Chương 29: High Seas

Interlude 3 Anton was a thief. And now she was a thief too. He started small, having her lift trinkets from their fellow sailors during the night. She was small and quiet and the ship was very much the opposite. She had no trouble hiding her steps among the creaking boards and the crash of the ocean outside. A few coins from one man. A religious symbol from another. Anton didn't seem to have a real purpose or desire of value for his stolen things - the more they meant to their owners, the more he wanted them.

It was just a bit of fun, he insisted. A way to pass the time in the months between ports. Miriam hated every minute of it. Hated the midnight skulking. Hated the look of loss on the crewmen's faces when they realized their treasures were missing. The frantic scramble of searching - where's the last place I saw it? I swore I had it just here! Most of all she hated the leer on Anton's face as he observed silently. It escalated, as it always was going to. Now it was baubles from the officers.

They had their own shared quarters, so Anton had to teach her the methods for picking locks. She was sure that each time she ventured in would be the end of her - her heart pounding so loud no one could miss hearing it. But they never did, the lull of the ship and the exhaustion of even the officers after a day at work conspiring against them. Then he asked her to steal vital supplies and tools - things the ship would be in peril without. A sextant. A map. Keys to secure parts of the ship.

That was too much for Miriam. She would have to be an idiot not to see where this led - with Anton finished with his fun, exposing the real thief - Miriam - for all the ship to see. A hero's honor would be bestowed upon Anton as he displayed her hidden cache of stolen goods that only he had managed to uncover. But in order to unmask him and survive she would need to have precise timing. She taught herself to use the sextant and how to read the map.

They were nearly a month out from their first Eastern port - the Grand Old City of Marybel. Anton's betrayal would come soon. She observed the nest of islands along which the shipping lanes of the Andol sea stretched - they would be the Isabella's constant companion until they made port in Marybel. Her constant fear was being marooned on one of these - too often a landfill for traitors, smugglers and stowaways found before their destination. Miriam believed the Captain to be a fair man.

She also knew him to be a stern one. Only two plans of attack against Anton had any real chance of success. First, she could simply murder him in his bunk. She had learned to be silent. She had slaughtered livestock aplenty in her time - her hand would be steady and quick, she was sure. But then she faced either the impossible task of getting rid of the body without anyone noticing, or leaving a murder out in the open, undoubtedly sparking an investigation which might well snare her as the culprit.

She would not need to fear being marooned in this case - the punishment was a swift death. Also… she didn't fancy herself a murderer, though she was taken aback with how easily the idea came to her… and how certain she was that if that were the course of action she had to take, she would not hesitate. The second option was far scarier. It ended up being the only one she could ever see herself really taking.

She waited until, based on the maps, she believed the island density was enough that she might be able to find passage to Marybel from there even if set ashore alone. That was as much hedging as her bets could allow. Then she simply requested an audience with the captain. He listened to her calmly, nodding with a tired and resigned expression.

"Michael - Miriam, I suppose. You should know you are not the only woman on this ship. There are at least four others in my crew attempting to disguise themselves as men. This has always happened, and will always continue to happen, so long as sailor's superstitions remain as they are. I would not have marooned you for that alone." The Captain's words brought sudden tears to Miriam's eyes - all the tension she had carried, the weight of Anton selling her out - suddenly gone.

"However," he continued.

"I cannot overlook thievery, especially when regarding vital instruments and resources. Yet, indulgences must be made when taking into account your courage in confessing your crimes to me, and the boon you grant us in unveiling Anton's."

"Anton, should he be found to be guilty, will be marooned. You will receive thirty lashes, as would any crewmate. And Marybel will be your final port of call aboard the Isabella." The Captain said the last with finality, though he seemed sad. Miriam got to enjoy the sight of Anton watching the ship depart without him, him standing alone on a desolate shore, before her punishment was carried out.

At noon the same day her hands and feet were lashed to two masts and her shirt removed with no effort to preserve her modesty. Over the next fifteen minutes the Captain administered thirty lashes. In the months that followed, Miriam would sometimes still feel a stinging in her back, which brought back a sense memory of hard leather between her teeth as she gnawed at the bit they'd provided for her, harder with each lash. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

She couldn't fault herself for not trusting the Captain with her secret. Her life was too small for a man like him to take much care with, and though he ended up a fairer man than she'd had any right to expect, she had no way of knowing that when she allowed Anton to blackmail her out of fear. She had taken the safest course of action, she was sure. Miriam thought about this as she disembarked the Isabella for the last time at Marybel, stealing one last look at the ship as she left. Then again…

what might have happened if she had just decided to trust… when mistrust was clearly the wisest course? ✧✧✧ Thunder woke Miriam - and an ignominious slide across the wet deck. She sat bolt upright, bracing for a headache - but she had none. She felt completely rested. The sky above was dark, though that told her nothing of the time of day, as black, roiling clouds dominated the sky, colored occasionally by lightning. Rain pattered all around her, but it wasn't yet a deluge.

