An Elegy of Heroes

by K. S. Villoso

  A thought occurred to him. He gathered breath and swam, not towards the Hafed ship, but towards the Dageian ship. With all eyes fixed on the boarding, he thought his chances of remaining unnoticed were higher there. Ignoring the sting of the saltwater in his eyes, he made his way towards the oars, which remained motionless with the ship, and reached for the closest one.

  Kefier had not been this close to a Dageian warship since he had been a slave. Although he could not see through the gaps where the holes went through, he knew that slaves—many of them Gorenten—were manning the oars. Slaves belonged to the oars, knee-deep in bilge water, if they weren’t being used as fodder for hungry mages. Memories from the last time he had found himself floating in this sea returned to him. A passing ship had picked him up, and he had thought himself saved until…

  A piercing cry came through the gaps. He realized he couldn’t just swim back to the Hafed ship. He muttered a quick apology to Rosha, pulled himself up the side of the ship, and tried to kick the nearest porthole in. The glass held against his assault. The futile action only made him angrier, and after taking a moment to breathe, he made his way to the deck.

  Attacking a Dageian ship was madness. Although they were smaller in size than even most Kag trade ships—they needed to be, so that they could be maneuvered over the harsher northern waters—they could still hold, on average, anywhere from ten to twenty slaves and ten mages. More, if they were actually at war. But Kefier was counting on a small crew, tasked with nothing more than patrolling these waters.

  He pulled himself overboard and hid behind a barrel. In the distance, he could hear an argument. He peered over the lip of the barrel and noticed four men standing by the ramp. On the Kag ship, he recognized the Kag captain, one of the mates, and Caiso.

  Realizing that they were too busy to notice him, he crept up to the hatch leading to the hold. If this ship had been anything like the one that captured him, they would’ve kept it unlocked during the day for the mages’ convenience. He glanced around once before rushing to pull the hatch open. He pulled out his dagger and jumped into the hold.

  A handful of people were chained to the oars. They looked up as he arrived. One cried out, but noticing the colour of his skin, he stopped. Kefier placed his finger on his lips and grabbed a torch from the wall.

  “You don’t have the keys,” the man closest to him said. After years of not hearing it spoken, the Gorenten tongue sounded strange to Kefier’s ears.

  “One of the mages—with the harelip—has it,” another beside him said. He shook his head as Kefier approached the lock. “That’s impossible to break. We’ve tried before.”

  Kefier ignored him. He sheathed his dagger and pulled out a thin knife. “Keep an eye out for me,” he murmured, wondering if he was tripping over his words. He bent over the lock and picked it with the knife. Some of the Gorenten drew closer to look as far as their chains would let them.

  Kefier continued to wiggle the knife, sweat dripping from his face. For a moment, he thought it wouldn’t work—the last time he had picked locks was with Oji, back when he was just a bottom feeder in the Boarshind. But he heard a click, and the lock fell, sliding the chains off eight pairs of manacles. Four men stood up, flexing their limbs.

  “How many of them are there?” he asked as he worked on the next row.

  “Five,” the man who had first spoken to him replied. “Three mages. A Dageian thrall. A soldier.”

  “They’re spreading themselves thin,” Kefier said.

  The man snorted. “They’ve been gathering us like wild animals. I would not return to the islands after this. Not Storri.” He thumped his chest and pointed at the others. “You all would be wise to do the same.” He made his way to the ladder, blocking it halfway with his body.

  “And where else would we go, Storri?” one man asked. “They burned my village. I don’t even know where my son is.”

  “Yeah? Don’t know where mine is, you don’t hear me complaining.” Storri scratched his belly and looked away.

  Kefier finished unlocking the second row and moved on to the third. A woman in the corner caught his eye. Dageian slavers usually sold the women as housemaids in the mainland. To see a woman manning the oars in a warship spoke of desperation. Could Dageis really be responding to the movement of soldiers in Hafod? It seemed unlikely; Dageis was not known to react out of fear.

