The Gathering Storm - Elsewhere, Book 1
Chapter 11

One other group of people had not gone to the Daraeyi shore, of course. Emerden, Nula, Reem, Kerise, Jonor, Soorah, Hanble and Fron had risen early the morning after the wedding, eaten some bread and cheese and packed their things into their own carry packs and onto the two horses. They set off to the east, following the upper fork of the River Meer’s southern tributary. Nula had been rather subdued when she returned from the wedding and still seemed pensive as they walked along. Emerden took her hand as they ambled through the lush grass of the riverbank.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked gently. Nula lifted her face to the morning sun and breathed deeply of the air which seemed to be freshened by the proximity of the swiftly flowing stream.

“I just hope I did the right thing,” she said. “It was a horrible situation with no easy solution, but I feel sad that Roween’s tied to that dreadful man for the rest of her life. She can’t see how bad he is right now. She’s blinded by love. I hope she remembers what I told her about that herbal tonic I gave her.”

“She has to take some responsibility for her actions, you know,” reasoned Emerden. “She may be young and gullible, but most village girls wouldn’t give up their maidenhood without a wedding ceremony.”

“I did,” retorted Nula. “Do you think I’m gullible?”

“Absolutely not!” denied Emerden dramatically, clasping his hands to his heart. “On my honour, fair lady, I think you the most wise and sage woman I have ever encountered. Besides, you were no ordinary maiden to begin with.”

“You think I’m wise because I went to bed with you without a ring on my finger?” qualified Nula with narrowed eyes.

“Oh yes,” agreed Emerden with a credible look of sincerity. “After all, you didn’t have any worries about unexpected pregnancies. Besides, just think what you’d have missed out on if you hadn’t!”

“I’m sorry – what I’d have missed out on?” asked Nula incredulously. “Perhaps you’ve developed an overinflated opinion of your own proficiency in that department.”

But she was unable to stop the corners of her mouth from turning up, giving a decidedly comical cast to her put-down. Emerden grinned.

“Oh no,” he said airily. “My opinion is based on extensive research over a number of years. It’s very accurate.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh, you’re impossible!” Nula laughed. Emerden kissed her fondly, glad that he had been able to draw her out of her reverie and bring a smile to her face again.

They continued along the lush, green river bank for the next ten days, drawing ever closer to the foothills of the Misted Rocks of Even’s Doom, whose fog enshrouded heights were the territory of the fearsome Haraquin. None of those engaged on the quest had ever encountered a Haraquin warrior before, and if myth were to be believed they were all warriors from the time they could fly and hold a blade, but they were familiar with the stories. They were reputed to be fearless; tall, with a muscular build borne of constant training, hairless as a newborn and ready armed with long, claw-like nails and pointed teeth. Their huge, leathery wings allowed them to rise on the circling air thermals among the hills and mountains, then swoop down on their unsuspecting prey like darting shadows. They fashioned their clothes from tanned buffalo hides trimmed with furs to protect themselves from the cold air and biting winds of the high mountain passes. They were fearsomely xenophobic and guarded their region aggressively.

Since they had no wish to interact with other races, they had never learned the Manguin tongue which had become the common speech of the forest and cities alike over the millennia; a blend of words Myrial, Jentsie, Equiseen, Elven and of the mortal realm. And of course, no one of these races was able to understand the harsh, guttural tongue of the Haraquin either. Reem had told them that they would have to pass through the outermost valley of the region, which did not fill any of them with joy and gladness, but she had also said that she had made the journey on many occasions with her mother, always without incident, which settled their fears somewhat.

The reason for their passage so close to Haraquin territory was the need for a constant supply of water for themselves and their horses. The stream they were following had wound down through the hills from its source and they would cross the base of the valley and pick up a different stream on its way out of the hills where it became the west fork of the Lomoohr River. This they would follow all the way to Lake Lomoohr, which was about the same size as Lake Merriem and which lay between the Lomoohr Mountains to the west and the Sky Forest which bordered the Sea of Ever Storms to the east. Reem reckoned the trek would take them around a month in total.

They set up camp each evening as darkness fell and Nula would prepare dinner. After a few days they had established a routine whereby Emerden and Jonor would cut poles and erect their three tents, Fron and Hanble would collect fire wood and Soorah would set it burning effortlessly, without recourse to flint and tinder.

“You’re a handy sort of person to have around,” observed Fron on the first evening when she had a blaze warming them in a matter of minutes. “Not exactly a labour intensive task though. Perhaps you could also help Reem and Kerise with fetching water and washing the dishes later.”

“Oh yes? Who died and made you the leader then?” she countered.

“No one. I was just saying...”

“Well don’t. Of course I’ll help; I don’t need you to order me around as if you weren’t only about five minutes older than me.” She stared sulkily into the fire, put out at Fron for assuming she wouldn’t pull her weight.

