“Anyone can be convinced,” Flynn replied. “Let’s learn their name, to start.”
Within the hour, the locals had informed them that the builder was one Prenioux Brecks, whose work by reputation focused on speed more than endurance. His ships were primarily employed as scout ships and strike vessels and were not favored for protracted naval battles or, Shea suspected, ocean storms. She’d have preferred something slower but hardier, but there were no other suitable vessels at port.
Prenioux Brecks’s offices were not particularly large, and she and Flynn entered alone to meet him. Brecks was sitting at his desk studying a set of blueprints when they entered. A stack of papers sat on a nearby table, layered with sawdust. The room was a far cry from well-kept, but the bitter looking man seemed too busy to bother tending his surroundings.
“Aye? What you two want?”
“We, ah … hello.” Shea faltered.
“My associate and I would like to procure a ship,” Flynn said with cold efficiency.
“If you’re looking to hire a build, come back in six months,” Brecks replied with an insulting laugh. “Mayhap the war will be over by then.”
This didn’t deter Flynn, who continued as though Brecks had never spoken. “Specifically, we want the one outside. Tonight, if possible.”
“That’s a Trynan military vessel, boy,” Brecks replied, his sense of humor departing. “Even if you had what it’s worth—”
Flynn produced a small bag, tossing it before Brecks. As it slid through the sawdust and its recipient peeked inside, Shea realized what it contained: the remaining den Vier family jewels, save one. She fingered the ring tucked inside her coat pocket instinctively.
Brecks, however, was unimpressed. “Not a bad start, but hardly enough for a ship. You really want to sail troubled waters that badly?”
“We’re in something of a hurry.”
“Tell you what I’ll do,” Brecks said as he sighed in resignation. For a moment, Shea’s eyes widened, believing they might just get what they were asking for. Brecks tossed the small bag in his hand, feeling the weight of it. “I’ll start work for you on the side. This won’t cover everything, mind, but consider this a down payment. Right?”
“Go on,” Flynn prompted.
“One second, need to fetch my ledger.” Brecks exited the room.
“What’re you doing?” Shea hissed once they were alone. “Even with the coin, be months ’fore we sail.”
“I’m buying us more time,” Flynn said. “Brecks is a businessman first, and his loyalties are not as ironclad as he’ll claim. If we had something sufficient to buy him off, that ship would already be ours. Even so, there may be something he wants. Something we can provide.”
“He’s a greedy sod. Wants money.”
“He wants something worth ‘losing’ a valued military scout ship over, and whatever damage his reputation may suffer as a result.”
Shea couldn’t fathom why Flynn kept the conversation going when Brecks returned—they had nothing to offer. Entering into a deal meant staying in Kin-Kin and risking discovery; stealing the ship meant risking pursuit.
What would we offer that he could possibly want? Shea wondered. But she already knew the answer, and as she looked at Flynn, she wondered if he’d seen right through her. Shea clutched the ring she concealed, and realized that where she was heading, it had no worth. It was valuable only on Keltia, and the lure of distant worlds was a fruit too succulent to deny. Who she really was didn’t matter anywhere but home, and she’d committed to saying goodbye forever.
“Got something to offer,” she interrupted. “Sweeten the pot, as it were.”
“Miss, ‘less those pistols you carry make people bleed diamonds—”
“No,” she replied with a fake laugh. She reached into her coat and revealed the papers she’d stolen from den Vier Manor. “Just these. And this.” Beside them, she set the ring. The sawdust received it like a pillow, and she knew after today, she would never see its emblem again.
Brecks cautiously picked up the papers and skimmed over them. “What’s this now…? Writ of ownership … inheritance papers … this a birth record?”
“Mine,” she replied. “Name’s Alicea den Vier. Survived my family’s execution years ago. As sole heir, manor and surrounding grounds are mine to give.”
