“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Dusty asks
“It seems pretty straightforward, the instructions are clear.” I peer over my mother’s herbal recipe book. Graham was kind enough to allow us to use the galley to cook up the healing tincture. In return, I promised that I would try to find a remedy for his painful, swollen knees.
I had planned on creating the remedy as soon as I returned back to the ship, but after the drama with the quartermaster, I thought it better for us to stay hidden in the cabin.
“You might want to hurry,” Dusty warns, “your new pet is eating the currants.”
I look over to where the otter has swiped two currants from the basket and is nibbling on them. His fuzzy face is stained with patches of dark purple.
“Bay, stop eating those! If you’re hungry, eat your fish.” I gently scald, removing the basket from its reach.
Since I brought the otter back to the ship last night, he made himself at home quickly, but still refuses to leave my side. I learned that he has an extremely mischievous nature and loves to play, but when he finally burns up all his energy, he likes to snuggle up close to me and sleep. I named him Bay after my mother’s favourite herb. She used to grow an abundance of the plants back home.
“Can you please squeeze the juice out of these?” I pass Dusty a small handful of the currants.
While he crushes them into a small sieve with a pestle, I get to work on the leaves. I remove half of them from the stem and place them in a mortar before grinding them up into a powder. Next, I grate the root into small flakes and crush them together.
“Here’s the juice,” Dusty hands me a glass containing a small amount of the purple liquid.
“That’s perfect, now we just need to heat up the honey with the lemon and a small amount of water.”
He readies the saucepan over the lit stove and I measure out a few spoonfuls of honey and squeeze out a dash of lemon. Dusty adds a sprinkle of water to the mixture as it slowly simmers.
A sudden splash from behind us grabs our attention. Bay has climbed into the pail of water in the corner of the room that is used to mop the floor and is trying to do somersaults in it. Water sloshes out onto the floor.
“I told you that we should have left it behind,” Dusty says.
“I’ll clean it up,” I sigh.
Bay protests as I remove him from the water, drenching me in the process. I throw him a fish to keep him out of trouble while I swab up the flooded floor. Once I’m done, the honey mixture is ready. The heat has made it runny enough to pour into the ground leaves and root, and add some of the currant juice. I mix them all together fast as the book instructs until it turns into a thick, greenish-brown paste.
“I think it looks how it should,” I say, feeling proud of my accomplishment. “Now let’s see how it works.”
I undress the wound and bathe it again with clean water before applying a generous amount of the paste. I wince and a hiss escapes my clenched teeth as my arm stings unbearably. Fortunately, though, after a few moments, it subsides to a tingly numbness.
“I think it’s working as it should so far, the root is supposed to have properties similar to that of an anesthetic,” I tell dusty as he waits eagerly for my feedback.
I pour the rest of the paste into a preserves jar and seal up the lid tightly. My mother’s notes say that it should be applied twice daily.
“Now that’s done, do you want to help me prepare the vegetables for dinner?” Dusty says brightly.
I hold the sighting scope of the sextant up to my eye and peer through it. “What am I looking for?” I ask Cail.
“First, you look for the horizon,” he replies. “I already used our estimated position above sea level to adjust the dip. The more accurate it is the better, but with Leki controlling the engine at night, our height tends to fluctuate.”
“Perhaps we should drink up more of his liquor so that he stays sober,” I joke as I lower the sextant, my arm is starting to ache. Fortunately, the wound is no longer an issue. A the witch predicted, it was nearly fully healed after four days, all that's left is bright pink scar tissue. Not wanting to go back to the medical room, I pulled the stitches out myself.
Cail laughs, “I don’t think the captain would be too forgiving if he caught us drinking now, I used up all my favours with him when I persuaded him to allow you to keep your pet.”
“Thanks again for that, he’s grown on me and I couldn’t bear to see him killed,” I say.
“He sure is a lively one.” We both look to where Bay is racing around the main deck with no real purpose other than to release his pent-up energy.
Over the past week, I learned that otters happen to be nocturnal creatures. Bay had repeatedly kept me awake by bouncing on and off my bed and wailing loudly; then, he slept most of the day. After two nights of sleep deprivation, I had asked the quartermaster if I could switch to the night shift. He had happily agreed, likely because it would keep me out of his sight.
