I almost sigh in relief as the caravan is pulled through the Winstar city gates. It’s much bumpier than travelling on the ocean, and my butt feels like it’s covered in bruises.
I sit on the back step of the caravan and take in the sights of the city as we pass by. This is my first time seeing one, and I’m in awe at how the buildings are compact and crammed together.
The outer district of the city is mostly small, shabby houses, and the people that live there look weathered and unkempt. But as we head deeper into the city, the buildings become grander, and the citizens are dressed in fancier-looking clothes. Gradually, the houses make way for shops that look similar to the ones I saw at Seatoller, selling every type of product imaginable.
The travellers make their way to the market district. They tell me that this is where merchants from outside of the city set up stalls to sell their exotic goods.
It’s late afternoon when we arrive, and some of the merchants have already started packing up for the day. The only ones that stay are the ones with caravans like the travellers. Mim tells me that they pack up the goods when it gets too dark to sell and sleep inside until dawn.
Trying not to appear too conspicuous, I glance around at the merchants. They all appear to be of different races and have features I have never seen before. Some have tiny horns protruding from their foreheads, while others have bluish purple-tinted skin and fangs that poke out from their upper lip. One stall selling silver jewellery is run by two beautiful tall women with flawless milky skin that shimmers in the light from the setting sun. Their hair is platinum-blond and hangs down to the tops of their legs.
“They’re fae,” Magda tells me. “They’re magical beings that live on secluded mountains somewhere in the west. It’s rare ever to see them in cities like this.”
“What kind of magic do they do?” I ask.
Magda shrugs. “I have no idea. They don’t talk to the likes of us.”
I frown. The travellers are outspoken, but they’re kind people. They don’t deserve to be treated with such contempt.
Not wanting to outstay my welcome, I say goodbye to the travellers and hand Mim the bag of coins that the skipper gave me. She scoops out half of the money and returns the rest to me.
“Keep it,” she says. “Find a nice inn to sleep in tonight. It’s rough sleeping in that caravan when you’re not used to it.”
“Thank you again,” I smile. “You and your family have been beyond kind. I wish you all the best.”
“You’re a fine girl,” she says. “Look after yourself.” Mim kisses me on the cheek and pulls me in for a final hug.
As they set up their stall, I leave the market district and head in the direction that Mim pointed me in for the inn.
The city is built like a maze, and I find myself quickly becoming lost in the network of narrow alleyways. Navigating my way is even more difficult with the setting sun. Only the main streets are lit with gas lamps.
Eventually, I come across a small run-down inn with a creaking sign that’s precariously hanging on by a strand of rope. I’m not sure if this is the inn that Mim was telling me about, but it’ll do.
An older woman with dark grey hair and what looks to be a permanent scowl on her face is sitting at a shabby-looking desk as I enter.
“How long will this get me?” I ask, handing her the bag of remaining coins.
Still scowling, she tips them into her palm and counts them. “One night.”
I sigh. I need to get lucky tomorrow, or I’ll end up sleeping on the streets tomorrow night.
The woman grabs a lantern and leads me to a small room that is only large enough to hold a small cot and a narrow dresser. Once she leaves, I sit on the bed and bury my head in my hands. This is the first time I’ve been alone since the attack, and it’s difficult to keep my mind from getting too close to the grief inside.
Magda had given me a full set of clothes along with a multi-coloured straw shoulder bag that I now keep my belongings in. I place the bag on top of the dresser, climb into the cot fully clothed, and wait for unconsciousness to take over me.
The bed is more comfortable than the caravan, but it doesn’t stop the nightmares. Just like the past few nights, I wake drenched in sweat with images of blood on tiles burned into my eyes. Unable to sleep any longer, I walk to the window and open the wooden shutters. The yellowness of dawn is starting to peek over the buildings. On the narrow street below, two teenage boys are sweeping the pavement. I see movement in the shadows a few paces from the boys, but when I focus through the darkness, I see that it’s just a rat scurrying to find its breakfast.
I tread carefully as I leave the inn; I don’t want to wake the owner or the guests. As I step outside, the damp air seeps through my clothes and clings to my skin. A blanket of low fog is seeping in from the harbour.
I’m not sure where I need to go or what to look for, so instead, I walk around trying to find the area with the most shops so that I can ask someone for advice.