Brecks stared at her, dumbfounded. If Flynn felt similarly, he concealed it well. Shea looked out the window where her new ship was anchored. It seemed a poor trade at first, but there was more value in a ship that could carry her to freedom than in the home she scarcely remembered living in. Whether Brecks claimed the land now or after the war, whether he restored the manor or burnt it to the ground, she no longer cared. If Mother Bagwell ever woke up, if her sons returned from war, they would be the only ones who knew. And they would confess nothing.
She turned back, and Brecks was still looking at her in stunned disbelief. Finally, Flynn leaned in and whispered in his ear: “I’d take the deal.”
* * *
The climate was ideal for theft. Dark clouds had drifted over Kin-Kin that same afternoon, and late into the night, neither of Keltia’s twin moons could be seen. Though a transaction had taken place, they were still going to have to steal the ship, for Brecks had no real authority to give it away. What the den Vier lands bought was his cooperation, as well as potable water and other supplies for the voyage, and a window of time without another soul around who might raise an alarm.
While the others loaded their supplies, Shea and Flynn met once more with a weary Prenioux Brecks, whose lamp burned with a low flame to avoid notice by anyone outside. Shea’s papers sat on his desk, and she signed her name without a word. The flicks in her wrist were subtle, and at first she nearly wrote ‘Bagwell,’ the name she’d long become accustomed to. Hot wax pooled on the papers, and Shea pressed the ring into each puddle, cementing the transaction.
“Be needing the ring too, lass,” Brecks said with an outstretched hand. “Proof that what was once the den Viers’ is now mine.”
“’Course,” she said softly, and placed it on his desk. They left with that, and headed toward the ship; true to Brecks’s word, there was no one else around.
“This done, I’m a true deserter,” she commented.
“You’re sure you still want to go with us?” Flynn asked.
“Already know the answer, don’t you?” Shea replied. “Figured me out well ahead, or was the scene from late morn just all happy chance?”
“I had my suspicions. Nothing concrete. I wasn’t trying to force you to do anything. Given enough time with Brecks, I could have wrangled out something on my own.”
He sounded sincere, and Shea wanted to believe he was. She was quickly learning, however, that Flynn had a way of getting under her skin. Her fear of returning to the front had peaked after taking her leave from him, and now she had surrendered any proof of her true identity. Likely coincidence, she told herself as they neared the ship. Better to focus on the work ahead.
Chari cheerfully greeted them by the gangplank, where she was spooling the rope that had tethered the ship to the wharf. “Was the ship that bore you from the southern isles anything like this one?” she asked Flynn.
“Better staffed,” he replied, grinning. “And the crew? Motlier.” As they boarded, he explained to Shea, “Inside joke. Back when we first met I was passing as a ‘beastman.’ The lie wrote itself.”
“Strange to be thought a beast by anyone,” she replied. It occurred to her for the first time that she might not be welcome on other worlds; Flynn’s allies had all kept hidden for a reason. To be thought of as an animal felt displeasingly degrading.
“I’m going to unfurl the sails. The sooner we’re on the water, the better.”
While he climbed the mast, Shea made her way to the wheel. She had learned the basics in training, but never commanded the rank to put such skills t
o use. Now, she was the only one qualified, and would have to captain this ship alone. As she felt the handles of the wheel, moving it gently from side to side to get a sense for it, she heard someone groaning unpleasantly behind her. Jean was hunched over the rail, already looking weatherworn.
“No sea legs?” Shea asked.
“More of a solid ground kinda gal,” Jean groaned. “I’ll get over it.” She pressed away from the rail and staggered to the helm. “So which is it then? You Bagwell or den Vier?”
“Whichever you fancy. Still Shea.”
“So it’s true then?” Jean was masked in a thin layer of sweat, and tried patiently to explain herself. “Just, had my fill of liars hidin’ shit about themselves they think don’t matter. Fight comes, kinda wanna know whose back I’m watchin’.”
