by Rosie Scott
Just the hint of a smile raised Neliah's lips, though she tried her hardest to suppress it. “You think you're so clever.”
“I'm pretty clever,” I agreed with a smirk.
Jaecar joked from the edge of the deck, “Let's mutiny. Take Calder out of power and name these ships ourselves.”
I chuckled around my cigarette. “And what names would you suggest?”
Though Jaecar looked contemplative, Hassan poked his head over the side of the ship and suggested, “Wobblin' Woody's Revenge.”
“He made it worse,” Neliah commented in humored disbelief as she turned to walk up the ramp. “Dear gods, somehow he made it worse.”
I laughed at her reaction before stomping my cigarette out on the pier.
Though some of my crew acted exasperated by the awful name, none of them followed through on their threats of quitting or forming rebellions. When we left the shores of Killick behind us, all twenty-one shipwreck survivors were on board. That included thirteen sailors Koby and I commanded before the fight in Llyr and eight refugees we saved from the slave pens. Thus far, none of the ex-slaves seemed interested in leaving us. Our suspicions that many were captured sailors were true. That we freed them from certain death in Nahara's coliseum and offered them split profits and revenge on the seas made them want to stay.
Of course, such decisions required contracts and conversations. During the chaos of recovering from the shipwreck, I hadn't had time to speak with our new crew members about their plans. While sailing east from Killick's harbor in preparation of going around its eastern island, I focused on doing just that.
The caravel's office was a cramped and musty-smelling room in the back of the lower deck. A few rays of sunlight struggled to slip through a slit of a window near the ceiling. I smoked while sitting on a crate in the corner, my boots propped up on the desk, loose laces lying over parchment below. From the chair beside me, Koby tried his best to make sense of the mess I'd made out of his paperwork in the fortnight since leaving Killick. Hassan removed his wax plaster today and told Koby that his leg should be healed, but to take it easy. While we waited for our first refugee to come down and speak to us, Koby's method of taking it easy consisted of organizing my mess.
Koby finally stopped shuffling papers, exhaled roughly, and asked, “Do you try to put things out of order?”
“I don't try to put things in any order at all,” I replied easily.
Despite his frustration, Koby laughed at that. “That's evident, Cal.” Lifting one piece of parchment, he asked, “What is this?”
I squinted my eyes. I saw terms, conditions, declarations, and signatures. “A contract.”
Koby put the paper down and grabbed another. “And this?”
I counted all the same things. “That's a contract, too.”
Koby's expectant expression fell into one of exasperation. “Cal. Seriously?”
“What?”
He lifted them both side by side. “This is a contract of employment,” he began, lifting the one on the left. Putting that one down, he raised the other. “This is a contract of sale.”
“So they're both contracts, as I said.”
“But why are they all mixed in together?” Koby asked pointedly. “If I was looking for one or the other, I wouldn't have any idea where the hell to find it!”
“With the contracts,” I said, hiding my smirk by taking the cigarette from my lips and blowing out a cloud of smoke.
“You are infuriating,” Koby replied, though he couldn't help but smile as he threw the contracts back on the desk, frustrated with it for now.
“So you've said.”
Koby scoffed lightheartedly and reached over to nudge my knee. “Give me a cigarette.”
Without a word, I slipped one out of my pocket, lit it with my own, and handed it to him. As soon as his smoke billowed out to mix with my own in the upper cabin, the door finally opened.
The first refugee was a Celdic man who had to duck dramatically to come through the six-foot doorway. Since freeing him in Llyr, I'd heard him speak little, but he often took it upon himself to work without being asked. His limber appearance blatantly lied about his true strength; he had been such a gift to us during all the days and nights spent towing crates and chests onto the sands from the ocean.
Like most Celds, his skin was pale, glimmering off-white in the sunlight. Despite his intimidating height, his face appeared youthful, with an upturned nose and humble gray eyes. Light chestnut hair brushed over his forehead and long ears. When he took a seat on a crate opposite the desk, he grimaced in pain. From what I could see, however, he had no injuries. The other Celdic slave we'd freed in Llyr died during our battle with Cale, but this man seemed physically unharmed.