I walk for nearly an hour before I finally emerge onto a widened street lined with shops. It is light enough now that some merchants have already started opening up and putting displays of their products outside of their business.
“Are you lost, dear?” a woman’s voice asks.
I turn to where a blonde woman arranges a wide variety of flowers in vases of all shapes and sizes. She looks approachable and non-threatening.
“Yes, can you please help me?” I reply. “I’m looking for the soldiers in this city.”
“Soldiers?” She looks puzzled.
“This city is in alliance with Linaria, isn’t it?” I gesture to the Linarian banners of emerald green and silver that hang from some buildings. “I’d like to join their army to fight in the war, but I don’t know where to sign up.”
“I see.” She looks me up and down doubtfully. I guess I don’t fit the standard profile for a soldier. “There are no Linarian soldiers in this city, but we do have a city guard. You can try asking one of them where you need to go to apply.”
Disappointment washes over me. I have no money and to travel to another city means walking there. “I’ll do that,” I say. “Can you please point me in the direction of the city guard?”
She points in the direction to her right. “Follow this road and take a left. Then keep walking straight until you reach the city wall. You should see two towers on each side of the gates. That’s where the city guards are based. If you’re lucky, you might come across one on patrol. That will save you from walking the whole way.”
“Thank you so much,” I say gratefully.
“You’re welcome, dear. And good luck.”
The walk turns out to be longer than I expected based on the woman’s explanation, and I’m not lucky enough to find a patrolling guard, but I do manage to find the guard towers with ease.
Two guards stand on either side of the city gate in full metal armour. I approach the guard on the right, and he stares at me appraisingly through his helmet.
“Hello, I want to join the Linarian army. I was wondering if you could tell me which city I would need to go to sign up.”
The guard shrugs his shoulders and moves his gaze away to stare past me.
I open my mouth to protest when the guard on the left speaks.
“The nearest barracks is at Torver,” He says, “but it’s quite far north from here. My older brother joined just a month ago.”
I move over to stand before him. He doesn’t look much older than I am. “Do you know what it would take for me to join?”
“You’d have to demonstrate that you’re physically fit, but they’d teach you how to fight.”
I nod. I am already fit and strong for a woman, plus I already know how to fight.
“But you’d also have to pass a background check and nominate someone as a referee,” he continues.
“Referee?” I question.
“Yeah, it’s not that difficult, it just has to be someone that’s known you for a long period of time, and that can confirm you are who you say you are and that you come from background an area in allegiance with Linaria. My brother used his old schoolteacher as a reference. Although if your hometown is neutral in the war, it makes the process much more difficult.”
My hope falters. “What if I don’t have anyone to nominate?”
“Then you will be rejected. The Linarian army is very strict about who can enter. They can’t afford to have Vardran spies infiltrate them. Are you from Winstar?”
I shake my head and sigh.
“There’s no one back home that you could use?” he asks.
“My home doesn’t exist anymore,” I say quietly. “They destroyed everything and killed everyone.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he mutters sadly. “I understand your need to join the war, but unfortunately, your situation doesn’t help you.”
“That’s okay,” I say defeatedly. “Thank you for the information.” I turn to walk back. I guess I should go back to join Finn and the skipper after all.
“Wait,” he calls out. “There is an alternative, but not one I recommend. It is your choice, though.”
“Yes, please tell me,” I plead.
“Well, you can’t join the Linarian army directly, but you could join the aerials if you could find a crew that would accept you.”
“Aerials?” I ask. “Who are they?”
“Have you seen the airships?”
I nod. I have seen them, but I wish I hadn’t.
“A majority of them are aerials. They’re not soldiers in the sense that they work for the Linarian Royal Army; they’re mercenaries that are hired to fight for the Kingdom of Linaria and take on missions. Particularly ones that require stealth that the army is unable to take on themselves.”
“So what’s the difference between joining the army and joining the aerials?” It sounds like the same thing to me.
“Well, the main difference is that aerials exclusively use airships. Most of their fights take place in the air, though they do take some missions that require being on land. Another difference—and the reason why I don’t recommend that you join—is that each aerial crew follows its own rules and protocols, whereas the Linarian army follows the protocols laid down by The King.”
“Why is that a bad thing?”
“It isn’t if you find a ship that is manned under an honorable captain, but some are the exact opposite. And let’s just say their treatment of female crew members is too sickening to mention.”