Once he had discovered my shift pattern, Cail had started staying up with me to teach me how to navigate. So far, as the sky has been cloudy since we left Wycliff, he has only shown me how to use the various maps, but tonight, there’s just enough clear patch of sky to see the stars.
“Shouldn’t you be looking for the horizon before the sun breaks and blinds you?” Cail prompts, stirring me from my thoughts. Apparently dawn and dusk are the best times for using the stars with the sextant.
I lift the scope to my eye once more and position it so that the horizon is in the center.
“Okay, I have the horizon lined up, what am I looking for now?” I ask.
“Is the horizon uneven?” he questions.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” It looks the same as it always does.
Cail laughs softly. “The scope shows the view of two mirrors; it is split vertically down the middle. The left side is the horizon, this one always stays level with the horizon, whereas the one on the right side is the index mirror, which is the object that you’re comparing with the horizon. In this case, it's that bright blue star.” He points towards the large twinking star not too far above the horizon. “What we’re checking for is an index error, where the horizon is not correctly aligned, meaning it would show as being higher or lower on the right side of the scope.”
“Oh, it’s all level.”
“Perfect, now you need to adjust the index arm until the star comes into view on the right side of the scope and line it up with the horizon on the left. Once that is done, we’ll take the readings.”
“Wait, which one is the index arm?” I blindly try to feel around the sextant.
I nearly gasp as he catches my hand in his and places it on the arm of the sextant. The skin touching his feels as though it’s tingling with electricity. He guides my hand as I turn the mechanism, and the image on the right side of the scope starts to shift as he had predicted. The movement disorients me and I start to feel dizzy. I begin to stagger back slightly but Cail places his left hand on the center of my back for support.
“Don’t worry, it’s common for it to make you feel strange at first, your brain will eventually get used to it.” His voice is close to my ear and I can slightly feel his breath on my neck. I find it hard to focus on the sextant and what I’m supposed to be doing.
Finally, the star comes into view. “I see it,” I tell him.
“Good, now you need to adjust it slightly so that the very bottom of the star is aligned with the top of the horizon on the left.”
It sounds simple enough, but every slight movement of the index arm sent the star either slightly above the horizon or below it.
“Hurry, the star is about to be eaten up by a large cloud,” Cail urges.
I nearly tell him that I would probably be able to accomplish it much easier if he wasn’t standing so close and still holding onto my hand, but I refrain. Finally, I manage to line it up perfectly just seconds before the thick dark cloud covers the star from view and blankets the sky.
“I got it,” I say proudly.
“Well done, you’re a natural,” he whispers in my ear, causing a shudder to course through my body. Unfortunately, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Cail.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
“It's always cold, and it seems to be getting colder by the day,” I laugh, putting some distance between us and handing him the sextant. I’m relieved that he offers me an excuse; I don’t want him to discover the strange effect that he has on me. It’s normal, I tell myself, to react that way when you’re in such close proximity to someone you don’t know that well. You just haven’t noticed it before because you were always around people you had known your whole life.
“It’s because we’re travelling north. It gets colder the further you travel away from the equator,” he explains.
“Doesn’t it bother you?” I ask. I have noticed that while I’m shivering out of my skin out on the deck at night, Cail appears as comfortable as if he were basking in the warm summer sun.
He shakes his head. “I’m used to it, this is warm compared to my homeland.”
“You’re insane,” I mutter.
“If I were to go to your islands, however, I would probably die from heatstroke,” he says.
“It wasn’t that warm,” I protest.
“For you, maybe. It just depends on what temperature our body is accustomed to.”
Thinking about the warmth of the isles makes me shiver even more in the sharp wind, and I pull my coat around me tighter.
Cail narrows his eyes thoughtfully. “I might have something that can help.”
He dashes off through the doors into the quarterdeck and after a few moments, returns carrying a long, thick cloak with a large hood.
He holds it out to me and as I take it, I run my fingers over the soft material. The inside appears to be some type of thick white animal fur, maybe a bear, and the outside is a soft suede dyed in a shade of deep forest green.
“My father had this made for me for my twentieth birthday, I think it will serve you better than it has me.”
I gasp. “I can’t possibly take this, it’s too much!”
I try to hand the cloak back but he gently pushes it into my arms.
“I have never worn it, honestly. Since I left Arcstead, every place has been too warm to wear it. It was just neglected in my room.”