Fron, for his part, had only been trying to strike up a conversation and hadn’t intended to come across as bossy. He regretted opening his mouth once he realised he had neatly placed his foot in it.

“Sorry Soorah,” he apologised earnestly. “I really didn’t mean to cause offense. It’s a lovely fire.”

His clumsy attempt at reparation, coupled with his ingenuous expression, melted her petulant expression into a grin and she forgave him good naturedly.

“Alright then, but no more orders. You know what they say about too many cooks.”

From looked confused. “But Nula’s the only cook.... What?”

Soorah laughed and went to find Kerise and Reem.

They made good time as they travelled north, but they noticed the nights growing steadily colder and wondered what this might mean for later in their expedition, and especially for the army as they neared the Chasm. They remembered Vineder’s ominous warnings of storms and snow, and were glad of their blankets.

On the eighth day Jonor fell into step beside Emerden as they walked along. The girls had gone in front to chatter about feminine things which they, apparently, ‘wouldn’t understand’ and the two brothers were bringing up the rear, leading George and Millie.

“Do you think this is going to succeed?” Jonor asked Emerden, bluntly heaving his burdened mind into his friend’s lap.

“Do I think this is going to succeed?” repeated Emerden. “What – our quest to discover and fix whatever it is that’s killing our forest, the mission to free the Jentsies and chastise the Raquin for centuries of hideous enslavement, Vineder’s request that we rescue however many remain of his people from the frozen, inhospitable wasteland beyond the Chasm – is that the ‘this’ you’re referring to? Sure; why wouldn’t we succeed?”

“So you have as many doubts as I do then,” concluded Jonor from Emerden’s pessimistic tone of voice. “You hide it well, though.”

“I have to, or who would follow me, Jo? But we don’t really have a lot of choice, do we? At least with some of it. Something is killing the forest: we have to find out what and try to resolve it. Something is changing the weather beyond the Chasm and killing Vineder’s people: we can’t ignore his plea for help. And the Jentsies? Well, that’s gone on for far longer than it should have already. Besides, we probably can’t get past the Chasm without encountering the Raquin, so it will all come to a head whether we want it to or not. I hope we do manage it all though, or who knows what kind of a future we have? We have to hope Raya can tell us what we need to know. And we have to hope Beyon and the rest can track down some pirates willing to pick a fight with a couple of hundred Raquin on their own ground. It won’t be easy, but they won’t give up till they’ve turned the harbour of Lytos Meer upside down and given it a good shake, so I’m sure a few disreputable captains will fall out.”

“Yes, but will they be crazy enough to accept a cargo of Equiseen and Elves and sail them through that monstrous whirlpool at the mouth of the Daraeyi Sea? I’m glad I’m not going to be on one of those ships I can tell you. I am not good on the water. Even a small fishing boat on the lake makes me ill.” Jonor pulled a queasy face.

“Really? You do know that Raya lives on the middle of a lake, don’t you? We’ll have to row across to her island, then continue to the other side of the lake afterwards.” Consternation furrowed Emerden’s brow at this piece of information he had somehow never previously learned about his friend.

“I’d forgotten about that,” admitted Jonor, his face taking on a greenish cast as he thought about it. Emerden clapped his friend on the shoulder.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine; it will be a very small boat.”

“Doesn’t that just increase the chances of it capsizing?” asked Jonor, looking not in the least bit comforted.

On the tenth day of their journey west they were all plodding through the long grass of the valley floor towards the lake when they heard a sudden strange noise coming from a small wooded area that spanned the river just ahead. It was a gagging, retching sort of sound, followed by groaning and spluttering. As they approached, warily, they heard the noise repeated, then a low, concerned voice talking to the groaning person.

“Be careful, all of you,” warned Reem. I don’t know of anyone besides Haraquin in this area and we don’t want a confrontation.”

“They sound ill, whoever they are,” observed Nula. “I doubt they could put up much of a fight.”

“They could have seen us coming and be laying a trap,” suggested Jonor. “And there are at least two of them. Be ready, just in case.”

They continued toward the trees on their guard, Hanble and Fron holding their hunting knives in front of them and Nula removing her bow and quiver from where they were tied to George’s packs. They paused at the first trees, peering into the dimness under the slight canopy of leaves and allowing their eyes to grow accustomed to the semi-darkness. A little way back, behind some bushy undergrowth, they heard again the sound of someone being violently ill, then panting and groaning in what sounded like a female voice. The low voice that spoke comfortingly to her was male, and they could now hear that the language being spoken was Manguin. Nula lowered her bow.

“Hello,” she called tentatively. Are you alright?”

There was a silence behind the bush; the tense, pensive silence of someone who knows they’ve been caught, but has to make up their mind to reveal themselves. After a few seemingly interminable moments, a head popped up from behind the bush. It had long, somewhat straggly, dark hair, tied back in a messy braid and bronze skin a shade or two lighter than Soorah’s. Pointed ears protruded upwards from the hair on either side of a worried expression.

