of the glowing green Fade crystals was at least as large as a double decker bus, and twice as long, with tendrils of green energy winding and twisting up into the Breach.

“The Breach is a long way up…” Varric murmured staring up.

I whirled at the sound of footsteps behind us, in time to see a troop of archers turn the corner into the Temple. Leliana pushed past them, the chainmail overlay on her tunic rattling as she darted over to us. “You’re here. Thank the Maker.”

Cassandra began firing off orders, but I pushed between them. “I can tell you what will be coming out of that rift. Will it help?”

“Yes,” Leliana answered, when Cassandra could only stare.

“A pride demon. A massive one. Its eyes will be level with that balcony. It’ll call some wraiths and shades to it, but that’s the biggest threat.”

“You are certain?” Cassandra seemed to have found her voice.

“Have I been wrong yet?”

Cassandra shook her head, and she and Leliana took a step away to talk tactics. Varric was at my elbow. “The pride demon is the stuff of my nightmares?” he asked softly. It was my turn to shake my head.

“Are you ready to end this?” Cassandra asked, interrupting as Leliana moved to give orders to her men.

“I’m assuming you have a plan to get me up there?” Eve asked with a raised brow, staring at the Breach thousands of feet above us.

Solas shook his head. “No. This rift was the first,” he answered, gesturing to the rift in the courtyard below us. “It is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

“You said the Mark couldn’t seal the Breach yet?” Eve asked turning to me. I’d forgotten I’d told them that earlier. What could I do now, but tell the truth as I saw it.

“It won’t,” I confirmed. “We either need to suppress its power or magnify the power of the Mark. That’s a discussion for later. What it will do is stabilise it, make it dormant. It will stop spreading and spawning new rifts and new demons. It will stop the Mark from killing you. It buys us time.”

“Good enough.” Cassandra was fixed on this path. “Let’s find a way down. And be careful.”

We had barely started walking when the voice rumbled through the Temple ruins. Now is the hour of our victory. I was expecting it but it still made me jump. Bring forth the sacrifice.

“What are we hearing?” It was the first time I had heard Cassandra sound nervous.

“The thing responsible for all this,” I told them. Corypheus.

As we turned a corner, I saw a red glow ahead. I glanced at Varric, walking silently next to me. Too short to see what I was seeing over the top of some of the debris. He knew as soon as we reached it though. I saw him lose all colour in his face, eyes wide with horror. His voice shook. “You know this is red lyrium, Seeker.”

“I see it, Varric.” Her words were sharp, but her tone spoke of some understanding there. Anyone who knew about red lyrium would know about what all it had done in Kirkwall. I laid my hand on his shoulder.

“But what’s it doing here?” he hissed, the fear plain in his voice.

Solas was as impassive as ever. “Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the Temple, corrupted it…”

I drew Varric away, as he continued to stare at the blood red rocks jutting out of the stone that had once been the Temple. “It’s evil,” he insisted. “Whatever you do, don’t touch it.”

“I know, mo caraid. I’m so sorry.”

“You tried to warn me-“

Keep the sacrifice still. For all I knew it was coming, and I knew how dangerous red lyrium was, I feared hearing that voice more.

Someone help me!

I closed my eyes, despairing. Her voice was so frightened and it was already far too late to do anything to save her.

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” Cassandra’s voice was choked. I could only imagine what it was doing to Leliana to hear that. Her friend, her surrogate mother, calling for help and she hadn’t been there.

Varric drew closer to me as we passed more of the foul red lyrium to find a stairway down to the Temple floor. His eyes were wide and his colour still hadn’t returned. As we dropped down the last few feet to the ruined Temple floor, I spotted more red lyrium directly under the rift. We were going to have to be careful of it during the fight.

This close to such a huge rift, Eve’s whole hand was ablaze with light from the Mark, veins of its energy glowing in the back of her hand. She stared at it, as horrified as Varric had been to see the red lyrium.

Someone help me! The Divine’s voice echoed around the collapsed walls once more.

What’s going on here?

Even Eve–possibly especially Eve–looked startled to hear her voice echoing magically around us. There didn’t seem to be an obvious source for the voices, they seemed to be coming from everywhere.

Cassandra’s eyes were huge as she turned to Eve. “That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you, but…”

The rift started crackling louder, tendrils dancing out everywhere. We had all begun to back away when there was a flash of light. Suddenly, a ghostly image of the Divine was hanging in the air above us, arms outstretched as if she was being crucified, held by blood red tendrils of energy. Looming over her, was a black shadow with glowing red eyes. If only that was what Corypheus actually looked like. A ghostly Eve ran towards them asking, “What’s going on here?”

“Run while you can,” the ghost of Divine Justinia cried, anguished. “Warn them!”

“We have an intruder.” The voice of the Corypheus shadow was calm, unworried by the interruption. “Kill her. Now.” It pointed at the ghost of Eve before there was another blinding flash of white light and the image was gone.

Cassandra was the first to recover and she was frantic. “You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…?” That was the one question she couldn’t bring herself to ask. “Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

“I don’t remember,” Eve was as frustrated as the Seeker.

“Echoes of what happened here,” Solas interpreted, gazing up at the rift. “The Fade bleeds into this place.”

“It was a true account, though that is not actually what your murderer looks like,” I interrupted. They had seen what had happened, now they needed to believe. “Eve was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I’m sorry, Cassandra. Justinia is truly gone.”

She whirled on me. “You were not there.” I flinched and took a step back. Cassandra followed, enraged. “Where were you? Was that you under that shadow?” I stumbled backwards over a rock and fell. As Cassandra loomed over me, fists clenched, I cowered, much as I had in the dungeon under the Chantry, holding an arm to ward off a blow to my face.

Varric darted between us. “Did that sound like Oracle to you, Seeker? Does she look like she has the will or the power to do something like that?”

“I wasn’t even at the Conclave,” I whimpered. “I’d never even been to Ferelden before I woke up in Haven today.”

“Then how did you get here?” Cassandra’s anger had given way to distress. If I could lift myself out of the situation I could understand her feelings. The Divine had been in direct danger, kidnapped and bound, before the explosion. Cassandra could only imagine that if she had been there, she could have protected Justina, prevented it all. And if I was remembering correctly, she’d had an old lover at the Conclave.

From where I was sitting in dirt and ashes, terrified and alone in a strange place, accused of a terrible mass murder, I just hoped she could be brought to see reason. “I don’t know.” I knew I sounded weak and frightened. I was weak and frightened. “I can’t See anything to do with myself.”

“Given that she fell out of a Fade rift,” Eve asked gently, “is it so hard to believe that Lily was carried from a distance away?”

“No.” Cassandra turned away, anger and distress all gone. “Get up. We have to close this rift. We can investigate how you came to be here after.”

While Cassandra had been verbally attacking me, Solas had been examining the rift. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily.” He turned to include Eve, who had been helping me up, in their conversation. She passed me over to Varric who guided me to a corner. I was shaking, tears blurring my vision.

“Someone really did a number on you, didn’t they?” he asked kindly, passing me a handkerchief.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I lied stubbornly, wiping fiercely at my eyes.

“I mean,” he replied firmly, “that someone taught you to be afraid, all the time, and not to stand up for yourself.” He waved off my attempt to return the hankie. “There’s still a spark there, they didn’t break you completely, but they did teach you to be frightened.”

“I have reason to be,” I could hear the shake in my voice. “If I can’t convince Cassandra I had nothing to do with this, I’ll hang.”

Varric shook his head. “She doesn’t really believe you and Eve are guilty. Not anymore. She’s just feeling guilty for not being there.” He squeezed my arm. “You won’t hang.”

By now, some of the soldiers Leliana had brought with her had arrived and were fanning out around the temple floor. Archers were spread around the balconies overlooking our position. I wished I was up there with them.

“Stand ready.” Cassandra’s voice echoed through the ruin. Eve scanned around and caught my eye. I notched an arrow to my bow and nodded at her. If I survived this, then I could think about what came next, not before.

Eve smiled at me, squared her shoulders, and lifted her hand to the rift. At once a tentacle of green light shot from her hand. There was a flash and she staggered back as a stream of light shot from the rift to explode in a flash of green off to one side. When the flash cleared the Pride demon was in its place.

It was as tall as I’d predicted, grey and hideously spiked in a natural armour made more deadly by the bolts of electricity that jumped from joint to joint. I caught a glimpse of seven pitch black eyes above two rows of jagged fangs before it lifted it head and bellowed, a sound that echoed horribly off the stone around us.

Varric and I stayed back as far as possible, pinned against a wall. When Cassandra roared, a shower of arrows rained down on the beast from the archers above us. As they hit, most of them bouncing harmlessly off its hide, the creature laughed, a sound which chilled my blood.

My world shrank to grabbing an arrow from the quiver on my back, drawing, and releasing. If I looked around, at the soldiers being slashed to pieces by claws as long as my arm, or grabbed by the demon’s lightning whip and tossed away, burning, I would be lost. Eve disrupted the rift when she could, freezing the thing in place and giving us time to get some more hits in. I felt the pins and needles tingle of Solas’ barrier settling on me as a shade appeared in front of us. Varric grabbed a dagger from his boot and slashed at it, as I ducked to avoid a swipe of its claws and Solas froze the thing. I shouldered into it, knocking it down the pile of rubble we were perched on to shatter on the ground below. Varric shouted some vague thank you to the elf, but I was too busy drawing and aiming again to pay much attention.

It felt like forever before the demon fell to its knees. “Now!” I heard Cassandra call. “Seal the rift!” My eyes flitted over the battlefield, searching for Eve. She was practically underneath the rift, standing looking battered and bruised. She looked blankly at Cassandra who roared, “Do it!”

The green stream of energy shot from Eve’s palm as she lifted it. And we waited. All previous rifts had closed in seconds but time seemed to stretch out now. Eve staggered closer to the rift and I couldn’t tell if she was pushing herself forward in an attempt to force the rift closed or if it’s power was dragging her closer. Finally, it exploded upwards, and I watched in awe as a shockwave rolled over our heads and out of the Temple. A green ball of energy travelled from the exploding rift up into the Breach, which also flashed. I heard another shockwave follow the first, but couldn’t see it, blinded by the explosion above me.

When my eyes cleared, Eve was unconscious on the ground. Varric made to dart forward, but I stopped him with my hand on his shoulder. “She’s alive. She’s just exhausted herself.” He stopped and stood with me, watching as Solas examined her, Cassandra looming over the elven mage. He only let out his breath when Solas looked up and nodded to Cassandra. The Seeker immediately started barking orders to the soldiers around her.

Varric looked up at me and smiled. “Time to face the music, Oracle.”

