Chương 26: Black Threads

Miriam never imagined the sea could be so big. They sailed for weeks, and Róise revealed they had been in the water for six months already. The First Ring was also the biggest, both in diameter, but also in width. Miriam had imagined the Rings as being much more narrow. Instead the days became a routine mix of first, learning the tricks of manipulating fórsa on a sailing ship, then simply becoming a working deckhand.

Miriam got the hang of self-sustaining ropes on her second day - the trick was to spin the fórsa in a sort of double-helix loop inside the vine. Róise then moved on to different types of lashings, which all seemed very similar to the knots she had learned on the Isabella, back on her first voyage. She was also learning to sense the fórsa of the other crew members - she could… well, not see the fórsa ropes they pulled on, but she knew they were there. Could even grab them, if she needed to.

Once that understanding dawned, the entire ship opened up to her. The rigging she had been unable to see was every bit as complicated and tangled as the Isabella's had been, an orderly web of constantly stretching lines from mast to mast and from arm to deck. Dinners with the captain became more commonplace, and more often than not Róise joined them. At first it was obvious that Róise and Cormac were trying to feel her out, suspicious, but after a week or two she felt the tension lessen.

Questions about the Realms Above became less about trying to find holes in her story than it was finding out more about Miriam herself. They asked about her children and were shocked that someone as young as her had grandchildren. Cormac asked her with heavy eyes if she regretted leaving her family behind, and she answered carefully that it hadn't been her choice - but that she did miss them terribly. In return she heard a lot more about the life of two orphan pickpockets on the streets of Shirren.

She heard about the bartender who had taken Róise under her wing and let her sit in the rafters to watch the tavern sing and dance the night away. She heard about all four of Cormac's first loves, each of whom broke his heart when they learned about each other. He had the decency to look embarrassed. The cast of characters in their shady little world was colorful, boisterous and scary at times. It was the sort of childhood no one would envy, but somehow still seemed charming.

Miriam enjoyed the company of the rest of the crew, but there was quickly a clear distinction drawn - she was close with Cormac and Róise, which meant she couldn't really be close with the rest of them. This sort of hierarchy separated cleanly into "us" and "them" and Miriam feared she was becoming entirely "them." Maitiú would talk to her often, but they were salty pleasantries rather than real conversations. The seas themselves were a wonder. The chop of the waves glittered rainbow colors as the sun set.

Two moons - two of them - cavorted in the heavens above. Not for the first time Miriam wondered about the Tír's place in the cosmology she knew - was she looking at the same stars? Were these even stars? She recognized no constellations. She often liked to watch the demodrams, dolphin-like creatures that jumped in the wake of the boat, but these creatures only appeared at night, bioluminescent and stunning.

She had made several attempts to understand more about the lock to the keelwell, but she only ended up with blistered fingers. Miriam had then thought back to her canoe and tried to see if she could just push her way through the wood of the door. The canoe had felt like wet sand in her hand - this was more like brushing dust off a desk. She couldn't force her fingers through at all.

Perhaps it was because this was a Second Ring ship at least - the way she understood it all things from the inner rings had denser fórsa, which meant made of denser material - at least to her First Ring fingers. In the evenings when she wasn't having dinner with Cormac and Róise, she practiced her fórsa manipulation. For anyone else, this might have been overwork to the point of burnout, but for Miriam she often had to meditate to get her mind quiet enough to sleep. Everything was so new.

She felt like an entire new wellspring of self had opened up she would never have been able to fathom in her old life. Everything about Miriam Callihan had changed and it was a delight rediscovering who this new person was. She was no longer old. No longer a respectable member of the community. Hells, she was no longer even human. But best of all, she was no longer weak. Beyond the powerful muscles in this new dryad body, fórsa gave her a potentially endless ladder to climb.

Back in Willowcrest her options were very limited. She could never hope to surpass any man in raw strength. The advent of weapons and machinery made that more possible than it likely had been for any woman before, but at the end of the day she faced a solid wall of physical limitations. That was not the case here. Róise was an inspiration to her.

The elfin girl was clearly the most dangerous member of the crew, to the point that she had killed three of them on her own in less than sixty seconds, from what Miriam had heard. Miriam didn't thirst for violence, but something in her ached in envy when she heard about the incident. She'd always been taught that power for power's sake was a fool's ambition - but it had usually been said by the powerful. In any case, this wasn't power for its own sake. This was power for hers.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. She developed many new tricks, staying up half the night alone in her little closet. Miriam still found herself missing Eoin, but as time went on it was less about his charm or his smile, and more about the knowledge he had. Training basic fórsa manipulation with him had been a bright note in a dreary symphony of captivity. For every question she had he was quick with an answer, or at least a well-considered hypothesis.