“Hello,” said the head, warily. “We’re fine. We don’t need any help. Thank you for stopping to ask though. Good day.”

The head disappeared back behind the bush and a muttered conversation could be heard. The group exchanged puzzled glances, unsure how to respond. Nula tried again.

“I heard someone being ill. I can help – I have some skill in healing.”

More muttering could be heard behind the bush. The female voice sounded plaintive; she clearly wanted help. The head appeared again.

“Alright, thank you. Can you come round? I don’t’ think my wife can walk; she’s very weak.”

Nula tied her bow and quiver back in place and removed her healing kit from one of the packs. It contained bandages and a pair of sharp scissors, tweezers and jars of poultices and ointments, as well as tonics for several common ailments. Nula had also included her sewing kit and Pinard, since you could never be too well prepared. She walked over to the bushes, the others following a little way behind, and discovered two Equiseen youths, one of them lying on the ground looking deathly pale and very tired.

“You’re wife?” Nula asked the worried young man, a horrible suspicion forming in her mind.

“Aysh,” he confirmed, nodding.

“And you would be Mikkol, then; Mikkol Moor?”

Mikkol nodded miserably, realising that these people clearly knew all about them.

“Your sister was more than slightly vexed with you,” noted Fron, remembering the scene on the day of their departure, almost a month previously. Nula frowned at him, thinking that that conversation would be best left until later on, after they had solved the current problem. She knelt down beside Aysh and placed a gentle hand on the girl’s forehead.

“No fever,” she said and put a finger on the inside of her wrist.

“Good, steady pulse, not too fast. How long have you been ill for?”

“Since yesterday morning,” whispered Aysh. “I hardly ate all day. I can barely even keep down sips of water.”

“And what about the day before that – did you eat anything that might have caused this?”

“No; the meat was freshly caught and the grains from the pack are fine, no mould or anything.”

Nula looked at the girl speculatively and turned to the others.

“Alright, you can go over there and set up camp. We won’t be going any further today. Boil some water, please Soorah and make a tea with the ginger root in my kit.”

Once they had all moved away a little and begun on their customary tasks, including Mikkol who she shooed away to help collect firewood, she turned back to Aysh.

“I need to ask you some rather personal questions, dear. Will you answer them?”

Aysh nodded, although she looked a bit nervous.

“Were you sick all day yesterday, or just in the morning?”

“All day, except for a while in the afternoon, when I managed to sleep. And it’s just acid or dry retching now, there’s no food left.”

“And during the night?” continued Nula.

“No, but it started again when I got up this morning. I had to go.... you know; go...”

“I see. Do you feel dizzy?”

“No, except when I stood up this morning. I felt faint and had to sit down for a minute. Then on the way back to the tent I felt sick and I’ve been behind this bush ever since. What is it Mistress Nula? Will I be alright?”

“You know who I am then. That should make the next bit easier. When did you last bleed?”

Aysh flushed pink, although with her current pallor it looked a strange shade. She thought about her answer.

“Not since before my Joining, actually. About a fortnight before. I remember thinking it would be a relief, not having to worry about that in my bridal week.... Oh! Mistress Nula, you don’t think...?”

“Well I take it you have been, shall we say, enjoying the start of married life?”

“Married? Oh, yes, the Manguin word for Joined. Yes, I suppose so.”

Aysh blushed pinker than ever, some real colour returning at last to her cheeks.

“And is your bosom tender? Like you don’t want to be held too tightly?”

Aysh nodded, wondering how Nula seemed to know exactly how she felt.

“Aright, let’s put all that together then. No bleeding for what, almost a month and a half, tender bosom, faintness, extreme nausea and vomiting for two days. I’d say you’ll be due in a little more than eight months.”

“Due. You mean, a baby?” Aysh still didn’t look convinced.

“Well, dear, you do seem to have been going the right way about it. What did you think would happen?”

“I didn’t think. That is to say, I was just enjoying the freedom and being Joined with Mikkol and travelling. I didn’t really think about the future at all.”

She sat up slowly, looking pensive and not very happy.

“You seem troubled Aysh,” prompted Nula. “I take it you’re not delighted about this?”

“I don’t know,” blurted Aysh, her throat constricting. “I ran away because I couldn’t bear the thought of being tied to a house and the forge and never being allowed to do anything but make tools and babies. I wanted to run, to hunt, to learn to fight. Is it all over so soon?”

“Oh, was that it?” realised Nula, understanding at last the reason behind the newlyweds’ flight from their village. “Well, I don’t think you need to despair just yet. There’s no reason why you can’t continue to run and hunt, if your body’s used to it, or even train, as long as you’re careful. Babies are well protected in there, you know. And once they’re born they remain very portable little things for quite some time. As long as they’re kept warm, dry and well fed they can travel just about anywhere. Did you two have a particular destination in mind?”