[ramblesandmumblesofanerd]

Weekly Review: Samurai Jack Season 5 Episode 9

Warning: Lengthy Post Which Contains Spoilers

Previously on Samurai Jack…

As a UFO crashes on Earth, Jack and Ashi begin their travels to Aku’s lair to destroy him once and for all. During their time together, the two warriors begin to form a strong bond, making them act somewhat awkwardly around one another. Regardless, they eventually come across the crashes UFO in the midst of a sandstorm and decide to take refuge inside, unaware of the vessel’s former function. As they wander inside, they come across a monster named Lazarus 92, a hive mind comprised of hungry space leeches, and the one device that can destroy it. After more awkwardness, they finally kill the monster...and embrace one another in a passionate kiss.

We begin exactly where we left off, with Ashi and Jack in mid kiss...and finally realizing that human lips are not supposed to taste like space leech guts. They spit out the vile fluids while apologizing to another, not wanting to make it look like they hated their experience in spite of the leeches. After finding a breach in the ship’s hull, Ashi goes to look for some replacement clothes while Jack climbs out. He steps outside, reflecting on what has happened, and even finds a broken pipeline from the ship conveniently leaking water. He uses this to take an impromptu shower as Ashi returns in her new outfit, his gi in hand. She quietly gawks at his silhouette before disappearing around the corner before Jack notices her. He smiles at his reflection as he puts on his outfit...but his reflection does not smile back. The familiar, haggard version of Jack from earlier episodes appears and warns himself to be careful about Ashi. The Samurai admits that something like finding true love like this has never happened before, and he does not know how to deal with it.

As night falls, Jack and Ashi sit and eat around a campfire, having hunted down some local wildlife in the sand. After much silence (and admittedly strange animation), Ashi asks Jack if he ever thinks of his home. The Samurai admits he does in a melancholic tone. He reminisces about the beauty of his home, how he would see the entire village from the top of his father’s castle, and how it changed as the seasons rolled by. Ashi then asks if Jack ever had a lover, to which Jack says there was not enough time to find love in the past. Jack was only eight years old when Aku appeared to destroy the world once more. Ashi apologizes for bringing up his past, but Jack simply replies that these memories are now the only way he will ever see the past ever again. The next morning, Ashi is shocked to discover that Jack is gone.

Meanwhile, on the ashen landscape of Aku's domain, a familiar metal skull is riding a cephalopod straight to the tower. That's right, Scaramouche has made it across the ocean and undoubtedly numerous obstacles and has made it to Aku’s lair. The determined robot scuttles down to the front door, where a familiar figure awaits him. At first, Scaramouche is ecstatic over Aku waiting for him, but is soon disappointed to discover that his employer has left an intercom in his likeness to greet anyone who comes to visit. The machine basically tells Scaramouche to get lost, but the persistent robot is having none of it, as he scales the tower and squeezes himself through a hole in the wall. He eventually summons an annoyed Aku, and finally tells him that Jack has lost his sword. Elated, Aku restores his minion’s body and dances in celebration, thinking that now his long time foe will be much easier to destroy, unaware that his assassin's news has come far too late.

Back in the desert, Jack wanders alone after leaving Ashi behind. He aimlessly traverses the sands until he stumbles across a familiar landscape covered in metallic corpses. As he climbs over the lifeless bodies of dozens of deactivated, rusting robots, he finally finds the center of the graveyard, where a destroyed obelisk rests. Beside it is a pair of red, cracked glasses. Jack closes his eyes, saddened by the scene. 

For those not familiar with the previous seasons, allow me to explain. This place once held a time portal, powered by the now destroyed obelisk, and all of these corpses, big or small, metallic or organic, were once mighty warriors who desired to use it. But, they were all defeated by a man of unknown power and strength, a man simply known as The Guardian. Once, even Jack fought against the Guardian to use the portal, only to be brutally defeated after an intense battle. The only reason why he survived, however, is because this portal was unique; it was sentient. The portal told the Guardian to spare Jack, as the Samurai would have been worthy to use the portal in the future, had Aku not discovered it before that time. Sadly, it appears that even the Guardian, with all his might, could not defeat everyone, as it is clear that Aku has destroyed him and the portal.

As Jack reflects upon this discovery, Ashi finally tracks him down. She asks him why he left without saying a word, to which Jack responds by telling her to go back. Ashi pleads him to help her understand what the Samurai is going through, why he has become so distant all of a sudden. Jack explains that everyone he has ever known and loved has been taken away by Aku, leaving nothing but memories behind, and he does not want Ashi to succumb to the same fate. Ashi softly smiles as she takes Jack’s hands. She proclaims that destiny brought them together, and thus they shall defeat Aku together. This moment of warmth is brief, as a voice booms through the mechanical graveyard.

“Samurai Jack…”

A dark figure looms above the two warriors, gazing down upon them with wide eyes. Aku has finally come. The Shogun of Sorrow and Scaramouche laugh at their enemies, believing they have no way to defend themselves...until Jack reveals his sword. Aku immediately glares at his goon, and promptly fires him. And by fire, I mean straight up destroy him.

As the Master of Misery begins to take his leave, he pauses and sniffs the air. Something has caught Aku’s attention...something familiar…

“I smell ME!”

Aku looms over Ashi, who arms herself with an abandoned blade in retaliation. He proclaims that a portion of his essence resides inside her. He ponders as to how this can be, and remembers a time he paid a visit to a cult who worshipped an effigy of their ruler. A cult completely comprised of female assassins. Yes, Aku actually appeared before the Daughters of Aku years ago, impressed by their tribute to him, in spite of it being a pale comparison to the original Aku. As a token of his appreciation, he bestowed upon them a goblet full of his very essence for them to worship. But then, after he left, an awful idea dawned upon the High Priestess. She took the goblet and hastily drank Aku’s essence. Months later, she laid upon an altar, pregnant and screaming. I’m pretty sure we all know what happened next. And thus, years later, Ashi stands before the being she once worshipped, horrified to learn that she is still Daughter of Aku in more ways than one.

As Jack charges at Aku, having had enough of his trickery, the demon smiles. Jack’s sword meets Ashi’s, as she stands between Jack and his foe. She swears that she didn’t move, but Aku says otherwise, as Ashi attacks Jack violently. Somehow, through the essence she was born from, Ashi is being controlled by Aku like a puppet. Jack urges her to fight Aku’s influence, but she keeps attacking furiously, much to her dismay.

The two warriors are evenly matched, but Aku has another trick up his sleeve. Ashi’s clothes and skin starts to turn pitch black as she screams in fear. As the darkness consumes her, her eyes glow brightly underneath a pair of parallel flames. Ashi has become a hyrbid, a blend between human and Aku. She lashes out at Jack, unable to speak to him under the blackness until Jack’s sword scrapes it away. She regains control for a brief moment, and begs Jack to kill her. The Samurai cannot bring himself to do it, and soon relents. He surrenders his sword and kneels in defeat. The hybrid moves to kill Jack, but Aku stops her before her claws make contact. He plucks the Samurai’s sword and cackles in victory as the episode ends.

As the penultimate episode comes to a close, I am left at a lost for words. The plot development given right at the end certainly took me by surprise, and has left me wondering just how this season is going to end in the next episode. Aku has all but destroyed his foe, now wielding the very sword that can destroy him and having complete control over the one woman the Samurai has truly loved. It’s like a suckerpunch to the gut, especially after making that theory in the previous entry about how Jack and Ashi could have lived together in the future after destroying Aku. Is that even possible anymore? Can Ashi be saved from Aku’s influence? Can Ashi even exist if Aku is destroyed? Well, we’ll have to wait for the next episode, the final episode of Samurai Jack, to see just what the end has in store for us.

But in the meantime, never stop rambling, TM

Reblogs are always appreciated. YouTube version: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whcSEXz2sSk

[ask-de-writer]

SEE STORY (Part 3 of 5) A tale from the World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SEE STORY

Part 3 of 5

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

Cover art by @wind-the-mama-cat​

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New to SEE STORY?  Read from the beginning.  Part 1 is HERE.

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14372 words

copyright 2020

written 2003

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may   reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge   for their images.

All sorts of Fan Activity, fiction, art, cosplay, music or anything else is ACTIVELY encouraged!

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Barad looked like he had bit into a spoiled seaweed salad.  “I expected as much.  The Grandalor has many resources that could be placed at your disposal to further your business, but only if we know what it is that we are getting into.  If your crew will allow it, we may be of assistance.”

“I can speak to them.  I will. Do not expect too much though, the Grandalor does not have the proper nets for our work.  Also, I know that my crew is aware of the Grandalor’s reputation.”

“What do you mean by that?” demanded Barad with some heat.

“In the Gatherings they say it is preferable to deal with a Strong Skin than the Grandalor … and the Strong Skin will eat you alive.”

“Well,” said Barad sourly, “what net might it be that we do not have?”

“A bottom dragger.  Yours was fouled and lost, trying for crabs, two weeks ago, or so I heard.  Am I wrong?”

Thunderstruck, Barad replied, “How could you know that?  We have had no contact with any ship since before we lost it!”

“That too, I fear, is ship’s business,” said Mord levelly.

“I see that we can probably not help you with your business,” said Barad ingratiatingly, “but there is one more matter.  Your Luck.  She will have to marry off your ship soon.  The Grandalor could offer you a very good match.  In exchange, we could offer a bride with almost any skill that you could want.”

The cabin door opened and Cat, with eyes downcast from the visiting Captain, carried in a tray set with precious minced crab and lobster rolls, steamed fish cakes and a carafe of pure, distilled water.  

“Mord, who is your lovely cabin lady?  She is clearly near to marriageable age.  She could do far worse than to be placed on the Grandalor.  I have need of capable servants.”

Stiffly, Mord replied, “Cat is my sister by adoption.  We call her the Sea’s Gift. Captain Barad Maks, meet Cat.  Cat, this is Captain Barad Maks  … ”

In a voice that, though clear, reminded one of the seawater rushing around the bows of a ship, Cat interrupted, “Of the Grandalor, I know.  Trade agreements and other ship’s business he keeps secret from his crew, for his own enrichment.  Advice he neither seeks nor takes.  He has condoned second-rate repairs to the hull after grounding on a reef recently.   He has allowed the Grandalor’s bottom to get more foul than it should be.  I do not trust him,” She turned to face Barad eyes fully open.

Barad recoiled.  “By the Dragons!  She is blind!  Why do you keep such a useless one?  Pity?”  He sat again.  “Captain Mord Halyn, she must be punished!  She spoke ill of my Captaincy!  No crew person may leave off their Captain’s title, by which she has insulted you, too.”

“Captain Barad Maks, I have no authority to discipline her for speaking truth, and as to my title, Cat is my sister.  She does as she wills, and if we are wise, we allow it.”