“I’m a good judge of character; I’m sure I can fish out a decent one,” I say.
“I hope so, but please be careful. It’s a scary, ruthless world out there.”
“I know. I’ve experienced it firsthand.”
I stare in awe at the sight of the harbour. At ground level, everything appears normal, with a varied array of boats and ships moored up. What takes me by surprise is the row of wooden stairs along the oceanfront. Each of the stairs is narrow and leads up to a small platform where the large, majestic skyships are moored.
The city guard had told me that the crews of the aerial ships moored here are often looking for vacancies. Apparently, crew member deaths are common, so it’s always easy to find vacancies.
The first ship I come to is actively recruiting. An unremarkable-looking man in his early thirties is trying to show off his skill with a crossbow by hitting targets. Two crew members stand at a table that has been folded out and watch as the man misses half of his shots. One of them is short and stocky, with a mass of brown hair that blends in with his equally-long beard.
The other man is tall and slender, though I wouldn’t underestimate his strength. He wears spectacles and a tricorn hat and stands straight with his hands clasped behind his back. I wonder if he’s the captain. As I approach, he turns and appraises me with a glance. His nose wrinkles and a scowl appears on his face. His message is clear; I’m not wanted.
Well, let them be like that, I think to myself. I don’t want to be on a ship with someone like him as captain anyway.
I move on to the next ship in the row. This time, I have to climb the stairs and board the ship, where the captain greets me. He is friendlier than the last but tells me that they currently have a full crew and are just docked while they have their ship repaired.
My bad luck streak continues. Four of the ships that I try aren’t actively recruiting, and another one I try has no crew members on board, three more say that they refuse to recruit female crewmates, and one only offers me a position as a cook. The captain of the last ship that I approach has an unkempt appearance and even slimier behavior. His eyes linger for too long on my body. He tells me that he would take me as a member providing that I please his men upon request. I refuse abruptly.
I feel disheartened as I walk back along the dock. It looks like I’ll be spending the night on the street after all, and I just hope that more ships dock tomorrow.
“Are you looking for a job, missy?” A voice calls to me as I pass.
I look up to see the short man with the beard from the first ship I tried to approach. I glance around to seek out the unfriendly captain, but he appears to have left.
“I don’t think I’m welcome aboard your ship,” I say truthfully.
“And what makes you think that?” the man booms out a laugh. His accent is indistinguishable, but it has a pleasant tone paired with his foghorn voice.
“I tried to approach you earlier, but your captain gave me a look that was far from friendly?”
The short man raises his eyebrows questioningly. “The captain? He’s been out dealing with business all day. He got back no more than a few minutes ago.”
“Oh,” I say, confused. “Then who was the tall man that was stood with you? He was wearing a long coat and hat.”
“Hah! That was the quartermaster. Pay no attention to him, he’s sour towards everyone, and we just ignore him. Our good ol’ captain left me in charge of recruitment, and only I get a say in who’s welcome or not. The name is Trevor Warsheep.” He holds out a hand to me.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Sefarina Wavegrey,” I say as I reach out my own hand in response, unsure of what custom people use here for greeting. Trevor clasps my hand in his and gives it a brief shake before letting go. “Are you willing to recruit a woman?”
Trevor laughs. “Here on the Zarla, we recruit people based on their abilities rather than their gender or appearance. We hired a young woman around your age just a couple of months ago, and Iris Kipps has been our boatswain for many years; I haven’t seen anyone more skilled.”
I smile in relief. At least if I’m recruited, I won’t be the only woman on board.
“We mostly judge applicants based on their ability to carry out the role they were hired for, but we also expect them to be able to assist in the everyday running of the ship as a secondary role. We provide training in those areas, but previous experience is always welcome if you have any?”
“I worked on a fishing trawler for the past few years,” I say. “I know it’s nothing like an airship or even close in size, but I know how to sail and steer a ship, how to read the wind, and I spent the last few months learning how to navigate.”
Trevor listens and nods excitedly. “That’s more experience than what most recruits have. You’re right that sailing a skyship is different, but the basic mechanics are the same, and we can soon have you up to speed. Our first mate primarily deals with the navigation, but he has been looking for an apprentice to take over since the captain started putting more responsibilities on him. I’m sure he would be happy to continue with your training as your second role.”