“We were sort of thinking Lytos Bor, eventually, but we weren’t in a particular hurry to get there.”

“Well no, you would seem to be taking rather the long route, going in completely the opposite direction,” said Nula facetiously. Aysh giggled, then looked suddenly sad again.

“We knew the route the army was planning to follow and we couldn’t risk running into our fathers.” Tears sprang into her eyes and she sniffed.

“Was my father very angry? Will he ever forgive me?” she asked nervously. “I didn’t want to hurt them; I just couldn’t live the life they wanted me to and they would never have understood that.”

“Yes, I see that. But a lot of hurt has been caused Aysh, I won’t lie to you. Mikkol’s father was beyond furious when Taya told him what you did. It wasn’t an easy scene to watch. And your own father, well I’m afraid he took Garron Moor’s side. They’ve disowned you both. But then, I’m sure you knew that’s what would happen, didn’t you?”

Aysh nodded, tears running freely down her cheeks. “I just didn’t think it would be so hard to know it for certain,” she said and she began to sob brokenly. Then another wave of nausea overcame her and she turned away from Nula to gag and heave in the bushes as her already empty stomach convulsed again. Nula stroked Aysh’s hair comfortingly as she tried to stop the clenching feeling in her belly.

“I have a tonic in my kit that should help with the sickness, and eating very small meals regularly should keep the nausea under control. The ginger tea I asked Soorah to brew will also help and if you start to notice that particular smells bring on the nausea, you can try to avoid them. Your sense of smell will be peculiarly heightened in the next few months.”

Aysh nodded, then asked, “Nula, should I tell Mikkol?”

“I would advise you to tell him, yes. The next months are going to be hard at times, while you both come to terms with what you’ve done, and you’ll need each other. Something that unites you will be important, since I’m sure there will be times that will drive you apart and at times he might resent you. You’ll need to be strong for him, Aysh, and remember that he loves you and he chose you and this life, in the moments that he forgets it.”

“Strong for Mikkol? But he’s the strongest boy in our village! He’s much stronger than me.” She bit her lip. “He won’t ever hate me, will he Nula?” She looked petrified by the idea.

Nula sighed. “Not hate, no – that’s a very strong word. But his life will be very different now too and he only chose it because he loves you and hated the idea of you being miserable. He was very happy and well liked and respected in his old life, so it will be more of an adjustment for him; once this honeymoon period wears off I mean. If a day comes when he feels too guilty over the pain he’s caused his family and he’s irritable with you because of it, don’t argue with him or cast it up to him that it was his decision, that’s all I’m saying. Just comfort him and tell him you understand; support him through it, so he remembers how much he loves you and why, instead of becoming angry and resentful. It’s a question of management, dear. Sometimes men need to be managed a little; it’s for their own good. Now, drink this tonic and we’ll settle you in your tent for a rest with that ginger tea and some dry bread. You can tell Mikkol the good news when you’re feeling a bit more put together.

Far away in Lytos Meer Jaquor, Eliish, Beyon and Tisha woke up in their not-too-uncomfortable beds at the Mariner’s Rest and breakfasted on quite good porridge in the common room, which Harrel the barman proudly claimed to have cooked himself. He had graciously reheated their stew the night before and, with full stomachs, they had ventured upstairs to the last two rooms on the left. They had discovered the rooms to be reasonably clean and the beds only a little lumpy.

“Probably from hard use,” noted Jaquor, much to Eliish’s disgust. She had inspected the sheets intently by the dim light of the single candle, but could see no indication that they weren’t fresh. Theirs was the room at the very end of the corridor and the window looked out onto the street below at the point where two roads crossed. It seemed to be a hot spot for business ventures of questionable legality, some of which were conducted with more discretion and decorum than others. While men exchanged goods for money in the shadowy mouths of alleyways, women bared all and raised their voices to attract possible customers as they passed. Eliish lay in bed, her ears burning at the language they used. It was made worse by the rhythmic thudding of a bed frame hitting a wall in the room across the corridor which was then joined by a discomfiting duet of ardent groans and squeals in different octaves that rose to a tumultuous crescendo before fading out completely. By this point Eliish had hidden her head under the sheets, which did little to block out the noise, but at least she couldn’t see Jaquor smirking at her mortified expression anymore.

“It’s not funny!” she insisted.

“I’m sorry, love, but it is quite,” contradicted Jaquor. “It’s not as if we haven’t made those sorts of noises ourselves plenty of times.”

“I do NOT scream like that,” said Eliish flatly, her voice slightly muffled under the sheets.

“No, that’s true, you make quite a different sound,” agreed Jaquor. “Hanble has likened it to a dying gazelle on occasion.”