“There is another thing!  I know her true name!  You have named her for a Dragon.  If you do not rename her you face grave peril.”

“WE did not name her.  Custom and Law left us no choice.  Why do you think that she has never been enrolled as a part of the crew?”

“This blind thing is the famous Luck of the Longin?  A helpless, sightless thing that needs to be nurse-maided every minute of its life?  I have clearly come to the wrong ship.”  He grabbed a handful of the crab and lobster rolls as he stormed out of the cabin.

By the time that he got to the deck, Cat was there ahead of him, having gone out the Captain’s window and up the side of the Longin.  She flipped to the deck, jumped, snagged one of the mast stays and swarmed up it, hand over hand, letting her feet dangle, until she sat herself serenely on the yardarm, sixty feet above the deck.

Captain Barad watched in utter amazement.  “How could she do something like that?  Your Luck can’t see.”

“You fail to understand Cat at all,” Mord said tightly, angry.  “She is blind, yes, but she is more able than most of us.  We have given up trying to understand how.”  Once again he proffered a hand to Captain Barad.  “Go now, and I will speak to my crew of your proposal.”

Barad went down the boarding ladder, pointedly not taking the proffered hand. “You must teach your Luck proper manners and discipline.  I am affronted.”

As Barad took his place in his gig, a slight hiss from the mast-stay and the quiet thump of feet on the rail, announced the arrival of Cat.  “Captain, brother of mine, what are we going to do?  Captain Barad has offended me,” she spoke in her voice like rushing water as she hopped lightly to the deck.

“He has also insulted me, little sister,” answered the Captain, barely containing his rage, now that Barad was off his ship.

Just then Kurin came cautiously up, unsure of her welcome in a grown-up conversation,  and hugged Cat.  The child said, “I was in Alor’s cabin, next to yours.  She is showing me stitch work.  We heard it all.  Why can he be mean to us and us not get even?”

“I think that we should do nothing, just now.  It would be neither polite nor wise to affront him further,” said the Captain.

Cat dropped cross-legged to the deck and gathered the child into her lap.

Captain Mord looked about his ship with a practiced eye, to be sure that nothing would need his attention while he talked with the child that Cat cared about. “Grandalor is a good deal larger ship than the Longin, in crew and length and tonnage.  Captain Barad has much in common with a dictator.  Too much of an insult to him could lead to a battle between us.  I think that the Longin would win, in the end, but we would be sure to lose good crew-folk.”

She listened intently, staring in concentration.  She shivered at the mention of death.  Cat held her more closely, and asked, “You would not go to battle over some foolish indignity.  Why would he?  Wouldn’t he lose crew-folk, too?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t care about that.  He keeps secrets from his crew, because he does not respect them.  If we were to win, then he would count his losses and hold them as a grudge against us and use them as an excuse to fight us again.  Such feuds have been known to destroy whole ships and everyone on them.”

“If that’s true, why would anyone start such a thing?”

“Your question goes to the heart of the matter.  Those who think first do not usually do such things.  Some people have overgrown pride that makes them believe that they cannot lose.

“There are other ways to harm a ship besides battle.  You know how we divide fishing waters and other resources at the Gathering of Ships?  They could try to claim our fisheries, the source of our prosperity, for their own through the abuse of our laws.  It has been done before.”

Cat looked thoughtful.  “I believe that is the tack that they will try. Already, without awaiting our answer to their proposition, they are getting ready to make sail.  Grandalor will have to head almost due South, running a reach that they think they can maintain for days of swift sailing.  

“Even if their weather fails them, and it will not hold, they might reach the Gathering of Ships before us.”  Cat grinned at a sudden thought. “If Barad is dishonest, he might try to claim what he thinks are rich waters out from under us.  They would have to release some fishing waters to add a claim here in the Dragon Sea.”

Kurin, who had listened carefully, as she did most things, asked, “But isn’t the Dragon Sea forbidden to fishing claims?”

The Captain looked at her thoughtfully.  This little one was full of surprises.  “That is right.  It is forbidden by Custom and not Law.  Breaches of Custom can be granted by the Gathering Council.”

Cat, still grinning predatorily, said, “Let them make the claim.  Even encourage them by proper opposition.  There’s not much here for Sea People, anyway.  We can take the waters that they abandon, and be the richer for it.”

It was Captain Mord’s turn to think things through.  “You have always known what goes on, upon the Sea.  You knew that the Grandalor was following us.  Is that why we sailed so far from our home waters?”

As guileless as a sea bird near a bait bucket, she replied, “I knew that they were following us and told you.  Their following us was luck.  It is not the reason for this trip.  I asked you to bring us here for a reason quite different.   Before we are done, we will have a good profit.  I still need to spend another day in these waters.  Please set the course NNE.  The weather will favor us.”

Standing up straight, Kurin looked over the rail, toward the other ship.  “I don’t see any signs of their leaving. Are you sure?”

“They have cleared the running rigging of their mains’ls and jibs and are drifting apart from us. Already they are 120 yards further away than when we started this conversation.  They will go when Carsis sets, about four drums after dark.”

“Will you help to trim the sails?” asked the Captain, more cheerfully.  “I mean to set your course immediately.  In that, they will have their answer to both their offer of help and their odious proposition for you.”  He seethed, “My sister a servant on the Grandalor … .”

Cat came fluidly to her feet and skipped lightly to the mains’l lines. Seeing her going with purpose to the rigging, some of the crew followed her and stood ready at the lines.  The tocsin drum beat its call.  Moments later, the First Officer’s voice began to call the commands and lines were loosed, allowing the big lateen sail to swing, with dangerously apparent gentleness, downwind.  The Longin came about to her new heading, coasting on forward momentum.  Lines were payed out and drawn up until the sails were set at the best angle to the wind for the new tack.  No longer partly furled, the many long battens or ribs in her sails made them resemble spread wings as the Longin fairly flew down her new heading.

After her usual check for the security of the lines and the proper stowage of the coils, Cat walked lightly forward, right out onto the bowsprit, where she sat as the water purled under the bow.  Quietly, at first, she began to sing, her voice and the plunging rush of the water blending into a song with words that none of the crew had ever heard before.  She stayed there until after dark, singing, interrupted only by the voice of the tocsin drum calling watch change and marking the passage of time, the heartbeat of the Longin.

The Grandalor had, as predicted, gone away south.  They had not awaited darkness, when the Longin had resumed her business, they had set sail and were past the horizon before dark.

Shortly after Carsis had set, some of the crew heard Cat singing what sounded like a duet. The other voice sounded like the plaintive call of the Orca whale, with words like her own in the whale song.  The duet went on for nearly an hour.

She walked down the nearly deserted deck, smiling with delight.  Only Captain Mord, who stood at the tiller, and the necessary lookouts had intruded on her.  It was as near to privacy as one could get, on deck.  She covered the distance to the tiller, more dancing than walking.  

“Thank you for the space, my Captain.  The lack of distraction was a help.  Now, you will be repaid for this whole profitless voyage.  Set the course SSW until morning.”

“We will do so.  May I ask a question?”

“Of course you may.  Of all this crew that I love, my brother, it is you that I trust the most.”

“Were you singing in two voices?”

“No, I was not.  It was for that song that we have come so far.

“Tomorrow, we will need the fine fishing net, and those ring supported nets that I have been making.  Each one will need about 50 feet of line attached to it, so that it can be brought up with the ring flat.  I know that these Northern waters are cold, so I will do the necessary diving.  The water will only be about 30 feet deep.”

“Cat,” said Mord uncomfortably, changing the subject, “neither of us likes or trusts Captain Barad, but he was right about one thing.  It is near time for you to find a mate and marry.  Your time is near.  This is your 19th Gathering, since we found you.”

“I know that Mord, my Captain,” she said with a heavy sigh.  “I do not wish to leave the Longin, but I know that I must.  You would not thrust me into an unwanted marriage, so I have been looking into the matter for some time, and my choice is already made.  It was not easy, but it is done.  I will make him known at the Gathering of Ships.”

“You do have another year.  I, the whole crew too, would miss you.”

“I know that but it will be a thousand Gatherings before another Dragon Moons.  I will miss you all.  Let my parting be a special one.  I do not want to be forgotten.”

Shortly after dawn the lookout’s cry of “Shoal Water Ahead!” and the tocsin drum’s wild beat of ‘All Hands on Deck!’ brought everyone scrambling to the deck to man the sails and turn the ship back to safety.  The shoal showed as a large area of unpredictable swirling currents and choppy waves.

Cat calmed the fears of the crew. “This water is deep enough for us to sail safely, in any case. There is another reason why we are here.  Who wants to see the Longin make a larger profit?”  

“I do!” the whole crew said in a ragged chorus.

“Down on that reef are big cold water lobsters and crabs.  Shrimp will abound.  There are many shells, both precious, like the mother of pearl and haliotis, and utilitarian like clam and drill shells.  The shrimp will come up from deep water this evening.  Most of them will come up a large crevice in the reef and there we will catch them with the fine net.  The ring nets that I have made will, with the help of galley scraps for bait, catch those lobsters and crabs.”

Someone called out, “What are we waiting for?  Let’s break out the boats!”  This was work that everyone on the Longin understood.  An orderly bustle of men and women unlashed and launched the fishing boats.

“We’re less than a week and a half from the Gathering!  I bet that we can get some of those crabs and suchlike to the Gathering alive if we try!  We could carry them in the weavers’ mussel vat!” somebody exclaimed.  

“They’ll be worth twice as much if we pull it off!” responded another.  

No more was needed.  Men and women undogged the hatch over the proper hold and began to rig a crane to lower catch.  Others clattered down the companionways to the vat itself to ready it.    Children were set to winding mussel string into neat skeins for tying the claws of lobsters and crabs, so that they could not hurt each other.

There were small fishing boats bobbing in the chop over the reef, from one end of it to the other. Nets were splashing into the water as quickly as they could be pulled up and emptied of crabs and lobsters.  As each net was done, the boats rowed quickly to the next float marking the line of another net.  Kurin leaned glumly on the rail.  She was small.  There was nothing for her to do.  She felt a light hand on her shoulder, and heard a voice like water streaming happily under the bows.

“Would you like to come with me, Kurin?  I need somebody reliable to keep my boat steady while I get in and out, and to help dry me with towels when I am done with diving.  I am taking a boat fresh from the shop.  Master Juris told me that you worked on it, and did a good job, too.”

“Oh, Cat!  I would love to. Can I really help you?”

“Yes, you can,” replied Cat, hitching the boat into the davits for lowering.  A few minutes later they scrambled down the heavy net that served as a ladder, and cast off.  

In Cat’s hands the oars drove the little boat like a living thing.  Kurin sat in the stern and manned the tiller.  Soon, they were over the heart of the reef.

