Saeliko watched the crew assemble under Brenna’s belligerence. They gathered in the shade. In the end, they had to bunch together; there wasn’t quite enough shade to spare for all eighty-four of them. A few unlucky men gave up and plunked themselves down into the sand in the sunlight. Brenna stood in the forefront, Jren beside her. Those two made natural allies with one another. Deshi, the Epoch’s forty-year-old shipwarden, also stood near the front, two of her three long braids emerging from her wide-brimmed hat and running down the front of her tunic, the third hidden behind her back.
Three other sailors of rank were present. Karsha and Sammaraeli, the master gunner and master rigger, respectively, were both younger than Deshi. They cut more striking figures as well. Backs straighter, bodies firmer, fewer years written across their brown Maelian faces.
And then there was Shen. She was Lavic, the only non-Maelian ranking member of the Epoch and the only other Lavic aside from Ollan. Like Ollan, her hair was blonde, though hers fell in straight cascades down to the tops of her breasts. The hair framed a narrow face that was splotched with countless freckles, another unique feature on the Epoch. Shen was well-liked by the crew, and her skills were uncanny, especially given that she was still quite young.
In total, the crew was actually light. A ship as big as the Epoch could easily hold a hundred and another half again. They had lost more than a few sailors in the last six months. It would be time to go recruiting again soon.
“Sistren,” Saeliko called out. “Brethren.” They all quietened. There was a palpable uncertainty in the air. “You are the crew of the Epoch.” She pointed to the hulking mass of wood, canvas and steel beached on the shore. She held her outstretched arm in place, emphasizing the ship’s presence. “She might be getting on in years, but there’s not a soul on this beach that wouldn’t put their coin on her in a fight. Am I right?”
“Aye!” came the shouts.
“There are other privateers in the Sollian, but not a one is feared as much as our old girl. You know I speak the truth.”
“Aye!” rang out the shouts again. The qarlden soaked in the racket. She had never led a palaver before. There was something intoxicating about it.
“We are the lucky ones,” she continued, her voice rising in volume. “Our fates have been chosen by the Sisters. We alone hold the honor of saying we are the daughters of the Epoch. Each of you knows the respect we hold when we pull into port. Each of you has seen the looks of envy and fear in their eyes. Those looks aren’t given freely. You’ve earned those looks.” Nods all around. Appealing to pride was easy with this lot.
“Apologies, qarlden.” Deshi stepped forward. The shipwarden looked left and right to her fellow crewmembers and then back to Saeliko. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her braids on top of her forearms. “But what of it? We know this already. We are the daughters of the Epoch.” Saeliko didn’t like the woman’s tone, but she had expected this. Deshi was older. Less prone to enthusiasm. More inclined to caution and skepticism. “You’re not here to boost morale,” the shipwarden went on. “What’s this about?”
“Deshi, you’re right,” Saeliko announced almost casually. She then stepped back and met the looks of her sistren and brethren. The tension dissipated like smoke in the wind. “Deshi’s absolutely right. Qarldens don’t call palavers.” She stopped and raised a finger. “At least not ordinarily. But these are not ordinary times.”
Deshi made a show of looking around at the beach and the almost-ready-to-sail Epoch. “They look ordinary to me.”
The Saffisheen pointed to a figure in the crowd. “You there. Jren. How long have you been with us?”
“Must be goin’ on three years now.”
“And as a privateer, what be your share of the plunder we take?”
“After the empress takes her dues, I get a twelfth of a share. Same as any woman here.”
“Aside from the ranking officers.”
“Aye, of course.”
“Fat Rat,” she called out. “What is the current share for the sons of the Epoch?”
“A fifteenth.” His jowls quivered when he spoke, as always.
“And you’ve been here just as long as Jren. Correct?”
“Aye, longer.”
“Deshi.” Saeliko could see from the shipwarden’s expression that she knew where this conversation was heading.
“Yes, qarlden.”
“What’s your share?”
“You know my share. So does everyone here. Arrive at your point.”