Eliish threw off the sheets and scowled up at Jaquor as he gazed down at her, his head propped up on one hand. In the candle light he thought she looked incredibly beautiful, even when indignant.

“Hanble has?” she snapped.

“Well there isn’t much distance between my wagon and their cabin Eliish and you’re not as quiet as you clearly think you are. Actually I think you could give Nula a run for her money.”

Jaquor lay back on his pillow and laced his hands behind his head, allowing her time to formulate a suitable response to this dig. Eliish lay with her mouth open, quite unable to speak. The large cabin she shared with her sister and mother was next door to the cabin and wagon shared by the four acrobatic brothers, and since Soorah shared her bedroom she and Jaquor took the more private aspects of their relationship to his wagon. Thus they were separated from his brothers by only two wooden walls, but they were right across the clearing from Emerden’s vardo. On a clear night though, it was entirely possible to tell whether the diminutive midwife was spending the night with him and Eliish was staggered that Jaquor would make such a comparison. She closed her mouth and chewed her lip thoughtfully. Eventually she propped herself up in the same way Jaquor had, cushioning her elbow on the pillow, and looked down at him. Black ringlets spilled over her hand and down her arm. Looking intently at him, Eliish drew in a deep breath to speak, then let it out without saying anything. After a second she prodded him in the chest.

“A dying gazelle?” she asked in an injured tone.

“Hey, it’s not my opinion! Just something my stupid little brother said. I think you sound hot.”

Eliish looked unconvinced. “Louder than Nula? Seriously?”

“Well, I can’t say for certain. After all, I’ve always been in the same room as you, whereas she’s always been across the clearing. Perhaps you’re right. I’m sure you’re much quieter really.”

He smiled up at her, hoping he hadn’t taken his comments too far. Theirs was an unusual relationship; not as lovey-dovey as Nula and Emerden nor as bickery as Beyon and Tisha. They shared a quirky sense of humour and often wound each other up, but she did have a slight tendency to switch suddenly from amused to offended if he wasn’t careful, and could be difficult to mollify. She rolled her eyes and laughed at him affectionately, slapping his cheek ever so gently.

“Tell your brother to shut his ears,” she said. “And I’ll have you know I could rival even that woman across the corridor, if I wanted to.”

“I’m sure you could,” agreed Jaquor, perking up at the suggestion implicit in her comment. “And do you want to?”

She looked up at him through bashfully lowered lashes.

“Maybe we shouldn’t. Beyon and Tisha are just next door.”

“They’ll just think it’s other customers. Besides, they’re probably fast asleep already. Tell you what, you try and stay totally quiet, and I’ll try to elicit squeals to rival the clearly faked climax of the pro across the way.”

Eliish grinned at the challenge and Jaquor licked his finger and thumb and extinguished the candle on the night stand.

And so it was that they came to be sitting at a slightly sticky, beer stained table in the common room the following morning. Beyon sipped a mug of something hot, black and bitter which Harrel had called coffee when he served it to them with their porridge. He was unused to the flavour but he found it remarkably reviving. He wished he could ask Harrel how it was made without giving themselves away. He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Did you not sleep well?” asked Harrel, clearing away their porridge bowls.

“Not very well, no,” confirmed Beyon. “It was a bit noisier than I’m used to.”

“Ah, sorry about that,” apologised Harrel. “The local girls make a killing when the ships come in and I’ve a lot of rowdy sailors in my rooms this week. They can get a bit land-happy when their ships are in port.”

“Yes, I noticed that. Someone was doing a passable impression of strangling a gazelle: sort of thrashing about noisily one minute and muffled squeals the next.” He threw a pointed glance across the table and gulped his coffee, pulling a face as the bitter liquid scorched his throat. Jaquor smirked but Eliish looked steadily at her feet. Harrel cocked his head to one side.

“No, that’s a new one on me,” he mused. “Though I don’t always hear much, thank goodness; my rooms are at the back end of the top floor. Will you be needing the rooms again tonight?”

“I don’t think so,” replied Beyon. “We hope to have secured passage on a ship by then. Thanks anyway.”

They paid for breakfast and left the inn, making their way through the north gate of the city to the busy harbour just beyond. The quayside was bustling with sailors, merchants supervising the loading and unloading of various cargoes and people like themselves looking for passage. Walking among these were vendors with trays of street food, pickpockets out for an easy mark and ladies to whom the appellation ‘of the night’ was clearly something of a misnomer, given the hour at which they were plying their trade. On board some of the vessels, men clambered about the rigging, making repairs and adjustments before putting out to sea again. Gruff men on the decks below bellowed orders, throwing expletives into their commands with unstinting generosity.