Cat stripped off her sailor’s shirt and pants, took a net bag, and dove cleanly over the stern.  Kurin took the oars and used small strokes to kept the boat in position, as best she could, using her eye on the Longin for a reference.  She quickly found that it was harder than it seemed.  There was a natural tendency to take too long a strokes with the oars and move it, rather than just keep it still and in its place.  A minute passed, and then two.  By the time that five minutes were gone, Kurin was beginning to worry.  Just then, a hand reached up over the wide shallow ‘v’ of the net guide built into the stern and Cat slid into the boat.  Her net bag was full of large shells.

While Cat was panting for breath, Kurin emptied the bag and readied it for Cat’s next dive.  After a few minutes of recovery, Cat took several deep breaths, let them out, and dove over the stern again.  This time, Kurin kept the boat on station without worrying.  

She passed time by sorting the shells by kind as well as she could.  She planned to ask Cat which shells were which and what their values were.  Cat continued to bring up shells for more than an hour.  Between dives she instructed Kurin about the values and properties of the different kinds.  After her last dive, Kurin had to help her into the boat.  

Cat had trouble holding onto the transom and nearly dropped her bag of shells back into the depths.  Her lips and the nails of her hands were blue, she was shivering, and she was clumsy.  It took all of Kurin’s small strength, feet braced against the transom, to get Cat over the net guide and into the safety of the boat.  The usually sure Cat was weak and could not grip tightly or even reach accurately.  Cold water had taken its insidious toll of weakness, slowing reactions and dulling not only senses but her mind as well.

Kurin toweled off Cat and helped her into her clothes to warm her up.  She was chill to the touch.  Kurin rowed them, clumsily at first but with rapidly growing skill, back to the Longin.  It was Kurin who went up the side of the ship.  Kurin who tossed down a safety line to the exhausted Cat.  It was Kurin who took in the line, making sure that it was properly snubbed around a marlin spike, to help  Cat up the side of the Longin.  While Cat staggered to her bunk to warm up, Kurin secured the shells and got them safely to the deck, using the boat davit as a crane to lift them.  Captain Mord personally took them to the galley for cleaning, sorting, and the making of a shellfish stew.   Kurin sought out the shivering Cat, brought her own blankets to cover her and cuddled next to the cold woman, to help warm her.  After a bit, when the worst of Cat’s shivering had stopped, Kurin went to the galley and got her some warm broth.  Soon Cat was sitting up, wrapped in blankets and ravenously eating warm food.

As she ate, Kurin told her all that she had done.  “Little One, who taught you to do all those things?”

“All my life, I’ve watched you.  You always think first, before you do anything, so I thought of what I needed and how to do it.  That made it easier.”

“As soon as I am warm enough, we are going out again.   The cold of the water tricked me and clouded my judgment.  This time, you tell me when to stop, OK?”

They made three more trips to the reef for shells before evening.  Each time that Kurin noticed any sign of difficulty, Cat stopped diving and they returned to the ship to warm up and deliver their catch.

As dark was falling, the fine net brought up a large catch of shrimp to add to the seawater vat already swarming with crabs and lobsters, claws neatly and securely tied.  As soon as the precious live cargo was properly secured, the Longin made all sail south to the Gathering of Ships.

Speed was their great necessity. The Longin’s huge lateen mainsail and her large lateen foresail were fully spread, and all of her auxiliary sails were set as well. Sea raced under her, and was left behind as a wake of foam and small whirlpools.  The northern clouds were left behind and temperate seas as well.

“Cat, I have brought you some warm soup,” said Kurin.  “You‘ve spent so much time at the tiller, since we left the north, I wonder that you can stand so many long watches.”

“Thank you, Kurin,” she said, putting the tiller under her right arm and wrapping her hands around the mug to warm them.  “I must stand these watches, because we need all speed to get to the Gathering of Ships.  I know best where there are currents to aid us and ones to avoid, so I steer.”  

“But I don’t understand.  You can’t see the sun, the stars or the moons.  How do you know where to go?”

“The oceans and seas tell me, Little Fish.”

“How?”

“There are waves that the wind makes on the surface, and under them are long, deep waves.  Those long, deep waves tell me where I am.  Here in Naral Sea, the bottom slopes up to the south, so as we go that way, the long, deep waves get shorter and higher.  Also, they are affected by the currents. The Naral Current sweeps north along here, and pushes the waves over it to the side.  The cross beat of the waves from the current and the still water waves tells me that the Naral is about a league that way.”  Cat paused and pointed off to port.  “We want to stay out of it.  In a few hours we will pick up the Clifftos current, as it bends south, and it will carry us swiftly almost all of the way to the Gathering of the Ships.”

Kurin paused in thought and said, “So, if I learn how to feel what the waves say, then I will always know where I am and what direction I’m going, even in fog?”

“Yes, Kurin.  I am sorry that I do not have the time to teach you the oceans.”  Cat paused to drink the soup. “That was good, Kurin.  Did you make it?”

Kurin’s face lit up, “Yes, I did.  How did you know?”

“Master Murel is a good cook, and the Longin is lucky to have him, but he never puts enough sea lettuce in his soups.  Are you working in the galley, now?”

“No.  Since I started in the boat shop, Master Juris told the other Craft Masters that I was careful, and always paid attention.  They have made me welcome in all the other shops, including the galley.

“Oh, Cat, I wish that you could see the moons rise!  They are beautiful.  Carsis is almost up.  It is light red tonight. Little Dorac is clear and white, just sitting on the horizon.   Big Wohan, light yellow,  is half way up from the horizon.  The waves make their light into rippling bars that point right to us.”

“Thank you for describing the moons rise for me, Kurin.  Nobody has done that for me since I was a child in Alor’s arms.

“Tomorrow, in the mid-morning, we should come to the Gathering of Ships.  Please take this mug back to the galley for me and come back.  I have something I want you to know.”

Kurin scampered off, mug in hand, and returned.

“Here’s the key to my sea chest.  Go to my quarters and open it.  There’s a big tray in it. Bring it and all the things with it.”

Shortly Kurin returned, struggling slightly with the size of the tray.  It had a long, narrow cushion fastened across it.  There were bins that held skeins of mussel threads in carefully matched colors, many pins made of strong, dried fish bones, carefully polished smooth and small bobbins, like net needles, filled with fine strands.  There were many patterns made with lines of tiny pinpricks in pliable, dried fish skins.

“This, Kurin, is how you make Longin Lace.  You begin by choosing your colors.  I always need help with that  … ”

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SEE STORY (Part 3 of 5) : A tale from the World of Sea

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See Story

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

14372 words

copyright 2019

written 2003

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge.  I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

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Barad looked like he had bit into a spoiled seaweed salad.  “I expected as much.  The Grandalor has many resources that could be placed at your disposal to further your business, but only if we know what it is that we are getting into.  If your crew will allow it, we may be of assistance.”

“I can speak to them.  I will. Do not expect too much though, the Grandalor does not have the proper nets for our work.  Also, I know that my crew is aware of the Grandalor’s reputation.”

“What do you mean by that?” demanded Barad with some heat.

“In the Gatherings they say it is preferable to deal with a Strong Skin than the Grandalor … and the Strong Skin will eat you alive.”

“Well,” said Barad sourly, “what net might it be that we do not have?”

“A bottom dragger.  Yours was fouled and lost, trying for crabs, two weeks ago, or so I heard.  Am I wrong?”

Thunderstruck, Barad replied, “How could you know that?  We have had no contact with any ship since before we lost it!”

“That too, I fear, is ship’s business,” said Mord levelly.

“I see that we can probably not help you with your business,” said Barad ingratiatingly, “but there is one more matter.  Your Luck.  She will have to marry off your ship soon.  The Grandalor could offer you a very good match.  In exchange, we could offer a bride with almost any skill that you could want.”

The cabin door opened and Cat, with eyes downcast from the visiting Captain, carried in a tray set with precious minced crab and lobster rolls, steamed fish cakes and a carafe of pure, distilled water.  

“Mord, who is your lovely cabin lady?  She is clearly near to marriageable age.  She could do far worse than to be placed on the Grandalor.  I have need of capable servants.”

Stiffly, Mord replied, “Cat is my sister by adoption.  We call her the Sea’s Gift. Captain Barad Maks, meet Cat.  Cat, this is Captain Barad Maks  … ”

In a voice that, though clear, reminded one of the seawater rushing around the bows of a ship, Cat interrupted, “Of the Grandalor, I know.  Trade agreements and other ship’s business he keeps secret from his crew, for his own enrichment.  Advice he neither seeks nor takes.  He has condoned second-rate repairs to the hull after grounding on a reef recently.   He has allowed the Grandalor’s bottom to get more foul than it should be.  I do not trust him,” She turned to face Barad eyes fully open.

Barad recoiled.  “By the Dragons!  She is blind!  Why do you keep such a useless one?  Pity?”  He sat again.  “Captain Mord Halyn, she must be punished!  She spoke ill of my Captaincy!  No crew person may leave off their Captain’s title, by which she has insulted you, too.”

“Captain Barad Maks, I have no authority to discipline her for speaking truth, and as to my title, Cat is my sister.  She does as she wills, and if we are wise, we allow it.”

“There is another thing!  I know her true name!  You have named her for a Dragon.  If you do not rename her you face grave peril.”

“WE did not name her.  Custom and Law left us no choice.  Why do you think that she has never been enrolled as a part of the crew?”

“This blind thing is the famous Luck of the Longin?  A helpless, sightless thing that needs to be nurse-maided every minute of its life?  I have clearly come to the wrong ship.”  He grabbed a handful of the crab and lobster rolls as he stormed out of the cabin.

By the time that he got to the deck, Cat was there ahead of him, having gone out the Captain’s window and up the side of the Longin.  She flipped to the deck, jumped, snagged one of the mast stays and swarmed up it, hand over hand, letting her feet dangle, until she sat herself serenely on the yardarm, sixty feet above the deck.

Captain Barad watched in utter amazement.  “How could she do something like that?  Your Luck can’t see.”

“You fail to understand Cat at all,” Mord said tightly, angry.  “She is blind, yes, but she is more able than most of us.  We have given up trying to understand how.”  Once again he proffered a hand to Captain Barad.  “Go now, and I will speak to my crew of your proposal.”

Barad went down the boarding ladder, pointedly not taking the proffered hand. “You must teach your Luck proper manners and discipline.  I am affronted.”

As Barad took his place in his gig, a slight hiss from the mast-stay and the quiet thump of feet on the rail, announced the arrival of Cat.  “Captain, brother of mine, what are we going to do?  Captain Barad has offended me,” she spoke in her voice like rushing water as she hopped lightly to the deck.

“He has also insulted me, little sister,” answered the Captain, barely containing his rage, now that Barad was off his ship.

