by Rosie Scott
Vallen's face darkened with a reddish hue like he withheld anger, but he still said nothing. He only hurried to the nearest warehouse, where its doors floated lightly over mushy earth, opened and never closed. He disappeared into the darkness of one doorway. A few minutes later, he reappeared, the new color drained from his face.
“There are two bodies in there,” he informed us, his voice restrained.
“Ya found more than that, love,” Hilly commented, reading his expression.
“Tools,” Vallen blurted. “Equipment. Jars, hanging racks, crates, shears, tarps, fertilizers...it's gone. It's all gone.”
“Where are all our people, brother?” Jayce asked, more baffled than expectant of an answer.
“I...” Vallen stared at the tiny homes across from the warehouses as if noticing for the first time that all their doors were left open. “I don't know.”
Koby cleared his throat. “Cal?”
All eyes fell upon me. I took a long drag and lamented, “Cale's an intelligent little shit.”
Vallen stepped closer to me, his eyes pleading for answers. “Do you know what he's up to?”
“I didn't, no. I suspected.” I rolled my head to the side to let out a few kinks. “The pirates want a monopoly on ferris. They've already established a stranglehold on the seas, but they don't control the wildlands. Cale probably doesn't want to control the wildlands; he just wants its resources with as little resistance as possible. He's out of his element here. He can't rely on his fancy stolen ships to fight on land, and he only has as many men here as he can transport on one vessel. Why risk men, time, and resources stealing one shipment of ferris at a time? He knows you'd learn to expect it and defend against it. Most citizens here are loyal to the land and rely on ferris. He knows most would resist him if he made regular hostile appearances here.”
I turned to the empty paddies, sweeping my arm across the depressing scene. “Cale took the path of least resistance. He didn't risk picking a fight with Tenesea. He passed it altogether and went straight to the source. From the looks of it, he scouted out these fields and attacked when few were awake and few could defend themselves. A few nights of raiding later, and now Cale has fully grown ferris plants and all the tools to grow and cultivate it. Considering most of the paddy workers aren't here, he either took them hostage to learn the process and force them to work or decided he'd get a bonus for slave-trading once he returns to Llyr. He wants to establish a base that he can control for the long-term.”
“I hate how much sense that makes,” Vallen murmured.
“Ferris only grows in the marsh,” Jaecar said, the words mirroring Koby's from long ago.
“Right,” I agreed, nodding at Cyrene. “So if she can pick up a scent, we might be able to follow the bastards to wherever they've decided to set up their operation. We know it has to be in the wildlands because otherwise their plan would fail entirely.”
“Why would Cale sail to the western shores, though?” Jayce pondered aloud. “You said that during the shipwreck of the Wobblin' Woody it appeared as if you all drowned. He thinks you're all dead. Dead people can't recognize his ship in Silvi's harbor. His ship and crew would be safe there.”
“Would they?” I asked rhetorically. “Last time I was in Silvi there were warnings posted all over the place about black flags. Cale's ship is dwarven. The damn thing's bulky, rich-looking, and stocked full of cannons. It'll cause a scene wherever it goes.”
“That's a looong way to sail just to avoid making a scene,” Jayce argued.
“I don't know, Jayce,” I admitted.
“Remember how much trouble Astred had loading and transporting our cargo across the wetlands?” Koby asked, drawing our attention to him as he motioned at the large warehouses ahead. “This is a lot of delicate cargo to transport. Putting it all on a galleon is a much more attractive prospect than hauling it all on wagons.”
“Why get a galleon involved if they're just transporting it to another part of the marsh?” Jaecar pondered. “No sailing required.”
Koby shrugged. “It's possible he used the galleon just to avoid being spotted on land by hunting parties or passersby during transport. But if Calder's right about Cale looking at this as a long-term operation, he'll want to put his base somewhere isolated and inconvenient to attack considering he knew someone would eventually find evidence of his raiding here. I think I know the perfect place for him to go.”