“If you’re sure,” I say tentatively, draping the cloak over my shoulders and wrapping it close around me. I no longer notice the wind and my chilled bones gradually start to warm up. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It looks good on you.”
I turn away before he can see me flush and look to where the sliver of sky between the cloud and the horizon has turned a pale yellow.
“We should go back to the navigation room, I’ll teach you how to use the readings to estimate our coordinates.”
It turns out that I’m less adept at calculating the coordinates than I am at using the sextant. Cail patiently explains the process the best he can, and I diligently write down his instructions in the leather-bound notebook he gave me when we first started training, but I still find it difficult to grasp and comprehend.
Bay, who had followed us into the navigation, is stretched out fast asleep on the chair in the corner, oblivious to my frustrations.
“I think we should stop here for today. We can work on it again tomorrow night. You must be exhausted by now,” Cail says.
I yawn in response. It has been a long night and my brain is so full of new knowledge that I’ll probably be dreaming about maps and charts, which is an improvement on my regular nightmares.
I scoop Bay into my arms and carry him across the deck. He snuggles happily into the fur of my new cloak. Cail walks beside me; for some reason, he always insists on walking me back to my cabin.
All of the day crew have started working now, and the ship is bustling.
“Clava Turkeys!” Tom Wedge calls from the crow’s nest before we can enter the forecastle.
“Turkeys?” I ask confused.
“There’s a flock of turkeys flying towards us. If we manage to shoot them down at the right time, they’ll land on the ship and we’ll have fresh meat for days,” Cail says
“Turkeys can fly?” The ones on my island never did.
“These ones can. I better grab my bow,” he says excitedly.
I take Bay to my cabin and remove the cloak, hanging it on the coat hook on the back of the door. I rush back out onto the deck. The announcement of the turkeys has drawn out most of the crew, with most of them wielding bows and crossbows. I had tried to use a crossbow a few times but my aim hadn’t been very good. I’d be more likely to shoot a fellow crew member than a bird.
Cail returns with his bow and we all wait in anticipation as the large flock draws near.
“Start aiming,” Trevor booms. “Three … two … one … Fire!”
The crew release a cascade of arrows as the turkeys begin to fly over the ship. Some hit their targets, dropping the birds onto the deck, while others miss completely. Some birds fall past the edge of the ship, and I hope no one is standing below. I can only imagine their shock as a pierced turkey lands on their head.
I catch sight of Dusty, who is running around the deck with a large wicker basket trying to collect the dead turkeys. His hooves slip on a slick puddle of turkey blood, sending him tumbling to the ground.
I can’t help but double over and chortle at the sight, and upon seeing what I’m laughing at, Cail joins in.
Dusty flails around like a turtle stuck on its back, and as he tries to stand, the turkeys from the tumble out onto his face. When he does finally manage to get up, he slips once more and falls face-first into the pile of corpses. My stomach hurts and my eyes are streaming as I laugh even harder.
I catch sight of a straggling turkey fly above. “There’s another one, get it!” I tell Cail as I try to dry my eyes and catch my breath.
He lifts his bow and aims but then pauses, before dropping it back down by his side. The turkey makes it safely past the ship.
“Why didn’t you …” My heart falters as my eyes lock onto what Cail is staring at. A warship is approaching us fast, and it’s unmistakably Vardran.
“Vardran ship approaching, prepare for battle!” Cail calls loudly.
The crew immediately forget the turkeys and spring into action without hesitation.
The captain storms out from within the quarterdeck. “How many?” he asks Cail briskly.
“Just one,” he replies, “but it’s … purple.”
I squint my eyes and look more closely to see that he’s right. Instead of the frame of the ship being dark wood as I expected, it’s a strange deep purple that shifts to dark blue.
“It’s just paint; you know how patriotic these scum are,” Trevor spits.
“Get the cannons ready!” Captain Coldrun orders.
Trevor rushes down to the gun deck, followed by the deckhand brothers and Graham, the head cook.
I realise that, unlike last time with the pirates, there would be no introductions or negotiations. We are jumping straight into the fray. Adrenaline pumps through me; this is it, my opportunity to get revenge for every Curian who lost their lives, but most importantly, for my mother.
I head straight for the ballista but Rat stops my path. I have hardly seen him since I switched to the night shifts.
“Where are you going?” he says.