Just then Kurin came cautiously up, unsure of her welcome in a grown-up conversation,  and hugged Cat.  The child said, “I was in Alor’s cabin, next to yours.  She is showing me stitch work.  We heard it all.  Why can he be mean to us and us not get even?”

“I think that we should do nothing, just now.  It would be neither polite nor wise to affront him further,” said the Captain.

Cat dropped cross-legged to the deck and gathered the child into her lap.

Captain Mord looked about his ship with a practiced eye, to be sure that nothing would need his attention while he talked with the child that Cat cared about. “Grandalor is a good deal larger ship than the Longin, in crew and length and tonnage.  Captain Barad has much in common with a dictator.  Too much of an insult to him could lead to a battle between us.  I think that the Longin would win, in the end, but we would be sure to lose good crew-folk.”

She listened intently, staring in concentration.  She shivered at the mention of death.  Cat held her more closely, and asked, “You would not go to battle over some foolish indignity.  Why would he?  Wouldn’t he lose crew-folk, too?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t care about that.  He keeps secrets from his crew, because he does not respect them.  If we were to win, then he would count his losses and hold them as a grudge against us and use them as an excuse to fight us again.  Such feuds have been known to destroy whole ships and everyone on them.”

“If that’s true, why would anyone start such a thing?”

“Your question goes to the heart of the matter.  Those who think first do not usually do such things.  Some people have overgrown pride that makes them believe that they cannot lose.

“There are other ways to harm a ship besides battle.  You know how we divide fishing waters and other resources at the Gathering of Ships?  They could try to claim our fisheries, the source of our prosperity, for their own through the abuse of our laws.  It has been done before.”

Cat looked thoughtful.  “I believe that is the tack that they will try. Already, without awaiting our answer to their proposition, they are getting ready to make sail.  Grandalor will have to head almost due South, running a reach that they think they can maintain for days of swift sailing.  

“Even if their weather fails them, and it will not hold, they might reach the Gathering of Ships before us.”  Cat grinned at a sudden thought. “If Barad is dishonest, he might try to claim what he thinks are rich waters out from under us.  They would have to release some fishing waters to add a claim here in the Dragon Sea.”

Kurin, who had listened carefully, as she did most things, asked, “But isn’t the Dragon Sea forbidden to fishing claims?”

The Captain looked at her thoughtfully.  This little one was full of surprises.  “That is right.  It is forbidden by Custom and not Law.  Breaches of Custom can be granted by the Gathering Council.”

Cat, still grinning predatorily, said, “Let them make the claim.  Even encourage them by proper opposition.  There’s not much here for Sea People, anyway.  We can take the waters that they abandon, and be the richer for it.”

It was Captain Mord’s turn to think things through.  “You have always known what goes on, upon the Sea.  You knew that the Grandalor was following us.  Is that why we sailed so far from our home waters?”

As guileless as a sea bird near a bait bucket, she replied, “I knew that they were following us and told you.  Their following us was luck.  It is not the reason for this trip.  I asked you to bring us here for a reason quite different.   Before we are done, we will have a good profit.  I still need to spend another day in these waters.  Please set the course NNE.  The weather will favor us.”

Standing up straight, Kurin looked over the rail, toward the other ship.  “I don’t see any signs of their leaving. Are you sure?”

“They have cleared the running rigging of their mains’ls and jibs and are drifting apart from us. Already they are 120 yards further away than when we started this conversation.  They will go when Carsis sets, about four drums after dark.”

“Will you help to trim the sails?” asked the Captain, more cheerfully.  “I mean to set your course immediately.  In that, they will have their answer to both their offer of help and their odious proposition for you.”  He seethed, “My sister a servant on the Grandalor … .”

Cat came fluidly to her feet and skipped lightly to the mains’l lines. Seeing her going with purpose to the rigging, some of the crew followed her and stood ready at the lines.  The tocsin drum beat its call.  Moments later, the First Officer’s voice began to call the commands and lines were loosed, allowing the big lateen sail to swing, with dangerously apparent gentleness, downwind.  The Longin came about to her new heading, coasting on forward momentum.  Lines were payed out and drawn up until the sails were set at the best angle to the wind for the new tack.  No longer partly furled, the many long battens or ribs in her sails made them resemble spread wings as the Longin fairly flew down her new heading.

After her usual check for the security of the lines and the proper stowage of the coils, Cat walked lightly forward, right out onto the bowsprit, where she sat as the water purled under the bow.  Quietly, at first, she began to sing, her voice and the plunging rush of the water blending into a song with words that none of the crew had ever heard before.  She stayed there until after dark, singing, interrupted only by the voice of the tocsin drum calling watch change and marking the passage of time, the heartbeat of the Longin.

The Grandalor had, as predicted, gone away south.  They had not awaited darkness, when the Longin had resumed her business, they had set sail and were past the horizon before dark.

Shortly after Carsis had set, some of the crew heard Cat singing what sounded like a duet. The other voice sounded like the plaintive call of the Orca whale, with words like her own in the whale song.  The duet went on for nearly an hour.

She walked down the nearly deserted deck, smiling with delight.  Only Captain Mord, who stood at the tiller, and the necessary lookouts had intruded on her.  It was as near to privacy as one could get, on deck.  She covered the distance to the tiller, more dancing than walking.  

“Thank you for the space, my Captain.  The lack of distraction was a help.  Now, you will be repaid for this whole profitless voyage.  Set the course SSW until morning.”

“We will do so.  May I ask a question?”

“Of course you may.  Of all this crew that I love, my brother, it is you that I trust the most.”

“Were you singing in two voices?”

“No, I was not.  It was for that song that we have come so far.

“Tomorrow, we will need the fine fishing net, and those ring supported nets that I have been making.  Each one will need about 50 feet of line attached to it, so that it can be brought up with the ring flat.  I know that these Northern waters are cold, so I will do the necessary diving.  The water will only be about 30 feet deep.”

“Cat,” said Mord uncomfortably, changing the subject, “neither of us likes or trusts Captain Barad, but he was right about one thing.  It is near time for you to find a mate and marry.  Your time is near.  This is your 19th Gathering, since we found you.”

“I know that Mord, my Captain,” she said with a heavy sigh.  “I do not wish to leave the Longin, but I know that I must.  You would not thrust me into an unwanted marriage, so I have been looking into the matter for some time, and my choice is already made.  It was not easy, but it is done.  I will make him known at the Gathering of Ships.”

“You do have another year.  I, the whole crew too, would miss you.”

“I know that but it will be a thousand Gatherings before another Dragon Moons.  I will miss you all.  Let my parting be a special one.  I do not want to be forgotten.”

Shortly after dawn the lookout’s cry of “Shoal Water Ahead!” and the tocsin drum’s wild beat of ‘All Hands on Deck!’ brought everyone scrambling to the deck to man the sails and turn the ship back to safety.  The shoal showed as a large area of unpredictable swirling currents and choppy waves.

Cat calmed the fears of the crew. “This water is deep enough for us to sail safely, in any case. There is another reason why we are here.  Who wants to see the Longin make a larger profit?”  

“I do!” the whole crew said in a ragged chorus.

“Down on that reef are big cold water lobsters and crabs.  Shrimp will abound.  There are many shells, both precious, like the mother of pearl and haliotis, and utilitarian like clam and drill shells.  The shrimp will come up from deep water this evening.  Most of them will come up a large crevice in the reef and there we will catch them with the fine net.  The ring nets that I have made will, with the help of galley scraps for bait, catch those lobsters and crabs.”

Someone called out, “What are we waiting for?  Let’s break out the boats!”  This was work that everyone on the Longin understood.  An orderly bustle of men and women unlashed and launched the fishing boats.

“We’re less than a week and a half from the Gathering!  I bet that we can get some of those crabs and suchlike to the Gathering alive if we try!  We could carry them in the weavers’ mussel vat!” somebody exclaimed.  

“They’ll be worth twice as much if we pull it off!” responded another.  

No more was needed.  Men and women undogged the hatch over the proper hold and began to rig a crane to lower catch.  Others clattered down the companionways to the vat itself to ready it.    Children were set to winding mussel string into neat skeins for tying the claws of lobsters and crabs, so that they could not hurt each other.

There were small fishing boats bobbing in the chop over the reef, from one end of it to the other. Nets were splashing into the water as quickly as they could be pulled up and emptied of crabs and lobsters.  As each net was done, the boats rowed quickly to the next float marking the line of another net.  Kurin leaned glumly on the rail.  She was small.  There was nothing for her to do.  She felt a light hand on her shoulder, and heard a voice like water streaming happily under the bows.

“Would you like to come with me, Kurin?  I need somebody reliable to keep my boat steady while I get in and out, and to help dry me with towels when I am done with diving.  I am taking a boat fresh from the shop.  Master Juris told me that you worked on it, and did a good job, too.”

“Oh, Cat!  I would love to. Can I really help you?”

“Yes, you can,” replied Cat, hitching the boat into the davits for lowering.  A few minutes later they scrambled down the heavy net that served as a ladder, and cast off.  

In Cat’s hands the oars drove the little boat like a living thing.  Kurin sat in the stern and manned the tiller.  Soon, they were over the heart of the reef.

Cat stripped off her sailor’s shirt and pants, took a net bag, and dove cleanly over the stern.  Kurin took the oars and used small strokes to kept the boat in position, as best she could, using her eye on the Longin for a reference.  She quickly found that it was harder than it seemed.  There was a natural tendency to take too long a strokes with the oars and move it, rather than just keep it still and in its place.  A minute passed, and then two.  By the time that five minutes were gone, Kurin was beginning to worry.  Just then, a hand reached up over the wide shallow ‘v’ of the net guide built into the stern and Cat slid into the boat.  Her net bag was full of large shells.

While Cat was panting for breath, Kurin emptied the bag and readied it for Cat’s next dive.  After a few minutes of recovery, Cat took several deep breaths, let them out, and dove over the stern again.  This time, Kurin kept the boat on station without worrying.  

She passed time by sorting the shells by kind as well as she could.  She planned to ask Cat which shells were which and what their values were.  Cat continued to bring up shells for more than an hour.  Between dives she instructed Kurin about the values and properties of the different kinds.  After her last dive, Kurin had to help her into the boat.  

Cat had trouble holding onto the transom and nearly dropped her bag of shells back into the depths.  Her lips and the nails of her hands were blue, she was shivering, and she was clumsy.  It took all of Kurin’s small strength, feet braced against the transom, to get Cat over the net guide and into the safety of the boat.  The usually sure Cat was weak and could not grip tightly or even reach accurately.  Cold water had taken its insidious toll of weakness, slowing reactions and dulling not only senses but her mind as well.