Koby rummaged around in his satchel and pulled out his world map. “We're here,” he began, pointed at the strip of land between the northern coast and the lagoon. “Let's assume Cale dropped anchor somewhere north of the wildlands where he could see the paddies from offshore. Sure, he's on the western coast, but Silvi's here—” he barely moved his finger to the right “—ready to supply him with resources and even people desperate for work. If he stays in this area, guess what he can do?” He swiped a line through the seas to the left, where the map ended, and put his finger on the opposite side of the parchment. “He can establish a direct supply line between the wildlands and Llyr in waters no one travels. By traveling west from the wildlands, south of the beastlands, and along Nahara's southern coast, his pirates can deliver a steady supply of ferris to Llyr and no one will be the wiser.”
“If he wants to take advantage of Silvi, he has to stay within a reasonable distance to it,” Vallen pointed out, “and ferris doesn't grow in the rainforest.”
“No,” Koby agreed. “But there's one location that's isolated, would be easy to defend from attack, a short trip away from Silvi, a short trip away from here, would allow for that supply line to Llyr, and has the marshes necessary to grow ferris.” He tapped on the parchment above our location, where a cluster of islands occupied the waters between the wildlands and Eteri. “The Forks.”
Thirteen
The lone jaguar stood by the ocean's edge, facing north, her multi-colored coat rippling in the breeze. She put her head down to the mish-mash of sand and mud at her feet. While sniffing at a controlled pace, she wandered down the shore to the east, turned around, and tracked to the west. Moments later, she returned to the original spot, hunkering down as if to rest. Her pained hiss preceded the cracking of her shoulder blades as her upper body was first to readjust in her transformation.
Soon, Cyrene hyperventilated on her hands and knees, surrounded by chunks of loose fur and blood splatter. Her hair stuck to the sweat on her face as she glanced up at us and pointed north.
“Koby was right,” she breathed with a grimace. “The trail ends here.”
I ambled over to Cyrene, holding a cigarette out to her while trying not to stare at her nudity. When she noticed my offering, she shook her head and said, “No. Thank you.”
I replaced the cigarette and wandered over to the others. Neliah scanned over the horizon with her binoculars. Finally, she pointed northwest and announced, “Visible land in that direction. Just a spot. Almost like it's the point of a peninsula.”
“That's probably the southern point of the southernmost island,” Koby commented, holding his map. He nodded back at the rowboats we carried with us from the dock by the paddy fields. “That's a long way to row.”
“May I make a suggestion?” Hilly asked, holding up a finger while wrinkling her nose. “If we gotta row, can we at least prepare lots of freshwater beforehand? I never quite took to drinkin' piss.”
Vallen chuckled. “I've been out to the Forks before. We've never had to row that far.”
“How do you get there?” Koby asked.
Vallen jerked a thumb to the east. “Hunting parties always travel north of Silvi. The Forks reach pretty far east toward the rainforest there, and a peninsula cuts the stretch of ocean in two. It's an easier trip with more options for food. If we plan on going the same route, we'll be able to stop in Silvi. It'd only take us a day or two out of the way.” He switched his gaze between Koby and me. “While there, we could check on the progress of your ship now that it's been three-quarters of a year.”
&
nbsp; Kali wandered up to my side nonchalantly and warned in a sing-song voice, “Say yes to that or I'll kill you.”
I laughed at the unexpected jest. “What's so important in Silvi?”
“Ale,” she replied like it was obvious.
Hassan groaned so pleasurably in response to the thought of ale it sounded erotic. After chuckling, Jaecar added, “It'd be nice to see Jeremoth and treat ourselves to his poisons.”
“It's been four years since we've seen Jeremoth,” Koby stressed with a hopeful glimmer in his eyes.
I met Vallen's gaze and shrugged with a smile. “It looks like I don't have a choice.”