“I’d like that,” I say enthusiastically.
“As for your primary role, what kind of work are you looking for?”
“I would like a combat-based role if you have any available?” I question.
“Ah.” He gestures for me to follow him to the makeshift table, where a piece of parchment is lain out and weighted down with numerous pebbles. “These are all we have available.”
I take a closer look at the list that was neatly penned out in cursive.
First Blood
Artillery
Assistant Cook
Gunner
Deckhand
“As the gunner master, I highly recommend taking on the gunner role. I’d have you firing those cannons like an expert in no time,” he booms.
“I’m actually more adept at melee combat,” I explain. “What does this role involve?” I point at the first item on the list.
“Ah, that’s the first blood role.” He sounds less animated now. “first bloods are named as such because they are the first members of the crew to engage the enemy in close-range combat. In most cases, they are fired onto the enemy ship in an attempt to disarm, destroy, or initiate a surrender. Each ship usually has at least two onboard.”
“I’d like to apply for that one, please.” I interrupt him before he can continue.
“Don’t be too hasty, girl. Since first bloods are the first to engage in combat, they’re usually the ones to die first. Our other first blood, Rat, has only been with us for four months, and that’s twice as long as any other first blood we’ve had,” he says solemnly.
My resolve hardens. This role is perfect for me. I’ll give my everything to obtain it. “I’m not afraid of death, and I’m sure my fighting abilities are capable of keeping me alive long enough to take out as many Vardran enemies as possible. I’d still like to apply.”
He sighs. “Well, if that’s what you want, then I suppose I can’t stop you. You will need to pass a combat test, though.”
“That’s fine with me,” I respond.
“Follow me then.” Trevor leads me to another table. This one is filled with a vast range of weapons. “You’ll be engaging in hand-to-hand combat with Rat for your test so that we can see your fighting abilities. Pick your weapon of choice, whatever suits your style best. However, we advise that you don’t choose any of the larger weapons like the broadsword. First bloods need to be aerodynamic when we fire you onto the enemy ship. Anyway, take your time choosing while I go and find Rat.”
I nod as Trevor waddles up the wooden steps to the ship, panting and cursing as he goes.
I run my hand along the weapons. Many of them I have never seen before in person. There’s a club with sharp metal spikes, a large, sturdy crossbow, swords and daggers in a vast range of shapes and sizes, and small hatchets and great axes, to name a few. From the few times I participated in armed combat at the brawlers guild, I found that I worked best with dual shortswords.
My fingers hover over a pair of twin cutlasses. The blades are elegantly curved, and the steel hilts are crafted into a smooth, intricate pattern that fits comfortably with the shape of my hand. Glittering stormy grey stones have been set on top of each hilt. The swords are in good condition but are badly in need of a polishing.
I spin the blades in my hands and take a few practice swipes, getting a feel for the weapons and warming up my fighting stance.
Thumping footsteps on the wooden stairs above alerts me to Trevor’s return. He is followed by a thin, undernourished-looking man, who I assumed to be Rat.
“Ah, I see you chose the old cutlasses,” Trevor says as he approaches, “May they bring more luck to you than the previous owner. This here is Rat, our longest-serving first blood.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say politely. I’m unsure of whether I’m supposed to shake hands in greeting as Trevor did, but Rat just simply nods in acknowledgement.
Based on his appearance, I assume that Rat is a nickname rather than a birth name. He has a long slim face with a patchy scruff of hair as a beard. His nose is narrow and pointed at the tip, and his eyes are sharp and alert. While he appears gaunt at first glance, I notice now that lean muscles cover his frame. I shouldn’t underestimate his abilities, there’s a reason he’s survived this long.
“I won’t go easy on you,” Rat says, confirming my inner thoughts. “Fight to the best of your ability. The test is over when one of us is subdued and unable to continue.” His voice is low and nasally.
I nod and watch as he draws out his own weapons, two daggers that have sharp hooked spines serrated along one edge. I’m grateful that this isn’t a fight to the death.
“Begin when you’re ready,” Trevor booms.
Rat immediately falls into his fighting stance, and I awkwardly try to shuffle my feet into a position that feels comfortable. I remind myself that this test is no different than the fights at the brawler’s guild; I can do this.