  “They’ll fight,” the woman said, as soon as her shackles fell off. “They’re not just going to let us walk away just because we got out of our chains. We’ll die up there.”

  “Death is better than this,” Storri grunted. He peered through the hatch. “Three mages. The soldier’s a drunkard.”

  “Let me meet them. With you behind me, they might rethink their stance,” Kefier said. He got up. The woman grabbed his arm, dirty fingernails digging into his skin.

  “Who are you?” she asked. “You come in here, half-soaked from the sea, and you expect us to just follow you? Just like that?” Her eyes blazed.

  “Piss off. You think we got a better choice?” Storri broke in. “We have plenty enough time for this nonsense later. Go ahead, stranger. I’m right behind you.”

  Kefier pulled away from her and reached for the ladder. Storri stepped aside, letting him through first, before following. A young boy was standing near the hatch as Kefier clambered onto the deck. He turned, uttered a shriek, and scampered to the other end of the ship.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” a man called out. He saw Storri appear beside Kefier and froze. “The slaves are escaping!” He pulled out his staff.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Kefier said. He glanced at the Kag ship. The mage followed his gaze and saw Eswenna standing at the edge of the bulwark, an arrow nocked towards him.

  “Figured you were up to something like this, Commander,” Eswenna called out. “Glad you got me around, eh?”

  “She’s a good shot,” Kefier said, turning to the mage. “I’m claiming this ship in the name of the Boarshind. Hands behind your back, please.”

  “This is an outrage!” the mage cried. “You!” he called out, pointing at the Hafed captain. “Aren’t you going to do anything?”

  The man looked at Caiso and then back at the mage. Hearing Boarshind had been enough. He turned away without saying a word.

  The changeover happened without bloodshed. The Dageians were given a boat so they could row themselves back to shore. Kefier retrieved all their belongings from the trade ship, had the Gorenten pull up the warship’s oars and set the sail, and parted with the Hafed crew, who, for their part, seemed glad to be free from the ordeal.

  “So, I think if we’re turning to piracy, we should at least talk about learning basic navigation skills first,” Caiso said, leaning back against the ship’s wheel. He was squinting at the map in his hands. “I didn’t know this was in the job description.”

  “You’ve got a compass, don’t you?”

  “Yeah?”

  “And Hafod is that way, right?” he continued, pointing at the direction the ship followed.

  Caiso glanced pushed at his finger, turning him half a step to the left. “More like that way.”

  “Good man,” Kefier said, clasping his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.”

  “The fuck I will! I don’t know what got into your head, taking in this whole crew. You realize we’re now in possession of stolen property. Stolen Dageian property.”

  “They’re people, Caiso. Not property.”

  Caiso laughed. “Tell that to the Hafed court. You recall that pulling the Boarshind out of Kago means we have to get along with everyone else. Abiding by laws, all that shit. The Hafed aristocracy won’t like this. We’ve been working so hard all these years to earn their trust and now you will throw all of that away because of your misplaced sympathies. First, that detour in Baidh, and now this. This will have repercussions. Your bleeding heart will be the death of us all.”

  “What was I supposed to do, Caiso? Leave them to their
deaths? The trade ship wouldn’t take them in.”

  “You could have given them the boats instead, let them row their way back to Gorent.” Caiso shook his head.

  “They can’t go back. The Dageians will just pick them up again. You know what’s happening out there.”

  “My dear, you have to understand something: I don’t give a fuck.” Caiso sighed, his eyes skipping across the horizon. His thin face tightened. “So what are you planning to do? Even if we make it back to Hafed waters, we can’t just show up in Tilarthan in a Dageian vessel. The guards will turn us into pincushions before we even hit the shore.”

  “I was thinking we could pull up to the peninsula. Even if it’s their territory, Dageian presence there is sparse.”

  “You’re insane. Lon Basden has an active military defense.”

  “I don’t mean steer the ship all the way to Lon Basden’s docks. Before Fort Oras, the wilderness to the south—”

  Caiso looked mortified. “Where we’ll be smashed against the cliffs and die quickly, if we’re lucky…”

  “Have you got a better idea?”