“Aye, we know your shares. You make three of ‘em. And I’m not saying you don’t deserve those shares. Our boat would be a wreck without you.” She could see from the eyes of the others that in fact, not everyone agreed with the gap in wages despite Deshi’s skills and experience. Jren was obviously stirring in her boots. A twelfth to three was more than considerable. Saeliko pushed onward. “But Deshi, for someone making three shares, your clothes are looking a good sight rubbish.”
“Ah, thanks very fucking much.” A few chuckles rolled out among the gathered sailors.
“It’s bloody true,” Saeliko asserted, a coy smile clambering onto her own face. “And what about you, Fat Rat? How in the Holy Five did you manage to afford enough wine and ale back in Meshaltown to drink yourself under a table?”
“Had to borrow against future earnings,” the big man admitted.
“Again?”
“Tenth time in the last six months.”
“That’s right,” Saeliko raised her finger again. “Six months. All of you remember the hauls we took before that cursed peace treaty was signed. Even at a twelfth or fifteenth of a share, none of you had to beg for coin like homeless sewer boys. My friends, we have been paying the price of peace for the last six months. And it only gets worse from here on in.”
“Janx’ll see us through,” Deshi said. “Always has. Harker has a nose for opportunities.”
“Turtle shit.” Saeliko countered.
“What?”
“I said, turtle shit.” She repeated it again, this time raising her voice and enunciating the words with mock sincerity. “TURTLE SHIT. Yes, sure. Our harker can sniff out money across the Sollian, but she’s gone soft. She’s too afraid of risking her own future to seize those opportunities. And all of you suffer because of it.”
“Prove it.”
“Deshi, do I really need to? You’ve all seen it with your own eyes. How many times has she let Lavic merchant sloops slip away? How many times has she turned her nose up at plunder? Do any of you even realize how close you were to that quickspice in Meshaltown?”
At this, the mood suddenly shifted. Heads tilted questioningly. Eyebrows raised.
“There was no quickspice in Meshaltown,” Brenna blurted out. “Gone on the Mynndah to New Dagos.”
“Governess Gaemmil kept three chests for herself. Saw it with my own eyes. Our harker knew it was there, and she let it go. Three chests of quickspice, my sistren, my brethren. That’s a lot of coin ending up in that fat pig Gaemmil’s pockets and not yours.”
Murmuring broke out across the crew. Some spoke in whispers, others shook their heads and spit. A few bolder sailors put hands on hilts.
“Hold on,” Deshi yelled above the din. “Hold on!” It took a few moments before they quieted down. “Don’t no one go saying anything about our harker they might soon regret. Even if there were spice on that shite island, the harker would’ve had a bloody good reason to not touch it.”
“Go on,” Saeliko urged. “Tell them what that reason was.”
“We’re privateers, not pirates!”
“Ah, there it is,” Saeliko purred. “There’s that word. Pirates.” She let the syllables slide off her tongue, drawing out a prolonged s sound at the end.
“Yes, pirates.” Deshi looked like a headmaster ready to scold a pupil. “Janx has to be careful when she picks her targets. We get labelled pirates and instead of hunters, we’ll be the hunted.”
“So what of it?”
“What are you saying?” the shipwarden asked.
“What we’ve all been thinking since the ink dried on that peace treaty. We should turn pirate. Even Janx has been thinking it. By the Five, half the Sollian has been wagering on when we’d raise the red. We had to sneak up on Meshaltown just so they didn’t fire on us.” Before Deshi or anyone else could object, Saeliko barreled on. “Hear me out. I’ll give you my proposal. Listen to what I have to say, and then vote on it.”
“Vote?” Deshi looked angrier still. “This is a ship of the Maelian Empire. There ain’t no voting on Maelian ships.”
“We vote,” the Saffisheen told her.
Brenna put a hand in the air. “Don’t know about you lot, but I’d like to hear what she has to say.” A chorus of voices rang out behind her in support. Deshi acquiesced with an unhappy shrug.