The foursome wandered along the quay, looking at the names of the ships as they passed. The boats varied in size and style from small fishing boats and ferries that worked their way along the coast, stopping at the small towns and villages, to heavy, wallowing cargo ships with tall masts and more below the surface than above. At the far end of the harbour, nestled between two cargo ships, floated two much leaner vessels. They were fast looking with narrow prows and sleek lines. In fact, they were probably what the man had in mind when he came up with the word ‘streamlined’. On the hull of one of the boats fancy blue lettering declared her to be the ‘Seabird’. Elaborate gold script on the other hull read ‘Ennas-Star’. Men worked on the decks and in the rigging of both ships and there was an industrious sense of purpose behind the jocular banter and bawdy songs which could be heard from the quay.

A dark-skinned man in a voluminous blue shirt watched the foursome form the prow of the Seabird as they looked over the ships that had been recommended to them. He caught hold of a long rope and used it to swing down to the quay. Approaching them, he grinned; bright white teeth flashing in the sun. He wore a jaunty black hat whose brim was turned back to form three points and his long hair poured out from under it in a mass of midnight braids, curls and tangled tresses.

“You like her?” he inquired, indicating the ship. His voice was deep and resonant, his accent quite different from that of the Meerans they had met; somehow making the most of every vowel. “You want passage somewhere?” he continued. “I take passengers, if they can pay.”

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his loose, rust-coloured trousers, the legs of which were tucked into the tops of his black, knee-high boots. He had a confident, swaggering air about him and Jaquor found himself reminded of his father, before tragedy had stolen him away from him all those years before. ‘Chan the air dancer’ had been a man of towering confidence, yet loved by all who knew him for his humour and his enormous capacity for affection. Jaquor found he instantly liked the grinning captain.

“We do need passage – and we can pay,” he responded. “We also need a measure of discretion.”

“Ah, discretion,” nodded the captain in an understanding way. “Well my friend, discretion I can also provide – also for a price. Just how much discretion were you looking for?”

Jaquor smiled at his turn of phrase. “Quite a lot as it happens. Shall we go somewhere a little more private to discuss it, Captain.....?”

“Jonas,” the other man supplied, offering his hand to each of them in turn. They all shook it and gave him their names.

“Why don’t we?” he agreed. “My cabin is quite well appointed – comfortable enough for two beautiful ladies. Would you come aboard?”

He turned to the ship. “Sollen!” he shouted. “Send down a flask and five!”

A pail on a rope quickly appeared over the side of the ship, which was lowered then swung across to them. Jonas caught it and removed a silver flask and five small silver cups. He handed these out and poured a small quantity of syrupy, amber liquid into each. Raising his own, he declared “Prosperity!” and downed the contents. Each of the others repeated his toast and drank down the draught which was fiery and strong, catching the women’s throats and making them splutter. Jonas laughed good naturedly.

“Brave women to drink fire brandy like that,” he praised. “Shall we go aboard? He turned and led the way to the gangplank.

The toast was what they had been waiting for. Reem had explained to them that ‘A Myrial captain who shares his liquor with you and offers a toast to your wellbeing is binding himself on his honour to guard your safety while on board his ship. If this does not take place he is free to rob you, murder you and dump your bodies over the side, but if it does he is as your brother till your business is concluded.’ Eliish had thought it rather brutal and had asked exactly how much honour pirate captains could be expected to have, but Reem was very serious.

“A captain’s honour is as dear to him as his life,” she had said. “It is a complex code and not one you might agree with, but he won’t violate it for anyone. If you were harmed while under his protection, he’d be bound to kill the person who did it, even if that person was family.”

They had all raised their eyebrows at that, but at least they now had the confidence to follow him up the gangplank without fearing for their safety. They crossed the deck, watched carefully by the crew, who seemed to span three generations of Myrials from the boys scrubbing the deck and learning their trade to the grizzled sailors of many years experience, smoking pipes or throwing dice in the sun as they waited for the next voyage to begin. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Filing through a door at the rear of the main deck, they passed down a short corridor with doors on both sides and into the large room at the end which was obviously the captain’s cabin. He indicated that they should sit on one of several silk cushioned chairs and offered them rich red wine from brightly coloured, hand-blown glass goblets. A wide, diamond paned window along the back wall revealed that they were sitting at the stern of the ship. The view out of the window showed the bright sunlight sparkling on the brilliantly hued water. Captain Jonas sprawled on a sumptuous couch and drank deeply from his glass.

“You were saying you needed passage with discretion,” he began, encouraging them to specify their needs.

“Yes Captain,” said Jaquor. You were recommended to us by Enna at the Mariner’s Rest.”

“Ah, Enna,” sighed Jonas wistfully. “So beautiful, so tempting, yet pure as mountain water. She wastes her life moonin’ over that bartender.”

“Perhaps not any more. She recently experienced a change in fortunes,” corrected Beyon. “Anyway, she told us you would be able to help us. You, and a Captain Malden also. You see, we need passage for several of our friends who are camped some distance from the city.”

“Several friends, eh? And why can they not come here to board ship? Could it be they are not very welcome in the city? Perhaps wanted by the authorities?”