  “I think it’s pretty clear I don’t. Had you consulted me before all of this happened…”

  “You were supposed to get the captain to turn the ship.”

  “It’s not my fault that the son of a bitch wouldn’t.”

  Kefier laughed. “See how we’re all in this together?”

  “Fuck off. Let me figure out this stupid map. It’s not like you can.” Caiso turned away.

  The man the Gorenten called Storri appeared by the steps, an apple in his hand. There was an awkward look on his face, as if he had been listening in to at least half of their conversation. “I apologize if we’re trouble…” he started, before scratching his head and spitting to the side. His eyes hardened. “You know what? I won’t. You offer a drowning man a rope, he doesn’t stop to think about who he drags in with him.”

  Kefier came up towards him. “Is there anyone among you who can help Caiso with the ship?”

  Storri considered his words. “I think old man Ishir had worked on a Baidhan trade ship before. I’ll ask him. But what you want to do is a little risky, isn’t it? We’ll be closer to Dageis than we are now.”

  “I would not really call the peninsula a part of Dageis. It is a little too uncivilized for most of them.”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter.” He stopped to take a bite out of the apple. “I should thank you. I would rather die tomorrow, trying to make my way to freedom, than spend another day in that rotten hold. Storri Ohsan-ra is in your debt, er…?”

  “Ke-if Tar’elian,” Kefier said, tapping his left shoulder in the traditional Gorenten greeting. “But call me Kefier. I’ve been in the mainland for most of my life. The Kags could not pronounce my name right.”

  “Tar’elian?” Storri’s mouth fell open. “You’re from Agantuan. Blessed Ab, I’m sorry.”

  “Like I said, I haven’t been there since I was a boy.”

  “Even then…” Storri wiped apple juice from his chin. “Aldawan Village...for some reason, the men decided to put up a fight when the Dageians arrived. I don’t really know what happened. They killed more villagers than they took captive. The chief, Mata Hilkiah, was...tortured. Hung up and quartered, like a piece of meat. People say that his body is still tied up on a pole by the cliff.”

  Kefier nodded, trying to keep the emotion from his face. He knew Hilkiah. The priest had not been kind to him when he was growing up, and it had been Hilkiah who had ordered him banished when they realized he was responsible for his brother’s accident. He didn’t think his death would upset him—he must’ve willed it himself often enough.

  “I heard, up in Baidh, that the village lies in ashes.”

  Storri nodded. “Didn’t see it myself—I come from Iglao, you see. Three islands away. I was taken about a week after they torched Aldawan, and I didn’t even know about it until those guys told me.”

  “Which guys?”

  “Oh, a couple of the others here were from Agantuan. You probably wouldn’t know them if you grew up in the mainland. There’s that woman, Ailat. She’ll know more than I do.” He looked back. “In fact, you should talk to them. They’re asking about you. Wondering if this is a trick. The last few months haven’t been easy.”

  Kefier found himself nodding. He left Storri and made his way to the cabins. His body felt like it was floating. Before he realized it, he had his fist against the door.

  A voice answered. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. Ailat looked up at him. He could see that he was still a stranger in her eyes, but now that he knew it was her, he wondered why he didn’t recognize her the first time. Had it been so long? The woman in front of him was no longer a girl, but the angle of the face was the same.

  “It’s you,” she intoned. “I guess you want me to thank you for all of this.”

  Kefier scratched his ear. “That’s not why. I was—well, I was just trying to acquaint myself with everyone.”

  “Is that so?” Ailat got up. She had grown into a tall woman—taller than most he knew. He noticed a bruise along one side of her face, a deep purple against her dusky skin. There was also a cut on her lip and another bruise on her neck, one in the shape of a handprint. Kefier realized why they had kept her in the ship instead of selling her in the mainland.

  He felt his stomach turn. “I—I’m sorry.” When she didn’t respond to that, he swallowed. “My name. I’m...Kefier.” She glanced at him. “Storri told me yours is Ailat.”