“It is very simple,” Saeliko started. “When there was a war, we could afford to be privateers. Now there is peace, and it is going to be a lasting peace. We cannot afford to be privateers, so we have two choices. Only two choices. We can sail to port, disband and go our separate ways, or we can run up the red and go pirate. Ain’t much of a choice, if you ask me.
“Now, for those of you who might feel an overwhelming sense of loyalty to our empress, I might remind you that before you even get your share, she’s been taking seventy percent of our hauls. A bloody extravagant cut, I think you’ll agree.”
The qarlden spun on her heels and began pacing in front of the Epoch’s crew. She clasped her hands behind her back as she walked, continuing on with her speech. “I grant you that when go pirate, we’ll inevitably be taking on a greater amount of risk. We will be hunted, make no mistake. That means you better damn well be rewarded for your loyalty and your valor, wouldn’t you agree? So I say instead of a twelfth or a fifteenth of a share, you all get one share. And instead of suffering the whims of a harker, you all get one vote. We need to decide which course to lay, we vote. We need to decide where to go hunting in the winter season, we vote. We decide together as equals. As daughters of the Epoch.
“And Deshi, as for you and the other women of rank, we reduce your shares to one and a half. However, I can guarantee you that as pirates, your one and a half shares will far outstrip your three as a privateer. And you can hold me to account if it doesn’t. I think that’s fair enough. To prove it, I’ll take the same deal myself. Right now as privateering qarlden, I’m afforded five shares. As a pirate, I’ll take one and half and be happy and all the richer for it.
“So what say you my sistren and my brethren? That’s my proposal. I’ve shot my bolt. I’ve said my peace. Will you join me under a crimson flag?”
“You’re forgetting one thing.” Deshi gestured at the crew. “You’re asking them to mutiny. You’re asking them to betray their harker. T’is not such a simple thing to do.”
“I’m not asking you to betray your harker. She’s already betrayed you. She betrayed the Epoch. She no longer deserves to lead the Epoch, and she doesn’t deserve to lead you or I.”
“Then what do you propose we do with her? Kill her?”
“Leave her here. Let her live. Consider it payment for her years of service. She can be Queen of Butterfly Island, for all I care.”
“I don’t think she’ll be liking that. She’s Saffisheen. She’s more likely to try to kill us all with that blade of hers than politely wave us off, don’t you think?”
Saeliko drew her own blade and made a show of winking at Deshi. “I think you should let me worry about that.”
“Sooner than you might think,” Jren chirped, aiming a finger at a location somewhere behind Saeliko. The qarlden turned and followed Jren’s trajectory. A few hundred paces up the beach, she saw Janx and Lofi emerging out of the jungle, each of them holding a small sack of what were probably carron eggs.
Saeliko hadn’t anticipated this. She had planned on the harker and surgeon being gone until nearly nightfall, plenty of time to hold a full vote and then prepare for Janx’s return. Saeliko was still young, but she knew this was the way of the world. Plans were like seeds planted in the ground. No matter how rich the soil and how well they were spaced from one another, the plants were still subject to the whims and fancies of chance.
“Well sisters. Well brothers. There are moments in life where you stand at a crossroads. This is one of those moments. You can side with Janx and leave me here on this island. You’ll hobble around the Sollian as pauper privateers. Or you can side with me and together we’ll make our fortunes.”
“Saeliko!” Janx’s voice was cannon fire. “What is this?” she yelled as she approached, Lofi in tow. The qarlden decided to wait until her harker got closer before answering. No point in having a yelling contest before the real contest began. She looked at the crew. They were clearly rattled.
“I said, what is this?” The harker was almost upon them. She had dropped the sack she was carrying and was now pointing an accusing finger straight at her qarlden.
“A palaver.” Saeliko’s voice was even. She knew it was important that the others not detect even a hint of concern.
“You don’t call palavers.”
“You left me with no choice. The crew and I are going to have a vote.”