Though it would take us half a moon to reach Silvi, just the promise of taking a break from traversing wetlands alleviated the moods of my crew members. That night after setting up camp along the shore, they were jovial. Warriors from Tenesea played cards along the muddy beach. The noises of pleasure escaping the tent Jayce shared with Kali threw my mind into carnal territory. The beautiful whine of Hassan's mizmar floated over a large campfire where many of us danced and made fools out of ourselves. Hilly danced with everyone, eventually sneaking off with a beastman from Tenesea; similarly, Koby disappeared into a tent with a warrior after starting a conversation with her. Cyrene started off dancing with Vallen until he changed partners. With my mind on finding a partner for the night, I made my way over to her.
Thus far, Cyrene had been a mystery to me. I'd never seen her smoke or drink, and sometimes she seemed prudish in manner. Yet, there were other times she showed sparks of humor and let loose to have fun. Throughout our travels together, she'd regarded me with some distance like she struggled to figure me out, but she never tried talking to me.
Tonight, I would fix that.
I approached Cyrene from behind as she swayed to the music. Leaning close to her ear, I requested, “Dance with me.”
Cyrene twisted to meet my eyes. Hers betrayed her surprise. “Calder,” she said simply.
“Did you expect someone else?”
Cyrene smiled, finally turning completely to face me. The sensual movement of her hips stopped. “No, but I didn't expect you, either.”
“Keep dancing, love,” I purred. “It made my imagination run wild.”
Cyrene laughed and reached up to pat my shoulder. “Then maybe I should stop. I make it a point not to unnecessarily torture people.” She stepped to the side to pass me.
I pivoted smoothly and walked alongside her. Ahead, tents dotted the beach. Cyrene smirked as she noticed I followed. “You're right,” I flirted. “There are more productive things we could do.”
Cyrene stopped in her tracks so quickly I braced for a slap. Instead, she faced me and asked, “Do these methods of seducing work for you?”
“Usually.”
She chuckled with disbelief and shook her head. “Well, they won't work on me. Save yourself the effort.”
“I don't mind the effort as long as there's a chance.”
“There's not.”
My shoulders slumped a bit with disappointment, but I said, “All right.”
Cyrene frowned. “All right? Just like that?”
“What more do you want? If you're not interested, you're not interested. I'm a lot of things, but I'd kill myself before becoming like my sisters.” I frowned as the subject matter brought anxiety along with it. I prepared a cigarette.
Cyrene watched me smoke for a moment. “Forgive me if I spoiled your mood.”
“You're not the first to reject me and you won't be the last.”
“I meant—” Cyrene hesitated before shaking her head. “Never mind. I would like to get to know you better, Calder, but I don't get involved with Alderi men.”
I flinched unintentionally. “So you've avoided even speaking to me because of my race.”
Cyrene paled. “No. You have to realize that every Alderi man I've ever known has tried to seduce me. Once they realize I'm not an intimate option for them, they move on. I am friends with no Alderi because all they want is sex. I've kept my distance from you because I expect the same.”
“You subscribe to the notion that Alderi can't form friendships,” I surmised. “Koby is my best friend. We survived hell together, escaped together, and do everything together. I would give my life for him. Yet, I've never wanted sex from him because I'm not attracted to men.”
“And if you were?” Cyrene prodded.
I chuckled hoarsely around my cigarette. “Then I'd want sex from him, too.”
Cyrene exhaled in a rush like my casual attitude perplexed her. “The Alderi only enter relationships to get what they want. They never seem to consider things from an unselfish perspective.”
“And the arrogant Vhiri always look down their noses at the other races as if they alone hold the answers to everything,” I replied, irritation tainting the edges of my voice. “So it seems we are both walking examples of our own kinds.”
Cyrene blinked at me a moment, at a loss for words. Finally, she admitted, “I've insulted you. I'm sorry.”
“You called me selfish when I risked my life for your people in Misu.”
“I didn't call you selfish,” she protested. “I spoke about the Alderi in general terms. I acknowledge what you did for us in Misu. If anything, meeting you and your crew challenged my biases.” Cyrene glanced away for a moment of self-reflection. “You're right. I'm arrogant. I am an example of my people. I fled Eteri to be free of its influence, but I have lived in the wildlands for decades and I still struggle to rise above how I was raised.” She returned her gaze to mine, showing humility. “Forgive me, Calder. In my ignorance I've come off as rude.”