“No, not as such. Although if the Meeran authorities knew they were there, or that we were here, they’d be very interested to find out why. So you see, Captain, we are trusting you a great deal here.”

“I do see that,” smiled Jonas, flashing his white teeth at them. He looked speculatively at their packs.

“What would you be willing to pay me to take all your friends to Lytos Bor without tellin’ any authorities about you then?”

“Actually, it’s not Lytos Bor we want to go to. We need you to take us through the Sucking Sea then north to the Chasm.”

Jonas did not react as they might have expected. He did not laugh at them or protest that venturing into the Sucking Sea was tantamount to suicide. Instead he nodded and ran his tongue across his teeth.

“Alright. And how many friends was it?”

“A little fewer than three hundred,” Beyon informed him. Jonas raised his eyebrows.

“So, you’re really wantin’ me to carry an army through a death-defyin’ whirlpool then take them to the Chasm where no one lives but Raquin and Jentsies. Tell me, son, would you be thinkin’ of startin’ a war?”

“We were hoping for less of a war and more one decisive battle, actually,” answered Jaquor. “Would we need more ships?”

“No, me and Malden could do it, for certain,” grinned Jonas. “Though the voyage would be cramped, even if we only retain a skeleton crew. The question still is, though, how much will you pay?”

In answer to this, Beyon drew a leather pouch from his pack and tipped it into a silver bowl on the table. Jewels of every hue spilled into the bowl, chiming against the sides expensively and glinting in the sunlight, round and polished. Jonas grinned at the sight of the treasure, but had more questions for them before he gave his assent.

“I take it you’re hopin’ to include the return passage in that princely sum, then, for whoever is in a fit state to make the trip?”

Beyon wasn’t sure whether his tone was genuine or facetious “Yes, of course. And naturally, you and your men are welcome to share in the fun for a share of the loot. The Raquin are reputed to have made those caves very luxurious.”

This last comment had been another tip form Reem. The captain would be courteous enough not to suggest participating in the battle without an invitation, but an offer to share in the loot, conditional to sharing in the bleeding, would always go down well.

“Ah, yes, I thought you might never ask. My men haven’t had a really good scrap in a while. They’re gettin’ a bit restless – a nice battle would do us all good; something we can really sink our teeth into!”

Tisha and Eliish looked slightly perturbed by the captain’s casual dismissal of the oncoming fight as a ‘good scrap’ but Jonas just laughed at their unease.

“Why are you ladies here, if you don’ want to fight?” he asked.

“We’re not here for the battle, at least I’m not,” answered Tisha. “Eliish has some fire magic, but there’s more to our mission than just the battle; there’s a rescue as well.”

“I suppose the Jentsies might need a bit of help adjusting to life without masters,” conceded Jonas doubtfully. Beyon corrected him.

“We don’t mean the Jentsies. There’s another group who need rescued. Across the Chasm.

Jonas’ eyebrows shot up. “Across the Chasm? As in, the Unknown Country?” he qualified. “Are you mad? How can you know that? Do you have vision seers or something?”

So Beyon told him Vineder’s story and how they had planned their three fold mission across the realm. At the end, Jonas gave a low whistle.

“So you want Captain Malden and myself to risk our necks cartin’ a load of Faerie folks round the most dangerous route in the realm to fight a crowd of fearsome monsters and then rescue a bunch of frozen, might-all-be-dead strangers, all for one pouch of jewels and maybe some loot? Do a look like a philanthropist, son?”

Beyon diplomatically ignored Jonas’ casual disregard of racial diversity and pulled out a second pouch from the pack.

“Each,” he said. “One pack each. Plus the loot, of course.”

Jonas’ grin broadened and he nodded, clapping hands together. “Well that word ‘each’ puts a different light on it, of course. I’ll have to speak to Malden about it, naturally, but I think you probably got yourselves a deal. Excuse me for a minute, would you, and I’ll invite him to join us.”

Jonas left the cabin and the foursome exchanged relieved glances.

“That went even better than I’d hoped,” said Beyon. At this rate, we’ll be half way to the others by nightfall.”

They chatted amongst themselves for several minutes then Jonas re-entered the room with another man. Malden was as dissimilar to Jonas as another Myrial pirate could reasonably expect to be. He was clean shaven and his jet black hair was wavy and slicked back. His skin was a much lighter shade of brown than Jonas’ and he wore a yellow shirt and black, form-fitting Knee-britches. His feet were bare and a scarlet kerchief covered his head, knotted at the back, the waves of his hair tumbling neatly down to his shoulders. His face was angular in a strikingly handsome way and he moved with a light, fluid gait which still managed to appear definitively masculine. When he spoke, it was with an accent similar to Jonas’ but his voice seemed a little more cultured than the other man’s. His manner was elegant and he spoke with an urbane politeness.