I expect Rat to allow me to attack first, but before I can decide the best way to approach him, he swiftly leaps into the air and plunges down at me with his daggers raised, aimed at my head.
I fall backward and manage to raise both cutlasses to intercept his daggers before they can reach my skin. The clash of steel reverberates through my ears as my blades become hooked under the claws of his daggers. He has the advantage, and he uses the weight of his body to push the blades down to my throat.
I clench my teeth as my arms start to shake under the force. Sweat coats the palms of my hands, causing the metal hilts to become slippery. I have to do something quickly, get out of this position. I glance at our entangled blades. If I could just—yes! I see my opening. With a swift movement, I jab my right cutlass so that it slides under the claws of both daggers. I don’t have the strength to hold off both with just one hand, so I have to be quick. The sound of metal echoes again as I yank my left cutlass away from his daggers and swing it to his abdomen.
His reactions are quicker than anyone that I’ve fought before. He senses what I’m doing and leaps back away from me.
I sigh in relief now that the weight has left my arms, but I can’t spend time recovering. I’m only going to win this fight if I take the offensive.
Rat easily detects my attacks as I launch at him. We remain like that for a while, parrying and trading blows. The air is filled with the sound of clashing metal. Rat is quick and nimble, but so am I, and for the first time since the attack on the island, I start to feel alive again.
As we fight like this, I take the opportunity to analyse his movements and his tells. Like me, he switches up his attacks often to avoid giving anything away, but I do pick up on something that I can use to my advantage. Occasionally he attacks by bringing one dagger down from above and swiping upwards with the other. But, before he attacks, he subtly switches his grip on the left dagger so that the blade is facing downwards.
Up until now, I have managed to block each dagger by using both cutlasses, which is probably what he expects if he’s been watching me as closely as I have been watching him. I need to switch it up so I can finish this fight. Sweat is dripping down my face, and my stamina has started to drop rapidly.
I decide to go on the defensive to conserve my energy until I can make my attack. Rat seemingly notices this and takes it as a sign that I’m depleted. He tries to use it to his advantage by increasing his strikes, unknowing that it’s exactly what I want. I still defect his assaults with ease while focusing on his left hand with the corner of my eye.
Finally, I see it. With a movement as quick as lightning, he flicks the hilt in his palm so that the blade points downward. As he steps forward, I make my move. I push myself forward with enough force so that I can gain enough momentum to drop and slide, just as he swings his daggers. In a single rapid movement, I bring up my left cutlass to jam into the claws of both daggers and use my right cutlass to press into the flesh of his abdomen.
I smugly watch as the shock of being bested registers across Rat’s face.
I drop the cutlass that is pressed into his skin and allow him to regain his balance enough to stand straight and remove his daggers that are still entangled in my left cutlass. With a thump, my back hits the solid ground. I can finally catch my breath, and the cool stone feels good underneath my sweaty and tired body.
“You did well,” Rat mutters as he sheaths his daggers and holds out a hand to help me up. His face shows a mix of approval and frustration at losing the fight.
I glance over at Trevor to see his reaction, but instead, I find him staring up at the bow of the ship. I follow his gaze, where two men stand, clearly watching the fight.
One stands tall and imposing, his palms resting on the metal railing. He is wearing a coat that is the same stormy dark blue as the rest of the crew but is far more extravagant. It is embellished with what looks to be white gold or even platinum, and on his head sits a flamboyant tricorn hat.
Looking upon this man now makes me wonder how I had confused the rude quartermaster for the captain. Judging by the silver peppered through his dark hair, I would estimate him to be in his fifties at least, but what would I know about the rate at which other cultures age. His face is hard-set and unchanging, the face of a strong leader.
The man next to the captain leans lazily over the railing of the ship. He is wearing similar attire to the captain, but his uniform is plainer. Probably the First Mate. The shadow from his hat prevents me from seeing the upper half of his face, but he appears to be much younger than the captain, maybe in his twenties. His lips are curved into an amused smile. Does that mean he was pleased with the fight, or is he mocking me? I wonder.
His opinion doesn’t seem to matter, however, as the captain directs a single nod to Trevor Warsheep before turning on his heel and briskly walking out of view. The other man straightens up as lazily as he was slouching and follows the captain.
A hard slap on the shoulder wrenches my attention away from the ship. Trevor is beaming brightly.
“Welcome to the crew, missy,” he roars.