I smoked while reading her expression. I sensed nothing but honesty, and that she alluded to trying to escape her native culture's influence resonated with me. “Let's start over, then,” I decided.
“Let's,” Cyrene agreed with a smile. Motioning to the tents, she continued, “I was going to settle down for the night. You're welcome to join me for conversation and cards. It might not be the type of entertainment you were looking for, but...”
“Those opportunities have passed me by,” I replied light-heartedly, waving a hand at the dwindling partiers near the fire. “After you.”
Cyrene's tent was surprisingly well-organized for a domicile that would only be slept in for one night. She summoned an alteration light and perched it on the descending interior canvas, giving her belongings a creamy glow. A bedroll unraveled over earthen grit beside a knapsack, prepared potion, and an old leather-bound book with pages wavy from humidity.
“You're free to sit wherever you want as long as you don't get any ideas,” Cyrene said, motioning toward her bedroll. Her smile indicated she teased me in good humor, so I relaxed.
“I have plenty of ideas, but I won't act on them,” I promised. I settled down on the end of her bedroll with a grunt. “Mind if I smoke in here?”
Cyrene leaned over me to pull the tent flaps open and tie them back with twine. “Try to direct your smoke outside, if you don't mind.”
“Thank you.” After lighting the drug and acquiescing to her request, I stated, “You don't smoke.”
“No.” Cyrene sat cross-legged mere feet away and grabbed the prepared potion from beside the bedroll. She twirled the bottle until the muted green liquid created a tiny funnel. “I treat all my pain with potions.”
“Hell, I wish I could do the same,” I replied. “Without ferris I can barely walk. Have you developed a tolerance to pain?”
“Unfortunately, no,” she said with a grimace. “I rely on alchemy by necessity. Misu is isolated, and a lot of us like it that way. As such, we rarely make efforts to trade. Ferris is uncommon down south. I decided not to try it so I would never become reliant on it.”
“It is harmless,” I argued lightly, breathing in the drug's calming effects.
“In a physical sense, that's true,” Cyrene agreed. “But I believe there can be too much of a good thing. I don't like the idea of something having control over
my mood. I see how getting high affects people. For better or worse, I want to be in control.”
“Sometimes I smoke ferris to retain control,” I admitted. “It helps me with more than pain.”
Curiosity glimmered in Cyrene's big eyes. “I've noticed. It calmed you during your panic attack at the fields last week.” When I said nothing, she went on, “How long have you been free?”
I tensed so hard my lips flattened the cigarette between them. “Uh...I don't know. I don't count the days. Koby does.”
“You escaped together?”
I nodded curtly. “We were both mates.” When she looked confused by the term, I clarified, “Whores.”
“Oh.” Cyrene hesitated. “I'm sorry.”
“We were lucky, compared to most,” I said low. Azazel's face reappeared in my mind as clear as it'd always been. Crushing guilt could create the most disastrously crisp memories. I swallowed hard and added, “It's hard for me to believe that sometimes.”
“I don't think anyone born in that backwards culture can consider themselves lucky,” Cyrene commented with sympathy. “Forgive me if that sounds arrogant; gods know Eteri is no better.”
I blew out a stream of smoke, forgetting to direct it through the open tent flaps. After cursing at myself for my impropriety, I started waving the smoke outside. “Tell me about Eteri,” I requested, grateful for the change in subject.
“Vallen said you've been there. That you might be a wanted man in Scirocco.”
I smirked. “By women and its humorless guards, because I am just the luckiest son of a bitch alive.”
Cyrene chuckled. “At least you have a sense of humor about it.”
“I have to have a sense of humor about most things. It's a coping mechanism.” With most of the smoke relocated outside, I readjusted to face her. “Don't turn the subject around on me. I asked you about Eteri because you expressed such distaste for it. Surely there's a reason you left.”
“There are so many reasons I left.” Cyrene widened her eyes and pulled the cork out of her potion bottle. “How much do you know about Eteri's politics?”