At the main mast Róise was straining on six different fórsa lines to manage the riot of sails which drove the ship forward. She looked pallid and worn - however much time had passed while Miriam had been unconscious, it had clearly taken a lot out of her. At the fore was Maitiú, controlling only two fórsa lines. Back at the wheel was Cormac and for the first time she could see the threads of his luck darting all over the ship as he struggled to keep their direction steady.

"Miriam!" Róise barked, seeing her crewmate awaken.

"I need you with Cormac on the rudder. He can't do physical manifestations and he's having to hold it down by hand." Miriam struggled to her feet, her limbs feeling numb and the deck pitching wildly as the sea bucked against them. She scrambled back to Cormac at the wheel. His face was as ashen as Róise's, though he offset it with a cheerful grin.

"Nice weather we're having, isn't it?" Cormac's arms strained to hold the wheel steady and his voice shook despite his effort to sound cheerful.

"Is this natural? Or is Ultán still after us?" He jerked his head backwards.

"He's behind us a little ways. I don't think this is him though - I've never met a Wind Nature with this kind of range or power. Plus, I'm seeing black threads everywhere. This is just bad luck." Miriam threw out a Lash at the wheel, but it fizzled as it hit the wood, a wet, rotting mess of plant matter. She cursed, having forgotten that she had unlocked her other fórsa.

"You ok?" Cormac asked.

"Fine." Miriam dipped into her mindspace and locked down her Blight and Water again. This time the lash held securely, strong enough to defy the tumultuous sea as she poured a bit more fórsa in it than was probably necessary. Cormac gasped in relief as he let go of the wheel.

"Thanks Miriam. We'll need to adjust as we go, but the main thing in a storm like this is just to ride it out. We'll adjust trajectory once we're clear. Just need to make sure the rudder doesn't spin us in circles."

"And Ultán?" Cormac glanced backwards. There was nothing to be seen against the dark of the clouds on the horizon.

"He won't stop coming, but I bet he'll have a harder time than us. He might control wind and be strong as hell, but any ship capable of sailing this sea takes a crew to manage. I have the feeling he's running that old ship on his lonesome. No, the bigger threat is that he might Pathfind a way to wherever we pop up after the storm is over." As he finished speaking, a dagger buried itself into the deck at his feet.

"I might be wrong," Cormac admitted. Behind them the clouds had begun to thin out and the hulk of the derelict ship they had seen at the fishing village broke through, riding an enormous wave down. It was far closer than Miriam could have guessed - the clouds in which Ultán had wrapped his ship had made it impossible to distinguish between near objects and those on the horizon.

"Cormac. What do we do?" Cormac looked back at their pursuer and set his mouth into a determined line.

"I have absolutely no idea. Honestly we should be dead already." He raised his hands to his mouth and called to Róise.

"We need more sail!" Róise looked back at him with an exasperated expression - Miriam guessed she was already doing all she could. Cormac grimaced.

"Can you do that trick again that you did with the dinghy? Give us a boost?" Miriam thought for a moment, then shook her head.

"Just doing it to the small boat drained me dry. I don't think the amount of water I could move would make any difference to a ship this size." The captain cursed.

"Maitiú has Water Nature, but he's a true First, not like… whatever it is you have going on. Not nearly enough power to help. This storm could help hide us from anyone who wasn't a Pathfinder, if we were crewed well enough to make use of it." Cormac kneeled down to pick up the dagger.

"I don't know how we evade someone good enough to get this close in this storm and still throw this well enough to almost hit me." Miriam sighed.

"To be fair, you don't know how many of those knives ended up in the drink before he got this one right." Cormac laughed, and some of the color returned to his face.

"Indeed. Maybe he's over there with a bag full of knives, just chucking them into the sea hoping to get lucky. If I had cutlery enough, maybe I could do the same." The day was darkening, even as they spoke, the clouds above getting angrier. Miriam suspected the reason Ultán was making such good time on them was that his Nature allowed him to cut a clean path through the winds - possibly for him it was like sailing a day with only some choppy waters.

"All we can do is outrun him or fight," she mused.

"Based on what happened at the tavern, fighting is not a good option. Outrunning him seems more logical, but no matter where we go he can always Pathfind a way to us." Cormac brightened.

"Hold on." He raced downstairs to the Captain's cabin, returning quickly with a roll of maps.

"Look here - the first Gate we must pass on our way through Cianán's Walk."

"Cianán's walk?" Miriam asked.

"Not important right now, but we will discuss it, for sure. The point is that the pass through the gate is extremely narrow. In fact most who make this trek find themselves beached on the rocks of this pass. If we can get there before Ultán catches up, and if we can clear the pass of the gate without sinking, perhaps we can force his ship upon the rocks somehow. Knowing the path to find us is useless if he can't travel the path." Miriam frowned.

"All that seems extremely sketchy. How likely is it that any of those things happens the way you want it to?" Cormac shrugged.

"Anything's possible." He winked.

"With a little luck." Another dagger flew in and this time found purchase in Cormac's upper arm.

"By the gods, that man has incredible aim!"