“I’m going over to fight.” I try to dodge around him but he stops me once more.
“We can’t board an enemy ship while we are attacking it with cannons,” he says.
“Why not?” I ask, frustrated.
“Because the aim is to destroy their ship and cause it to crash, if that happens while we’re over there, we’ll be sacrificed. The captain didn’t use cannons against the pirates because he wanted to protect the cargo and allow them the opportunity to surrender. It’s a different protocol for Vardrans; if the cannons don’t do the job, then we’ll fly over,” Rat explains.
I huff. What’s the point in having first bloods if we’re not utilised?
The cannons go off with a loud boom, making me flinch.
“What in the world …” Cail says.
I look at the enemy ship to see that the cannonballs are deflecting off the side. The ship is slightly knocked back with each impact, but the structure remains untouched.
“Why aren’t they hitting?” Iris asks.
“It has to be something to do with that shimmering purple,” the captain replies. “It’s likely some sort of protective magi …” His words are cut off with multiple booms as the Vardrans fire their cannons. I hear them penetrate the side of the Zarla and one ball crashes through the deck floor metres away from us.
“First bloods, get over there as quick as you can and stop those gunners!” The captain orders as the ship is pummeled.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. This time I reach the ballista before Rat does, and Iris launches me up into the air.
None of the Vardrans notice me as I soar through the air, they’re too busy focusing on trying to demolish the Zarla, unaware that I’m about to demolish them.
There’s no spinning out of control or falling this time, I glide onto the deck with grace and precision, right in the thick of the Vardran crew. While I still have the element of surprise, I unleash my fury.
Rat lands next to me a few moments later and covers my back as we dispose of the surrounding Vardrans. There are many more of them than there were the pirates, and they’re more skilled at fighting. It takes us a while to start thinning the crowd. I notice that many of them have heavily tattooed and pierced skin, sharply pointed teeth, and long twisted ears.
As they did with the pirates, the crew onboard the Zarla help by firing projectiles at the Vardrans on the deck. Luckily most of them are already armed from the turkey hunt.
I hear the cannons boom and the sound of tearing wood as they hit our ship as I fight.
“Go down to take care of those on the gun deck, I can handle these!” I shout to Rat. He hesitates for a moment and then slips away to the hatch on the main deck. That leaves me facing four Vardran soldiers, while two crouch by the ship’s railing firing arrows at the Zarla.
I release the floodgates to all the emotions that I have locked away for so long. I allow myself to feel them all: the pain of every Curian who was slaughtered, the grief for my mother who died in a way that no one ever deserved, and the rage, that white-hot rage, is finally unleashed.
I deflect the blows of two of them, dodge the third, and sink my cutlass into the fourth in one rapid movement. I stop blow after blow with ease and use my force to push them all back, not allowing them an opening for attack. I allow images from the Curio attack to flash through my mind and use it as fuel to remind myself how these bastards deserve to suffer.
One of the soldiers stumbles over the foot of his crewmate and I use it to my advantage, the edge of my blade slices through his jugular, and the blood sprays into the eyes of his companion. Before he can wipe it away, I impale his chest.
One more to go … no, three. The two with the bows face their attention on me. One charges straight forward and I use my second blade to hold off his attacks. The other Vardran notches an arrow and is about to aim it straight at my head. I can’t dodge while I’m holding off these two.
A cannon booms and, within a few seconds, a turkey corpse collides with the head of the archer, knocking him to the ground, and rendering him unconscious. The cannon booms again and another turkey hits the back of one of the soldiers I’m fighting, causing him to topple forward, straight onto my blade.
Realising he’s alone, the remaining soldier blanches. I cut his head clean off.
“Retreat! Retreat!” I hear Captain Coldrun’s voice sound from the Zarla. Retreat? When we’re winning?
Rat comes dashing up from the gun deck followed by two Vardrans. “Let’s go,” he shouts to me. I notice that the Zarla has dropped altitude to allow us to glide back onboard. He leaps over the railing and releases his wings.
I hear multiple thumps behind me and turn to see that two more Vardran ships have shown up to reinforce, all with the purple shimmer. Five soldiers stand before me and the two that were chasing Rat approach from behind.
I’m not going to retreat. I came here to kill Vardrans and I'm not stopping. I’m going to die on this ship, and I’m okay with that.