  She gave a small nod of assent.

  “You’re from Agantuan, he said.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Kefier dropped his head. “I understand. I was just checking. We’re heading to the peninsula. We should be there by tomorrow noon if the weather is fair.”

  She looked at him, as if wondering why he was bothering to speak to her at all. Eventually, he drew away, closing the door to leave her in peace.

  There was a certain truth Kefier had tried to hide from all these years, and that was that he had allowed his elders to banish him from Aldawan. He could’ve fought them, could’ve called for a council of other village chieftains. What they did to him was not a thing you did to a son of a chief, no matter what the crime.

  He had let them banish him because he didn’t want to face the complication that was Ailat and everything she stood for. Ailat, the girl who loved his brother but married him, who had trapped Kefier between his brother’s anger and his love. He could still remember the months leading up to Enosh’s accident—months of arguments and strife, all spiralling towards the wedding that Enosh did not attend. On that same day, Kefier had gone rushing after him, ending both their lives as they knew it.

  How was it possible to be defined by something that happened more than half a lifetime ago? Sitting in the warship’s dining hall, he stared at the piece of bread in his hands like he’d forgotten how to eat. Enosh was alive all this time, he thought, but he never came back for her. If he loved her, like he made it seem he did…

  Memories of his last few months in Agantuan were a blur. He knew that Ailat and Enosh had always been close, but when the older girl started paying attention to him, he chalked it up to a mere friendship between them. In those days, Enosh was busy with his studies with Yn Garr and had little time for either of them. Kefier had been too young to understand the significance of these...in his mind, Ailat enjoyed his company, and he hers.

  One evening, he found her on the shore, crying. She wouldn’t tell him why. He remembered coming up to her and attempting to brush away her tears. “You’ve always been so kind to me, Ke-if,” she had murmured. “Why can’t all boys be like you?”

  The simple compliment did it. Before he realized what he was doing, he was asking her, haltingly, if she wanted to marry him. They could ask the men to build them a hut of their own and he would make sure she never cried again. Her eyes had widened in disbelief at first, and she told him he shouldn’t
play with a girl’s feelings like that, but when it became clear that he was earnest, she said, “All right.”

  All right. Fool that you were, that was good enough, more than you thought you deserved. But he had believed, with all his heart, that good enough was all he needed. That same evening, he ran all the way from the shore and uphill to the village priest’s hut to ask for a blessing. Hilkiah had thrown him out, remarking on his lunacy. Kefier became persistent. He followed him around, doing all sorts of tasks in an effort to have his request for a simple ceremony granted.

  Hilkiah eventually caved in with pressure from the other villagers. “It would help the boy settle down,” the women argued. The men were convinced it would help him become more responsible; he spent too much time running off into the woods than helping in the village. In any case, Kefier’s own father was married when he was fourteen, so what difference did a couple of years make?

  Kefier looked down. The bread in his hands had become crumbs. He pushed it away and got up to look for something to drink. “Hey,” Caiso called out, appearing by the door to the mess deck. “You all right? It’s late.”

  “Couldn’t sleep,” Kefier said. He reached out behind him, tapping a small cask he had found in the pantry earlier. “Grab cups. You just became my personal poison-tester.”

  “If it’s fine Red Lion wine, I won’t complain,” Caiso said. He cracked the lid open and made a face. “No, not Red Lion at all. I think this stench alone can kill you. I guess they don’t call it seaman’s grog for nothing.” Despite his words, he held a cup under the spigot and poured himself enough drink to knock a horse out.

  Kefier sat down, taking a cup for himself. He held it up. Caiso met his toast. “To Dageis!” Caiso said. “And the sorry Boarshind fuckers who went to war against them!” They drank. The grog tasted like sour herbs, with a hint of honey, seawater, and dead insects. Kefier wasn’t sure whether it would be more unpleasant to spit it out or swallow it fast.

  “You seem happy,” Kefier said, pushing his cup away. He had decided he had enough.