“Good morning gentlemen, ladies,” he began, first shaking hands with Beyon and Jaquor, then bowing over Eliish and Tisha’s hands in turn, making the briefest touch of his lips to each. “My illustrious friend Captain Jonas has invited me to partake of your adventure. He has explained your terms and I find them acceptable, if somewhat optimistic. My ship will be at your disposal to collect half of your people from the eastern beaches and ferry them to the chasm where we will join you in glorious battle.” His eyes seemed to sparkle at the prospect of a good fight, much as Jonas’ had. “The price of one pouch of uncut jewels plus the right of every man to loot the person of each Raquin he kills - and to take a share of, shall we say, situational goods of value - will be adequate. I assume that on the return journey you would prefer to travel directly south and home. I believe that if we round the southern coast of the realm there are beaches where we can put you ashore. From there it should only be a few days walk to the Summer Forest, even with weak and wounded.” He paused, confirming their assent to this plan before continuing. “Now, I must make you aware that there are few cabins on either of our ships. Most of your people will be billeted in hammocks with the crew and when those run out they will have to sleep on deck. Will that be a problem?”

Jaquor answered for everyone, “No, not at all. We’re very grateful to you for your help.”

“No need for gratitude, old boy,” smiled Malden. “It’s not as if I’m gifting you my services. Now, the tide will turn in a few hours and we must be with her. Do excuse me; there are preparations to be made.” Malden bowed extravagantly to them all, winked at the ladies and left the cabin. Tisha and Eliish exchanged marvelling glances; they had never met anyone quite like Malden before. Beyon privately thought he had been slightly overdone, but he didn’t want to offend Captain Jonas, who was obviously the man’s friend, so he said nothing. Jaquor began to discuss how the cabins would be allocated, but after only a few minutes they were startled by a huge commotion erupting out on deck. Shouts and roars were combined with the thud of running feet as the resounding clash of swords coming together filled the morning.

“Wait here,” ordered Jonas, running from the room. He was shoved roughly back through the door only a second later by a sneering man in a dark blue coat and a double pointed hat. This man was followed by three others, similarly dressed and wearing ugly expressions on their faces.

“What have we here?” leered the first man, eyeing Tisha and Eliish in a way that made both women’s skin crawl.

“Quite a party, eh? What sorts of dealings have been going on in ‘Captain’ Jonas’ ship so early in the morning?” The inflection he gave Jonas’ title made it clear he didn’t think much of the man. Scanning the room, his eyes fell on the bowl of jewels on the table.

“My, my, very profitable, whatever it is. What’s the cargo then, Jonas? What shady goods have you brought into port that you don’t want to pay your taxes on? Must be good if it’s worth all these.”

The penny dropped for the four friends as they realised that these guards were not looking for them as they had initially feared; they were investigating Jonas for contraband. Beyon was unsure whether he should try and talk their way out of it or remain silent and see how it played out, but Jonas saved him the trouble of deciding.

“These people merely wished to buy passage to Lytos Bor. The Jewels are mine – legally obtained in business dealings of course. If you intend to detain me, you can let them go and find another ship. I can’t imagine why you would need to though; there’s nothing on my ship that isn’t accurately documented on the cargo manifest I submitted when we made port.”

The leering man stepped forward and backhanded Jonas across the face. The crack of bone on bone turned Tisha’s stomach and she flinched as Jonas reeled back and fell onto the table that held their wine glasses and the bowl of jewels. The table broke under his weight and the glasses and bowl crashed to the floor, sending wine, glass shards and jewels flying. Jonas stayed down and Eliish worried that he had been injured by the broken glasses.

“Don’t mistake me for a fool, Jonas,” snarled the excise man. “I know all your tricks. You and your friends can come and answer some questions in the Excise office, while my men pick your ship apart, one deck board at a time. Whatever it is you’re hiding, they’ll find it and you’ll finally hang. You won’t get past me again.”

“I’m sorry Officer Melbren, but you’re going to have a wasted day, I’m afraid. I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jonas sat on the floor, clothes wet and stained red - but only with wine, fortunately, as he had not been badly injured by the fall. He wiggled a newly loose tooth with his tongue, tasting blood as he did so, and frowned at the state of disrepair of his cabin.

Melbren smirked. “You must have such a high opinion of yourself. I can’t wait to watch you dancing on air.”

This comment once again reminded Jaquor of his father and the captain’s similarity to him. He desperately wished he could do something to help, but Melbren seemed to read the intention in his eyes.

“Secure these prisoners!” ordered Melbren. Two of his men drew their short swords and held the points against Tisha and Eliish’s throats, forcing the men to co-operate. The third guard tied all of their hands behind their backs with wire, which began to cut into their skin if they struggled at all.

“Let’s continue this conversation in my office,” said Melbren, indicating the door. They all filed out at sword point and made their way out to the deck.

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