Janx laughed. It was the first time Saeliko had heard Janx laugh in a very, very long time. The laugh was blusterous and sinister at the same time, and despite her own confidence that she was still in control of the situation, Saeliko felt a shiver run up her spine.
Time slowed down. Janx was in motion, moving directly for Saeliko. Her right hand had already grasped the hilt of the sword hitched to her belt. She pulled it out in a smooth arc without taking her eyes from her intended victim. Saeliko hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t wanted this. Janx was old, and Saeliko’s body hummed with the strength and agility of youth, but there was still a very clear and present danger here. Instincts took over. The qarlden’s feet immediately spread apart in the sand, her right foot back and turned sideways as a brace. Her body crouched into a defensive posture, scimitar raised in front of her.
The onlooking crew were too stunned to react. It was almost unheard of for the Saffisheen to leave Mael, so those sailing on the Epoch were among the few in the Sollian to have ever seen the deadly carnage that the tattooed fighters could leave in their wake. But they had never witnessed two Saffisheen fighting one another.
Janx’s sword was raised above her head, but the striking blow never came. A soft twang followed by a loud thwack interrupted her approach when she was just ten paces from Saeliko. The harker came to a jarring halt in the sand. Just in front of her, the back end of a crossbow bolt protruded out of a long piece of washed up seawood. The disbelief was only barely veiled in her eyes as she looked to see who had fired the shot.
Ollan was already reloading. Beside him, the blonde haired Shen aimed a pistol at the harker.
“Lavic filth,” Janx spat softly. With her left hand, she began reaching for her own pistol.
Shen shook her head. “We vote,” she said. It might have been her accent, but it also sounded like there was a note of fear in her voice. Janx obviously doubted Shen’s conviction, for her hand continued down to grasp the polished ivory grip of her pistol.
“Apologies, harker” Brenna said, pointing her own pistol at Janx, “but we’re going to have this vote.” Jren pulled out her cutlass. “Aye. We vote.” Dommel conjured up an axe in his hands. “You best be puttin’ that sword down for now,” he told his harker.
One by one, the sailors of the Epoch drew their weapons. Janx’s left hand remained on the pistol, though she didn’t draw it. Saeliko’s eyes remained trained on Janx. She could sense that more than half the crew were now armed, effectively letting her know how the vote was going to go if it actually came to that, but she dared not let up her guard. Janx was too dangerous.
And then something happened that she could not have predicted in her wildest dreams. No amount of Saffisheen training could have prepared her. Her brain struggl
ed to make sense of what her ears were telling her.
It started as a dull grating, like the sound a barrel-chested woman makes when she tries to clear the phlegm from deep down inside his throat. It then fluctuated, very slowly alternating between a high-pitched whining and a more baritone rumble. For a fraction of a second, Saeliko wondered if her ears had deceived her and it was only rolling thunder in the distance. But no thunder sounded like that.
As it grew louder, she had to force herself to resist the temptation to turn and look. She could tell it was coming from over the sea. She could also tell that Janx was fighting the same temptation. In the back of her mind, she recalled stories she had been told as a child of great mythical beasts that soared through the skies. As big as whales, their massive leather wings pushed the air with such force that buildings rip apart and tumble over. Yet, none of the stories mentioned such a violent barrage of noise as she heard now. It was if the air itself were being torn asunder.
She heard exclamations and curses ringing out from the sailors, who were now dispersing with considerable haste. It was hard to tell without looking whether they were moving for cover or to just get a better view of whatever was approaching.
Despite the unfolding chaos, the qarlden and harker remained locked in each other’s field of vision, each of them unwilling to give the other the chance to strike unchecked. The clamor was nearly deafening now. It was no longer oscillating either; it had flattened to a consistent roar.
Janx broke first. She eased her stance, took a few steps backward to put some distance between herself and Saeliko, and then turned and ran toward the tree line. The harker had to dodge and weave through sailors, none of whom paid her the least bit of attention, standing on the beach blithely looking out to sea.
Children of Zero Page 11