Kurin toweled off Cat and helped her into her clothes to warm her up.  She was chill to the touch.  Kurin rowed them, clumsily at first but with rapidly growing skill, back to the Longin.  It was Kurin who went up the side of the ship.  Kurin who tossed down a safety line to the exhausted Cat.  It was Kurin who took in the line, making sure that it was properly snubbed around a marlin spike, to help  Cat up the side of the Longin.  While Cat staggered to her bunk to warm up, Kurin secured the shells and got them safely to the deck, using the boat davit as a crane to lift them.  Captain Mord personally took them to the galley for cleaning, sorting, and the making of a shellfish stew.   Kurin sought out the shivering Cat, brought her own blankets to cover her and cuddled next to the cold woman, to help warm her.  After a bit, when the worst of Cat’s shivering had stopped, Kurin went to the galley and got her some warm broth.  Soon Cat was sitting up, wrapped in blankets and ravenously eating warm food.

As she ate, Kurin told her all that she had done.  “Little One, who taught you to do all those things?”

“All my life, I’ve watched you.  You always think first, before you do anything, so I thought of what I needed and how to do it.  That made it easier.”

“As soon as I am warm enough, we are going out again.   The cold of the water tricked me and clouded my judgment.  This time, you tell me when to stop, OK?”

They made three more trips to the reef for shells before evening.  Each time that Kurin noticed any sign of difficulty, Cat stopped diving and they returned to the ship to warm up and deliver their catch.

As dark was falling, the fine net brought up a large catch of shrimp to add to the seawater vat already swarming with crabs and lobsters, claws neatly and securely tied.  As soon as the precious live cargo was properly secured, the Longin made all sail south to the Gathering of Ships.

Speed was their great necessity. The Longin’s huge lateen mainsail and her large lateen foresail were fully spread, and all of her auxiliary sails were set as well. Sea raced under her, and was left behind as a wake of foam and small whirlpools.  The northern clouds were left behind and temperate seas as well.

“Cat, I have brought you some warm soup,” said Kurin.  “You‘ve spent so much time at the tiller, since we left the north, I wonder that you can stand so many long watches.”

“Thank you, Kurin,” she said, putting the tiller under her right arm and wrapping her hands around the mug to warm them.  “I must stand these watches, because we need all speed to get to the Gathering of Ships.  I know best where there are currents to aid us and ones to avoid, so I steer.”  

“But I don’t understand.  You can’t see the sun, the stars or the moons.  How do you know where to go?”

“The oceans and seas tell me, Little Fish.”

“How?”

“There are waves that the wind makes on the surface, and under them are long, deep waves.  Those long, deep waves tell me where I am.  Here in Naral Sea, the bottom slopes up to the south, so as we go that way, the long, deep waves get shorter and higher.  Also, they are affected by the currents. The Naral Current sweeps north along here, and pushes the waves over it to the side.  The cross beat of the waves from the current and the still water waves tells me that the Naral is about a league that way.”  Cat paused and pointed off to port.  “We want to stay out of it.  In a few hours we will pick up the Clifftos current, as it bends south, and it will carry us swiftly almost all of the way to the Gathering of the Ships.”

Kurin paused in thought and said, “So, if I learn how to feel what the waves say, then I will always know where I am and what direction I’m going, even in fog?”

“Yes, Kurin.  I am sorry that I do not have the time to teach you the oceans.”  Cat paused to drink the soup. “That was good, Kurin.  Did you make it?”

Kurin’s face lit up, “Yes, I did.  How did you know?”

“Master Murel is a good cook, and the Longin is lucky to have him, but he never puts enough sea lettuce in his soups.  Are you working in the galley, now?”

“No.  Since I started in the boat shop, Master Juris told the other Craft Masters that I was careful, and always paid attention.  They have made me welcome in all the other shops, including the galley.

“Oh, Cat, I wish that you could see the moons rise!  They are beautiful.  Carsis is almost up.  It is light red tonight. Little Dorac is clear and white, just sitting on the horizon.   Big Wohan, light yellow,  is half way up from the horizon.  The waves make their light into rippling bars that point right to us.”

“Thank you for describing the moons rise for me, Kurin.  Nobody has done that for me since I was a child in Alor’s arms.

“Tomorrow, in the mid-morning, we should come to the Gathering of Ships.  Please take this mug back to the galley for me and come back.  I have something I want you to know.”

Kurin scampered off, mug in hand, and returned.

“Here’s the key to my sea chest.  Go to my quarters and open it.  There’s a big tray in it. Bring it and all the things with it.”

Shortly Kurin returned, struggling slightly with the size of the tray.  It had a long, narrow cushion fastened across it.  There were bins that held skeins of mussel threads in carefully matched colors, many pins made of strong, dried fish bones, carefully polished smooth and small bobbins, like net needles, filled with fine strands.  There were many patterns made with lines of tiny pinpricks in pliable, dried fish skins.

“This, Kurin, is how you make Longin Lace.  You begin by choosing your colors.  I always need help with that  … ”

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : World of Sea : Part 61

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2018

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Aboard the Longin, men and women broke out every boat that could be put under oars and began the long task of dragging their ship out of the calm fog.  It took over two hours to get the Longin to a breeze. They paused only long enough to reload the boats before they set every scrap of sail that could be set and began to hunt south for the Dorton, that was sailing near to them.  Together the two ships sailed north, searching into the Dragon Sea for the Grandalor.

They ran two days north before turning in a wide search sweep of the same sort that they would have used to locate a lost fishing boat.  They saw nothing but an occasional soaring Wide Wing.

When Mord slept at all, he dreamed — — Hag taken by the poisonous tentacles of nightmares that would not stop.  The blood of the fight had stained his hands and would not come off.  Barad, ripped open by a strong Skin’s fin spine was screaming in agony until the huge fish bit him in half.  The Grandalor attackers rowing away in the fog when a Wing Ray, so large that it darkened the sky as it leaped, pancaked down on them reducing the boats to bits of floating wreckage — but they’d taken Kurin with them . . .

Bleary eyed from his Hag poisoned dreams, Captain Mord said heavily to his mother, the Longin’s Purser, “I hate to admit it, Alor, but we need to go find help for this search.  We can’t do it with only two ships.  Already we have lost days.”

“If we can, Mord,” Alor replied thoughtfully, “we need to get the Dark Dragon and the Soaring Bird.  Both of them are experienced in tracking ships.”

In a far different tone she went on, “I am worried, son.  I need to talk to you as a mother.  There have been some rumors about that boarding.  Did you really silence the fog drum when you knew that they were from the Grandalor?”

Angry, full of self justification, he answered, “What difference does it make, Mother?  Yes, I did.  They were from the Grandalor!  We don’t allow them onto our ship!  We never have.”

Alor looked sadly at her son, of whom she’d been so proud for so long. “What happened to the first one to set foot on our deck?”

“I repulsed her, Mother!” he said defensively.  “What difference does it make?  Stop looking at me that way! . . . All right!  I stabbed her with my knife!”  He looked puzzled, thinking back to the fight, “I must have.  The knife was mine, in my hand but I don’t really remember doing it.  She was boarding us, for Dragon’s sake!  I was in my rights!”

“The man who tried to pull her back over the rail?”

Suddenly Captain Mord realized that Alor knew far more of the fight than he had realized.  “He got in front of me!  His  throat was cut!  He couldn’t attack us further.”

Her face fell.  Sadly she said, “Now I must talk to you as a representative of the officers and Masters of the Longin.”

She held out a limp fish-leather bag, weighted with scraps of the same. “What was the worst injury that we took?  I’ll tell you the answer, though you already know it.  Old Sorra got three bruises. None of the Grandalor folk struck at any of us, unless we struck at them first.  They only defended themselves.  All that they had were these pitiful coshes.”

“Mother! They were a boarding party!  They attacked us!  They kidnapped Kurin!”

“Are you quite sure of that?” she asked sharply.

“She’s gone!” Mord shouted frantically.  “What more do you need?”

“The note that she left would be a start,” she said quietly.

“There was no note!” he said desperately.

“You have persisted in lying to me about this event.  I have no choice.” Alor put her face in her hands and wept, saying through her tears, “By order of a joint council of the Masters and officers, you are relieved of your Captaincy until we can hold a hearing on your fitness to command.  You will have the right to witnesses on your behalf and to rebut all charges.  You will be notified in writing of all charges in advance, to prepare your defense.”

Three officers entered the room.  They took away the dismayed and unresisting Mord.  He was allowed to stay in the Captain’s cabin on his word to do nothing to interfere with the running of the ship during the investigation.

The Longin continued to run south through the treacherous weather of the storm’s aftermath, seeking aid as swiftly as straining canvas could take her.  

Mord, the once Captain of the Longin, looked in disbelief at the parchment that had been handed to him only a few minutes before.  It bore the familiar signatures of every officer and Master aboard the Longin. They were formally requiring an investigation into his competence to govern the ship that he had commanded for nearly thirty Gatherings.

Seeing the allegations in writing finally brought home to him just how far onto dry land he had run.  For him, the worst of the whole affair was that he could not deny any of the charges.  He could explain what he had done and even why.  He could not excuse it.

He was accused of violating the boarder’s rights under the Fifth Great Law (the right of safe haven to mariners in distress).  There were two counts.  He had silenced the fog beat and he had refused to allow them to come aboard to safety.

There was an accusation of violation of the Second Great Law.  They had the right to a fleet trial, to call witness on their behalf, and to rebut the cases against them.  In repulsing them he had prevented them from obtaining fleet justice.

He was accused of murder in the case of the one man whose throat he had cut.  There was a charge of attempted murder in the case of the woman that he had stabbed, who was still alive when last seen.

He was not accused directly of the death of the Grandalor sailor (tentatively identified as the Bosun named Modanet).  His injuries had occurred in the heat of combat and none remembered who had stabbed him.  The death, however, was put to the Captain’s flawed leadership.

He was accused of leading his crew in the above illegal actions.

He was further charged with destroying Kurin’s note and refusing to examine the tallow-slates brought by the boarders and then lying to officers who questioned him about them.

In addition to all of the above was breach of custom in the burial of the dead.

The parchment also informed him that Kurin’s note had been recovered by careful scraping away of the upper layers of tallow by Master Juris. The recovery process had been witnessed by Alor for the ship’s officers and Mistress Daeron for the Craft Council.  The note verified that Kurin had apparently left the ship voluntarily, her right as a legal adult.

One of the tallow-slates from the Grandalor had been recovered by a sailor and given to an officer.  The note had been in Tanlin’s left-handed writing.  This had been compared to documents relating the cargo survey and security agreement with the Grandalor.  The documents contained material written by both Barad and Tanlin.  It was Alor’s formal opinion that the handwriting was the same as Tanlin’s.  The contents of the note revealed that the twelve boarders were to be hostages for Kurin’s safe return, should she agree to come away.  If she did not, then the twelve would submit to trial under fleet justice.  The note’s signature identified Tanlin as the Grandalor’s Captain.