“Good afternoon,” I greeted when the Celd seemed too reserved to start the conversation.
“Afternoon,” he offered politely, nodding shortly.
“After all the work you've done for us, I still haven't caught your name,” I went on, prodding for it.
“I'm Sage Birk,” he introduced himself, reaching out his right hand. Koby shook it. Though I was comfortable relaxing in the back corner, I pulled my boots off the desk to return the gesture. I expected such a quiet man to have a flaccid grip, but his was firm and professional.
“Are you looking for a permanent job, Sage?” I asked.
“I have nowhere else to go,” he admitted, sounding disheartened. “If you find me helpful and want me to stay, I'm more than happy to.”
“You're already helpful,” Koby complimented. “Cal said you were one of the strongest haulers in Killick.”
Sage flicked his gaze from Koby's to mine. “I appreciate the compliment, sir.”
Sir. Considering Sage's wording, strength, and professionalism, I came to one conclusion about his background. “Were you a soldier?”
Sage's larynx bobbed thickly as he swallowed hard. “Yes. For a time. I am an ex-Knight of Celendar.”
That intrigued me. Koby and I had heard stories about the well-trained and highly disciplined Knights of Celendar, but considering their location deep in Chairel, we never expected to come across one. They kept the native culture of the ancient Celdic forest secret and mysterious to all. Most of the Celds I'd met, like Aysel and Cale, were criminals, free spirits, or running from something.
“How did a Knight of Celendar end up enslaved in Nahara?” Koby asked.
“Unfortunate circumstance,” Sage admitted, appearing ashamed. His gray eyes caught on the cigarette hanging out of my lips before he looked away and said, “You two seem open-minded when it comes to overbearing laws and regulations.”
“I can tell you right now I don't give a damn about your crimes, save for rape and murder,” I said. Thinking through my words, I added, “Hell, depending on who you murder, I might not even care then. If they deserved it, good riddance.”
Koby laughed shortly. Our good humor seemed to relax Sage, and he exhaled quickly before saying, “I was dishonorably discharged from the Knights.”
“For what?” Koby prodded.
Sage nodded at our cigarettes. “Smoking.”
“What fucking nonsense,” I blurted sympathetically.
Sage stared down at his boots for a moment. “I didn't smoke ferris for fun. I smoked to handle pain. I could not afford a surgeon with my soldier's salary. Ferris cannot cure me, but it staves my daily aches.”
I frowned. “What's wrong with you?”
Sage slowly stood and turned. Grabbing both sides of his shirt, he tugged the fabric tight against his back. The shirt dipped over his spine except for one spot between his shoulder blades where it bulged like a gigantic knot.
“This is a tumor,” Sage told Koby and me as we gawked at its size, before he turned and sat back down with a grimace. “It will not kill me, but it grows with each passing year. Eventually, it will claim more of my spine and disable me. Already, it sits on multiple nerves. Some days I tingle all over my body. Other days I lose all sensation in my rig
ht arm. I knew a fellow Knight who was a healer and offered to heal me illicitly for free, but he could do nothing. This is not a wound that needs healing. It is a mass that needs extracting, and the surgeons in Chairel are as expensive as the life mages. I couldn't afford to fix it, and my methods of dealing with the pain are also illegal.” He shrugged hopelessly. “My superior, Firth Galan, called it a mercy that he only kicked me out and didn't report me to the guards. He told me to find alternative forms of pain relief. I found nothing that helped, so I immigrated to Nahara.”
I leaned back again, listening intently to his story and feeling ever more grateful for the drug that so often calmed me.
Sage was quiet for a few moments, but when he noticed our continued interest, he went on, “Nahara is poor and has no access to healers at all. I thought I could find a surgeon who could remove the tumor for a good price. I made it to T'ahal just to find the surgeons there all have connections to royalty or wealthy slave owners who need them to constantly fix up their coliseum slaves. Someone suggested I travel to Llyr for healthcare instead. Halfway through the desert, slavers captured me. I had my sword and equipment with me, but I couldn't fight that day.” He wiggled the fingers of his right hand. “My arm was numb.”