Róise was great, but her education had mostly been cobbled together from things she learned on the street. Plus, she didn't know about her triple-nature issue. Eoin might have been able to help her - if she could look past what he had done. One morning almost a month and a half after Miriam joined the Líadan, Cormac announced that they were going to make port in a fishing village called Arbray.

The crew buzzed happily - they had been at sea for longer than was normal in a schooner like this one and their legs ached for firm earth. Everyone was in good spirits as they turned to the north, none more than the captain himself. He pranced along the deck, declaring that the first round would be on him. They would sup on only the finest steak dinners and succulent desserts. Róise tried to remind Cormac that this was a fishing village, not Shirren, but his enthusiasm would not be deterred.

Miriam sidled up to her and asked why the captain was so energized. The first mate started to answer, but then looked around to see if anyone was watching.

"We're finally near the First Gate," she said in a low voice, but from there would say no more. As they approached the village the water became choked with tiny boats and larger fishing vessels. Fishermen waved at them as they sailed by, their enthusiasm seeming to suggest that they were not used to seeing such traffic on their waters. The crew of the Líadan waved back, whooping loudly. They had been out at sea a long time and clearly the sailors were finding the idea of getting back to civilization exhilarating.

The village itself finally came into view and they cut almost all their sails - slowing to a crawl so as not to plow over the hundreds of tiny boats near the port. There was one other larger ship there, almost as big as the Líadan, but clearly older and less well-maintained. In contrast to every other floating vessel, it was the one structure on the water not teeming with life. It sat high in the water, as if lacking ballast, and bobbed far more than it should have.

The Líadan was too big to pull into the tiny port, so plans were made to ferry the crew over in two trips of the ship's lone dinghy. Before they cast off, Cormac emerged from his cabin, a serious expression on his face, cradling a small chest.

"It's been a long haul," he said to his crew.

"You've weathered it all through sun and rain. Through mutiny and hard times. And we owe you a lot, the vast majority of which you will receive at the end of the voyage. But for now… you will all get advances on your wages! Go have fun tonight! Tear up this dinky little town! Enjoy yourselves and make a night we and these good fisherfolk won't soon forget!"

The crew cheered loudly as he dispersed coin, just a handful of silver and coppers, but Miriam could see the wheels in each crewmate's head turning as to how vast a sum that might seem to a village that small. She also noticed that when Cormac was done, the little chest was completely empty. The village was not as tiny as Cormac had made it seem, though given how big Shirren was said to be it might have seemed like little more than a nest of hovels in comparison.

The townsfolk seemed friendly, if overly capitalistic - the instant the crew set foot on the dock there were all manner of baubles, snacks and trinkets shoved at them to buy. Róise was diligent at pushing these swarms of salespeople back - with her Third strength, a gaggle of First fishermen was nothing. There was only one tavern sizable enough to handle the small crew, but a few of them chose to wander off on their own - likely sick of seeing the same ten faces every minute of every day.

So it was only six who settled at a long table at the Swordfish Sails - three gone their own way and Maitiú having volunteered to keep first watch on the Líadan. The Swordfish was an establishment with all the hallmarks of everyone's regular spot. Decorations spotted the weatherbeaten wall, but of the variety that seemed to be more of references to inside jokes than to decor. On one wall was a stuffed fish with a monocle and top hat sewn on, under which was scrawled "Captain Booney's Prize."

One corner seemed to tell a somewhat sadder tale, with caked-on children's drawings by the floor, suns and moons and fish - Miriam could only assume that to be the regular seat of a child at the foot of a parent who prioritized a night at the bar more than appropriate child care. The tavern was mostly full, the day already fading towards dusk.

All manner of people made up the patronage; she saw a man with a crab claw for a hand, what seemed like an anthropomorphic fox, even what she hesitantly identified as a Wisp, though as Solas had told her they had very little common morphology to categorize them. It was an odd group, but the spirit of the evening was one of fun and laughter, even between those of vastly different species. No matter how different these people may be, they all had a common love: the sea.

While Cormac shouted food orders at a tavern keeper Miriam was certain had no way of making any of it, Miriam breathed a satisfied sigh. She had no idea how she was going to free Iohannes, and she was beginning to like this crew enough that she was feeling guilty about going behind their backs to break the prisoner loose. But sitting here in this seedy tavern, surrounded by friendly people, unchained and free, Miriam couldn't help but feel the warm glow of satisfaction.

There aren't many times in life when you can sit down and realize that you're in a memorable high point while you're still in it, and she was savoring this one. Cormac was just raising a newly filled mug of something frothy to give a toast, when a large, wickedly serrated knife plunged into the table in front of him.

"How in the name of all the gods," a voice said, cutting through the din of the crowd effortlessly, "do you get lost on a Selkie-powered vampire ship?" The color drained from Cormac's face and he snapped around to look at Róise.

"Black threads," he whispered.