Appended was a list of witnesses and what each had contributed to the case.

Mord thought long on the problem of what was needed.  It was clear that he needed to be relieved.  As bad as things had got, now that he could see the charges, with time to reflect on them,  their justice was obvious.  He could not fight this.

The stress of nearly losing Kurin, and the rest of the Grandalor business had unhinged him.  Now that it was not hidden by his responsibility for the whole ship, he realized that he felt more for Kurin than just pride in an outstanding member of an outstanding crew.  He felt as if she were the daughter that the Birth Lottery had denied him.  When he thought of all that he had not done, his heart clenched in nearly physical pain.

He opened the port near his bed for fresh air and to see something besides walls of Strong Skin.  The sky was dark with leaden clouds and rain sweeping by on gusts of wind.  It suited his mood.

When Kurin’s mother went mad, after her father’s death, He should have fostered her.  He had let Cat, his foster sister, do it.  He should have hugged her, praised her and disciplined her.  In fear of seeming to favor one above any other, he had never done any of the job of a parent.  He had left it to others to do.

He missed her accomplishments and strange mix of adult wisdom and childhood.  She had stood up to him and tried to prevent the disaster, and he had sent her away.  He could see now how the battle combined with a few persuasive words could have made her go.  The whole mess was his fault . . . He would have to plead guilty with mitigating circumstances.

TO BE CONTINUED

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SEE STORY : World of Sea : Part 3 of 5

SEE STORY

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

14372 words

copyright 2018

written 2003

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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Barad looked like he had bit into a spoiled seaweed salad.  “I expected as much.  The Grandalor has many resources that could be placed at your disposal to further your business, but only if we know what it is that we are getting into.  If your crew will allow it, we may be of assistance.”

“I can speak to them.  I will. Do not expect too much though, the Grandalor does not have the proper nets for our work.  Also, I know that my crew is aware of the Grandalor’s reputation.”

“What do you mean by that?” demanded Barad with some heat.

“In the Gatherings they say it is preferable to deal with a Strong Skin than the Grandalor … and the Strong Skin will eat you alive.”

“Well,” said Barad sourly, “what net might it be that we do not have?”

“A bottom dragger.  Yours was fouled and lost, trying for crabs, two weeks ago, or so I heard.  Am I wrong?”

Thunderstruck, Barad replied, “How could you know that?  We have had no contact with any ship since before we lost it!”

“That too, I fear, is ship’s business,” said Mord levelly.

“I see that we can probably not help you with your business,” said Barad ingratiatingly, “but there is one more matter.  Your Luck.  She will have to marry off your ship soon.  The Grandalor could offer you a very good match.  In exchange, we could offer a bride with almost any skill that you could want.”

The cabin door opened and Cat, with eyes downcast from the visiting Captain, carried in a tray set with precious minced crab and lobster rolls, steamed fish cakes and a carafe of pure, distilled water.  

“Mord, who is your lovely cabin lady?  She is clearly near to marriageable age.  She could do far worse than to be placed on the Grandalor.  I have need of capable servants.”

Stiffly, Mord replied, “Cat is my sister by adoption.  We call her the Sea’s Gift. Captain Barad Maks, meet Cat.  Cat, this is Captain Barad Maks  … ”

In a voice that, though clear, reminded one of the seawater rushing around the bows of a ship, Cat interrupted, “Of the Grandalor, I know.  Trade agreements and other ship’s business he keeps secret from his crew, for his own enrichment.  Advice he neither seeks nor takes.  He has condoned second-rate repairs to the hull after grounding on a reef recently.   He has allowed the Grandalor’s bottom to get more foul than it should be.  I do not trust him,” She turned to face Barad eyes fully open.

Barad recoiled.  “By the Dragons!  She is blind!  Why do you keep such a useless one?  Pity?”  He sat again.  “Captain Mord Halyn, she must be punished!  She spoke ill of my Captaincy!  No crew person may leave off their Captain’s title, by which she has insulted you, too.”

“Captain Barad Maks, I have no authority to discipline her for speaking truth, and as to my title, Cat is my sister.  She does as she wills, and if we are wise, we allow it.”

“There is another thing!  I know her true name!  You have named her for a Dragon.  If you do not rename her you face grave peril.”

“WE did not name her.  Custom and Law left us no choice.  Why do you think that she has never been enrolled as a part of the crew?”

“This blind thing is the famous Luck of the Longin?  A helpless, sightless thing that needs to be nurse-maided every minute of its life?  I have clearly come to the wrong ship.”  He grabbed a handful of the crab and lobster rolls as he stormed out of the cabin.

By the time that he got to the deck, Cat was there ahead of him, having gone out the Captain’s window and up the side of the Longin.  She flipped to the deck, jumped, snagged one of the mast stays and swarmed up it, hand over hand, letting her feet dangle, until she sat herself serenely on the yardarm, sixty feet above the deck.

Captain Barad watched in utter amazement.  “How could she do something like that?  Your Luck can’t see.”

“You fail to understand Cat at all,” Mord said tightly, angry.  “She is blind, yes, but she is more able than most of us.  We have given up trying to understand how.”  Once again he proffered a hand to Captain Barad.  “Go now, and I will speak to my crew of your proposal.”

Barad went down the boarding ladder, pointedly not taking the proffered hand. “You must teach your Luck proper manners and discipline.  I am affronted.”

As Barad took his place in his gig, a slight hiss from the mast-stay and the quiet thump of feet on the rail, announced the arrival of Cat.  “Captain, brother of mine, what are we going to do?  Captain Barad has offended me,” she spoke in her voice like rushing water as she hopped lightly to the deck.

“He has also insulted me, little sister,” answered the Captain, barely containing his rage, now that Barad was off his ship.

Just then Kurin came cautiously up, unsure of her welcome in a grown-up conversation,  and hugged Cat.  The child said, “I was in Alor’s cabin, next to yours.  She is showing me stitch work.  We heard it all.  Why can he be mean to us and us not get even?”

“I think that we should do nothing, just now.  It would be neither polite nor wise to affront him further,” said the Captain.

Cat dropped cross-legged to the deck and gathered the child into her lap.

Captain Mord looked about his ship with a practiced eye, to be sure that nothing would need his attention while he talked with the child that Cat cared about. “Grandalor is a good deal larger ship than the Longin, in crew and length and tonnage.  Captain Barad has much in common with a dictator.  Too much of an insult to him could lead to a battle between us.  I think that the Longin would win, in the end, but we would be sure to lose good crew-folk.”

She listened intently, staring in concentration.  She shivered at the mention of death.  Cat held her more closely, and asked, “You would not go to battle over some foolish indignity.  Why would he?  Wouldn’t he lose crew-folk, too?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t care about that.  He keeps secrets from his crew, because he does not respect them.  If we were to win, then he would count his losses and hold them as a grudge against us and use them as an excuse to fight us again.  Such feuds have been known to destroy whole ships and everyone on them.”

“If that’s true, why would anyone start such a thing?”

“Your question goes to the heart of the matter.  Those who think first do not usually do such things.  Some people have overgrown pride that makes them believe that they cannot lose.

“There are other ways to harm a ship besides battle.  You know how we divide fishing waters and other resources at the Gathering of Ships?  They could try to claim our fisheries, the source of our prosperity, for their own through the abuse of our laws.  It has been done before.”

Cat looked thoughtful.  “I believe that is the tack that they will try. Already, without awaiting our answer to their proposition, they are getting ready to make sail.  Grandalor will have to head almost due South, running a reach that they think they can maintain for days of swift sailing.  

“Even if their weather fails them, and it will not hold, they might reach the Gathering of Ships before us.”  Cat grinned at a sudden thought. “If Barad is dishonest, he might try to claim what he thinks are rich waters out from under us.  They would have to release some fishing waters to add a claim here in the Dragon Sea.”

Kurin, who had listened carefully, as she did most things, asked, “But isn’t the Dragon Sea forbidden to fishing claims?”

The Captain looked at her thoughtfully.  This little one was full of surprises.  “That is right.  It is forbidden by Custom and not Law.  Breaches of Custom can be granted by the Gathering Council.”

Cat, still grinning predatorily, said, “Let them make the claim.  Even encourage them by proper opposition.  There’s not much here for Sea People, anyway.  We can take the waters that they abandon, and be the richer for it.”

It was Captain Mord’s turn to think things through.  “You have always known what goes on, upon the Sea.  You knew that the Grandalor was following us.  Is that why we sailed so far from our home waters?”

As guileless as a sea bird near a bait bucket, she replied, “I knew that they were following us and told you.  Their following us was luck.  It is not the reason for this trip.  I asked you to bring us here for a reason quite different.   Before we are done, we will have a good profit.  I still need to spend another day in these waters.  Please set the course NNE.  The weather will favor us.”

Standing up straight, Kurin looked over the rail, toward the other ship.  “I don’t see any signs of their leaving. Are you sure?”

“They have cleared the running rigging of their mains’ls and jibs and are drifting apart from us. Already they are 120 yards further away than when we started this conversation.  They will go when Carsis sets, about four drums after dark.”

“Will you help to trim the sails?” asked the Captain, more cheerfully.  “I mean to set your course immediately.  In that, they will have their answer to both their offer of help and their odious proposition for you.”  He seethed, “My sister a servant on the Grandalor … .”

Cat came fluidly to her feet and skipped lightly to the mains’l lines. Seeing her going with purpose to the rigging, some of the crew followed her and stood ready at the lines.  The tocsin drum beat its call.  Moments later, the First Officer’s voice began to call the commands and lines were loosed, allowing the big lateen sail to swing, with dangerously apparent gentleness, downwind.  The Longin came about to her new heading, coasting on forward momentum.  Lines were payed out and drawn up until the sails were set at the best angle to the wind for the new tack.  No longer partly furled, the many long battens or ribs in her sails made them resemble spread wings as the Longin fairly flew down her new heading.

After her usual check for the security of the lines and the proper stowage of the coils, Cat walked lightly forward, right out onto the bowsprit, where she sat as the water purled under the bow.  Quietly, at first, she began to sing, her voice and the plunging rush of the water blending into a song with words that none of the crew had ever heard before.  She stayed there until after dark, singing, interrupted only by the voice of the tocsin drum calling watch change and marking the passage of time, the heartbeat of the Longin.

The Grandalor had, as predicted, gone away south.  They had not awaited darkness, when the Longin had resumed her business, they had set sail and were past the horizon before dark.

Shortly after Carsis had set, some of the crew heard Cat singing what sounded like a duet. The other voice sounded like the plaintive call of the Orca whale, with words like her own in the whale song.  The duet went on for nearly an hour.