The idea that bias over a harmless drug caused this man's life of misfortune angered me. I tried not to let it show as I stated, “Seems like even the ferris doesn't help you anymore. I recognize pain when I see it, and you have it right now.”
“I haven't had access to ferris in a year,” Sage replied.
“Why the hell not?” I blurted, sitting up straight again to tug a cigarette out of my pocket. Lighting it with mine, I handed it across the desk. Sage took it, a mixture of hesitation and great relief overwhelming his features. “This whole crew stinks of ferris. You should know that we deal in ferris after that clusterfuck in Llyr.”
“You fought pirates in Llyr because they stole your ferris,” Sage pointed out, balancing the cigarette between two fingers. “It was not my place to help myself to your supplies after you offered me refuge.”
I respected Sage's humility, but I didn't understand it for the life of me. By being so considerate of others, he had only invited more pain upon himself.
“You are our sailor now,” Koby spoke up, already writing terms on a new contract. “What's ours is yours. Do you know where we keep our ferris in the stores?”
Sage exhaled shakily and said, “Yes.” Only then did he take a drag off the cigarette. Once the ferris invited itself in his lungs, he closed his eyes with tranquility.
“Help yourself to it at any time,” Koby told him. “And in the future, you should come to us with concerns. We're a lot more relaxed than your superiors in Celendar.”
“Thank you,” Sage murmured, opening his eyes again. The pained look in his gaze had faded a bit. “I only hope I'm useful to you. Fleeing from Llyr was my first time on a ship. I'm trying to learn from the others. If I had a blade, I could fight, but the pirates took my greatsword and equipment for their hoard.”
“When we get to Tenesea, we'll get you a sword and armor,” I assured him. “In the meantime, we have a few spares in the stores.”
“We'll get you a surgeon, too,” Koby added.
Sage's gaze cleared. “They have surgeons in the wildlands?”
“A few,” Koby replied. “Hassan knows some medical care, but I don't think he could remove a tumor. I'm confident we'll find someone in the wildlands.”
“Can you estimate the expense?” Sage inquired.
“Probably free,” Koby said, and Sage's eyes widened with hope and disbelief. “Most of the wildlands deal in trade. Since we're supplying them with goods they can't get themselves, they'll work with us.”
Sage slumped back with disbelief. “This is a dream come true.”
“We take care of our crew,” Koby assured him. He put the contract he'd written on the desk and flipped it around so Sage could read it. “Speaking of which, this is what we offer. An even split of all loot for as long as both parties are happy and you do your share of work. If certain chores hurt you too much to do, tell me and I'll switch duties around or take over.”
“I appreciate your willingness to accept my disability,” Sage offered politely as he read over the contract.
“It won't be much of a disability once we get you help in the wildlands,” I reminded him.
Sage smiled and put the contract back on the desk. When he reached for the inkwell and quill, Koby nudged it over to him so he could sign. “How long have you two been in this business?” he asked curiously, signing his name.
“About two years,” Koby answered.
“You've already found your way,” Sage complimented. “What did you do before that?”
I smashed my cigarette on my boot. “We were slaves underground.”
“I'm sorry,” Sage replied quickly. “Before my capture in Nahara, I only heard rumors of the Alderi and their ways. A hot topic of debate in Celendar was whether Alderi men existed at all. Those who claimed they did spoke of slavery and gender inequality. It saddened me that when I finally saw an Alderi man in Llyr, it was in slavery.” He put his palm to the contract and slid it back over to Koby. “It's admirable that you two are trying to right the underground's wrongs, even if it's elsewhere.”
I tensed. Sage's innocent compliment was a perfect opportunity for Koby to mention his lofty underground goals.