She walked down the nearly deserted deck, smiling with delight.  Only Captain Mord, who stood at the tiller, and the necessary lookouts had intruded on her.  It was as near to privacy as one could get, on deck.  She covered the distance to the tiller, more dancing than walking.  

“Thank you for the space, my Captain.  The lack of distraction was a help.  Now, you will be repaid for this whole profitless voyage.  Set the course SSW until morning.”

“We will do so.  May I ask a question?”

“Of course you may.  Of all this crew that I love, my brother, it is you that I trust the most.”

“Were you singing in two voices?”

“No, I was not.  It was for that song that we have come so far.

“Tomorrow, we will need the fine fishing net, and those ring supported nets that I have been making.  Each one will need about 50 feet of line attached to it, so that it can be brought up with the ring flat.  I know that these Northern waters are cold, so I will do the necessary diving.  The water will only be about 30 feet deep.”

“Cat,” said Mord uncomfortably, changing the subject, “neither of us likes or trusts Captain Barad, but he was right about one thing.  It is near time for you to find a mate and marry.  Your time is near.  This is your 19th Gathering, since we found you.”

“I know that Mord, my Captain,” she said with a heavy sigh.  “I do not wish to leave the Longin, but I know that I must.  You would not thrust me into an unwanted marriage, so I have been looking into the matter for some time, and my choice is already made.  It was not easy, but it is done.  I will make him known at the Gathering of Ships.”

“You do have another year.  I, the whole crew too, would miss you.”

“I know that but it will be a thousand Gatherings before another Dragon Moons.  I will miss you all.  Let my parting be a special one.  I do not want to be forgotten.”

Shortly after dawn the lookout’s cry of “Shoal Water Ahead!” and the tocsin drum’s wild beat of ‘All Hands on Deck!’ brought everyone scrambling to the deck to man the sails and turn the ship back to safety.  The shoal showed as a large area of unpredictable swirling currents and choppy waves.

Cat calmed the fears of the crew. “This water is deep enough for us to sail safely, in any case. There is another reason why we are here.  Who wants to see the Longin make a larger profit?”  

“I do!” the whole crew said in a ragged chorus.

“Down on that reef are big cold water lobsters and crabs.  Shrimp will abound.  There are many shells, both precious, like the mother of pearl and haliotis, and utilitarian like clam and drill shells.  The shrimp will come up from deep water this evening.  Most of them will come up a large crevice in the reef and there we will catch them with the fine net.  The ring nets that I have made will, with the help of galley scraps for bait, catch those lobsters and crabs.”

Someone called out, “What are we waiting for?  Let’s break out the boats!”  This was work that everyone on the Longin understood.  An orderly bustle of men and women unlashed and launched the fishing boats.

“We’re less than a week and a half from the Gathering!  I bet that we can get some of those crabs and suchlike to the Gathering alive if we try!  We could carry them in the weavers’ mussel vat!” somebody exclaimed.  

“They’ll be worth twice as much if we pull it off!” responded another.  

No more was needed.  Men and women undogged the hatch over the proper hold and began to rig a crane to lower catch.  Others clattered down the companionways to the vat itself to ready it.    Children were set to winding mussel string into neat skeins for tying the claws of lobsters and crabs, so that they could not hurt each other.

There were small fishing boats bobbing in the chop over the reef, from one end of it to the other. Nets were splashing into the water as quickly as they could be pulled up and emptied of crabs and lobsters.  As each net was done, the boats rowed quickly to the next float marking the line of another net.  Kurin leaned glumly on the rail.  She was small.  There was nothing for her to do.  She felt a light hand on her shoulder, and heard a voice like water streaming happily under the bows.

“Would you like to come with me, Kurin?  I need somebody reliable to keep my boat steady while I get in and out, and to help dry me with towels when I am done with diving.  I am taking a boat fresh from the shop.  Master Juris told me that you worked on it, and did a good job, too.”

“Oh, Cat!  I would love to. Can I really help you?”

“Yes, you can,” replied Cat, hitching the boat into the davits for lowering.  A few minutes later they scrambled down the heavy net that served as a ladder, and cast off.  

In Cat’s hands the oars drove the little boat like a living thing.  Kurin sat in the stern and manned the tiller.  Soon, they were over the heart of the reef.

Cat stripped off her sailor’s shirt and pants, took a net bag, and dove cleanly over the stern.  Kurin took the oars and used small strokes to kept the boat in position, as best she could, using her eye on the Longin for a reference.  She quickly found that it was harder than it seemed.  There was a natural tendency to take too long a strokes with the oars and move it, rather than just keep it still and in its place.  A minute passed, and then two.  By the time that five minutes were gone, Kurin was beginning to worry.  Just then, a hand reached up over the wide shallow ‘v’ of the net guide built into the stern and Cat slid into the boat.  Her net bag was full of large shells.

While Cat was panting for breath, Kurin emptied the bag and readied it for Cat’s next dive.  After a few minutes of recovery, Cat took several deep breaths, let them out, and dove over the stern again.  This time, Kurin kept the boat on station without worrying.  

She passed time by sorting the shells by kind as well as she could.  She planned to ask Cat which shells were which and what their values were.  Cat continued to bring up shells for more than an hour.  Between dives she instructed Kurin about the values and properties of the different kinds.  After her last dive, Kurin had to help her into the boat.  

Cat had trouble holding onto the transom and nearly dropped her bag of shells back into the depths.  Her lips and the nails of her hands were blue, she was shivering, and she was clumsy.  It took all of Kurin’s small strength, feet braced against the transom, to get Cat over the net guide and into the safety of the boat.  The usually sure Cat was weak and could not grip tightly or even reach accurately.  Cold water had taken its insidious toll of weakness, slowing reactions and dulling not only senses but her mind as well.

Kurin toweled off Cat and helped her into her clothes to warm her up.  She was chill to the touch.  Kurin rowed them, clumsily at first but with rapidly growing skill, back to the Longin.  It was Kurin who went up the side of the ship.  Kurin who tossed down a safety line to the exhausted Cat.  It was Kurin who took in the line, making sure that it was properly snubbed around a marlin spike, to help  Cat up the side of the Longin.  While Cat staggered to her bunk to warm up, Kurin secured the shells and got them safely to the deck, using the boat davit as a crane to lift them.  Captain Mord personally took them to the galley for cleaning, sorting, and the making of a shellfish stew.   Kurin sought out the shivering Cat, brought her own blankets to cover her and cuddled next to the cold woman, to help warm her.  After a bit, when the worst of Cat’s shivering had stopped, Kurin went to the galley and got her some warm broth.  Soon Cat was sitting up, wrapped in blankets and ravenously eating warm food.

As she ate, Kurin told her all that she had done.  “Little One, who taught you to do all those things?”

“All my life, I’ve watched you.  You always think first, before you do anything, so I thought of what I needed and how to do it.  That made it easier.”

“As soon as I am warm enough, we are going out again.   The cold of the water tricked me and clouded my judgment.  This time, you tell me when to stop, OK?”

They made three more trips to the reef for shells before evening.  Each time that Kurin noticed any sign of difficulty, Cat stopped diving and they returned to the ship to warm up and deliver their catch.

As dark was falling, the fine net brought up a large catch of shrimp to add to the seawater vat already swarming with crabs and lobsters, claws neatly and securely tied.  As soon as the precious live cargo was properly secured, the Longin made all sail south to the Gathering of Ships.

Speed was their great necessity. The Longin’s huge lateen mainsail and her large lateen foresail were fully spread, and all of her auxiliary sails were set as well. Sea raced under her, and was left behind as a wake of foam and small whirlpools.  The northern clouds were left behind and temperate seas as well.

“Cat, I have brought you some warm soup,” said Kurin.  “You‘ve spent so much time at the tiller, since we left the north, I wonder that you can stand so many long watches.”

“Thank you, Kurin,” she said, putting the tiller under her right arm and wrapping her hands around the mug to warm them.  “I must stand these watches, because we need all speed to get to the Gathering of Ships.  I know best where there are currents to aid us and ones to avoid, so I steer.”  

“But I don’t understand.  You can’t see the sun, the stars or the moons.  How do you know where to go?”

“The oceans and seas tell me, Little Fish.”

“How?”

“There are waves that the wind makes on the surface, and under them are long, deep waves.  Those long, deep waves tell me where I am.  Here in Naral Sea, the bottom slopes up to the south, so as we go that way, the long, deep waves get shorter and higher.  Also, they are affected by the currents. The Naral Current sweeps north along here, and pushes the waves over it to the side.  The cross beat of the waves from the current and the still water waves tells me that the Naral is about a league that way.”  Cat paused and pointed off to port.  “We want to stay out of it.  In a few hours we will pick up the Clifftos current, as it bends south, and it will carry us swiftly almost all of the way to the Gathering of the Ships.”

Kurin paused in thought and said, “So, if I learn how to feel what the waves say, then I will always know where I am and what direction I’m going, even in fog?”

“Yes, Kurin.  I am sorry that I do not have the time to teach you the oceans.”  Cat paused to drink the soup. “That was good, Kurin.  Did you make it?”

Kurin’s face lit up, “Yes, I did.  How did you know?”

“Master Murel is a good cook, and the Longin is lucky to have him, but he never puts enough sea lettuce in his soups.  Are you working in the galley, now?”

“No.  Since I started in the boat shop, Master Juris told the other Craft Masters that I was careful, and always paid attention.  They have made me welcome in all the other shops, including the galley.

“Oh, Cat, I wish that you could see the moons rise!  They are beautiful.  Carsis is almost up.  It is light red tonight. Little Dorac is clear and white, just sitting on the horizon.   Big Wohan, light yellow,  is half way up from the horizon.  The waves make their light into rippling bars that point right to us.”

“Thank you for describing the moons rise for me, Kurin.  Nobody has done that for me since I was a child in Alor’s arms.

“Tomorrow, in the mid-morning, we should come to the Gathering of Ships.  Please take this mug back to the galley for me and come back.  I have something I want you to know.”

Kurin scampered off, mug in hand, and returned.

“Here’s the key to my sea chest.  Go to my quarters and open it.  There’s a big tray in it. Bring it and all the things with it.”

Shortly Kurin returned, struggling slightly with the size of the tray.  It had a long, narrow cushion fastened across it.  There were bins that held skeins of mussel threads in carefully matched colors, many pins made of strong, dried fish bones, carefully polished smooth and small bobbins, like net needles, filled with fine strands.  There were many patterns made with lines of tiny pinpricks in pliable, dried fish skins.

“This, Kurin, is how you make Longin Lace.  You begin by choosing your colors.  I always need help with that  … ”

(TO BE CONTINUED)

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