“We will eventually right the underground's wrongs by going back to the source itself,” Koby said proudly. Instantaneously, the walls of the already tiny cabin closed in. I glared at the door like it would transport me to safer territory.
“Truly?” Sage replied, intrigued. “Are you forming a rebellion?”
Koby opened his mouth to respond, but I stood so abruptly that he closed it. Sage looked apprehensive, like he understood my discomfort but not its source. Awkward silence permeated the room before I muttered, “Apologies. I have to take a shit.”
I stepped around Sage to leave the room. The lower deck looked exactly as it had when I walked through it last, yet it seemed so much smaller and claustrophobic now. I hurried to the stairs leading to the main deck, taking a deep breath like I emerged from water once blue skies and darker blue seas filled my vision. Seeing the ocean reminded me of freedom. I'd obtained it. No one could take that away from me.
Multiple gazes followed me as I rushed to the poop deck. Hassan started to call out a joke as I passed, but I blurted, “Not now,” and kept walking.
Neliah stood near the taffrail on the poop deck as I jogged up its steps, and she put down her binoculars and turned when she heard me near. I said nothing, grabbing the railing with both hands and staring at the ocean to burn its liberating image into the back of my retinas. Then I dug into a pocket, tugging out a new cigarette.
“...Captain?” Her voice was softer than normal. She recognized my panic.
“Give me a second,” I pleaded, trying and failing three times to light my cigarette with a match. I shook too badly; the flame kept dissipating.
Neliah said nothing. She only walked over, gently pulling the matches down with one hand and tugging the cigarette from my lips with the other. She summoned fire and lit the cigarette's end. Calmly, she handed it back to me.
“Thanks.” I breathed in its smoke like a lifeline.
“Whatever stresses you, we need to limit it,” Neliah murmured after I took a few drags. “Our ferris stores are limited.”
I nodded shakily, still glaring at the ocean. Much of our personal supply of ferris was ruined in the shipwreck, so it forced us to buy some in Killick. But there was little there to begin with, for mercenary traders rarely made deliveries anymore. We had half as much as normal, and it needed to last considering we'd just offered it to yet another sailor who relied on it.
“Have you noticed your chain-smoking has already affected your voice?” Neliah went on, trying to keep my mind off my anxiety. “It's rougher than it used to be.”
I bl
ew smoke over the ocean. My trembling started to quell. Neliah's attempts at distracting me were working; she'd noticed a change in me, and that meant she paid attention. When I spoke next, flirtation tinged my voice. “Do you like it?”
Neliah huffed with amusement and shook her head in disbelief. “You're fishing again.”
“Are the waters still empty?”
She chuckled. I looked over at her just to find she avoided my gaze and watched the clouds. “Does it matter if they're empty or not? You'll continue fishing, regardless.”
“Not if it makes you uncomfortable.” I inhaled lungfuls of ferris and added with bursts of smoke, “I stopped calling you love. It takes constant self-reminders, but somehow I manage not to fuck it up.”
Neliah finally gave me eye contact again and admitted, “I know. Thank you.”
A small smirk grew on my face as we stared at one another. “So...can I keep fishing?”
Neliah laughed softly and looked away. “If you're happy being terrible at it.”
“Am I terrible at it? I knew someone once who told me I was so charming I made women weak in the knees.”
“I don't know where all these women are with crippling osteoporosis, but my knees are sturdier than they've ever been,” Neliah replied in a ramble.
Her jest was so unexpected I burst into laughter, and most my remaining anxiety floated out over ocean waters. Though Neliah constantly turned down my flirtations, her willingness to calm me with conversation and humor made me want her even more. A joyous grin brightened her gorgeous features as she watched me laugh at her joke. A rush of attraction overcame me, and I blurted with sincerity, “You are beautiful.”
Neliah sobered immediately and looked out over the ocean. Her abrupt change in demeanor left me wondering where I went wrong, and I suddenly worried I made her uncomfortable. I thought about apologizing, but I didn't want to because I meant what I said. Neliah was beautiful, and I wanted her to know it.