“Two generations, Bagwells served the den Viers. Good with each other by the time I was born. Always trusted one another, even when politics turned black. Odd, one might think, for two so far apart. Way it was, though.” Shea turned the ship’s wheel experimentally. It moved smoothly for now, but when the waves got rough, she might have a real fight on her hands. “Brats on both sides were close, played the manor halls. One might sleep over time to time, went both ways.”
“So which side were you?” Jean asked.
“Krestia Bagwell had one daughter,” Shea continued. “Mavel. Always wanted a girl, loved her dearly. Same age as me, but Mavel Bagwell and Jenska den Vier were the close ones. Mavel stayed over one night, so I snuck in with the Bagwells, used Mavel’s bed. Wanted to see the market, didn’t know how unloved the den Viers had got; how bad next morn would get.”
“Wandered Selif for a couple days,” Jean mentioned. “Heard some fucked up stories about that town square.”
“Same one,” Shea confirmed. “Started early. Din while the family slept. Snuck for a look, but it was all helter-skelter to the square. Bit of a blur after, but half the den Viers were dead when I got there. Mother Bagwell followed to take me ’fore I got caught, saw Mavel’s head drop right there. White as a sheet, she went. Don’t know how Krestia didn’t scream.”
Jean took a moment to process the tale. “Fuuuuuck,” she said softly. For Shea, the feeling was mutual, even after more than a decade.
“Kept indoors for years. Passed as Mavel in company, but Bagwells weren’t too close with others. Took ‘Alicea’ back in time, when no one outside the family was left who knew Mavel’s face. Girl wasn’t very old when it happened. Ask around. No one remembers Alicea den Vier.”
Somewhere near her recollection’s end, the sails had opened. The wind was friendly, and the clouds above were parting. Two moons shone down on the Inland Sea, lighting their way as they drifted off into the waters. Shea hoped the waves would not turn treacherous.
* * *
It was over a week before the Inland Sea finally gave way to the ocean, and Tryna’s coasts became a distant memory. They had fled unnoticed, and at times people in the coastal towns waved at the military ship as it sailed by. But the intent behind their cheer was a humbling reality: they were counting on this ship to meet an enemy across the world, to kill them and claim what was theirs. These people, however well intentioned, would die in Taryl Renivar’s new world order, and Zella doubted they didn’t deserve it.
As life on the ship fell into routine, with Shea inexpertly teaching the others how to crew the vessel, Zella would have been content not to contribute at all, save for the burgeoning guilt of the blood her companions had shed on her behalf. So she took up fishing, and as her latest catch writhed on the hook, a sunlit rainbow captured in its scales, she wished she were tending it, not killing it. It was innocent, and would do no harm if returned to the world; creatures such as these—human or otherwise—were uniquely entitled to her affections.
As she unhooked the fish and cast her line once more, Flynn sat down and joined her. “You’re pitching in,” he observed.
“It’s a lofty compromise,” she admitted. “I’m not accustomed to physical labor.” They sat in silence for a while, the winds playing with their hair. The weather thus far had been fair; the tides favorable. “I grew to womanhood on the promise of a paradisiacal garden,” she said. “I did not know then that my lifeblood would be requisite to consecrate such a reality. It was not always their plan.”
“It still seems strange to me that Renivar would ask people to die in his name,” Flynn said.
“In a world of necessary evils, there are sacrifices that must be made. It is only when enough blood is spilt that the scales will tip and shatter, and a better world can come forth.”
“And what becomes of those who commit these ‘necessary evils’ in their god’s name?”
“That is why they are called the Reahv’li—the Blessed. In their service, they risk committing many transgressions to see this new world through. One blemish on their souls will see them unworthy to join the new world, and they join knowing this. But there remains a nobility in giving one’s life for others.”
“You didn’t give yours,” Flynn pointed out.
“I wasn’t the only one asked,” Zella replied. “It is easier to be noble in the heat of the moment than to allow death to calmly stare you in the eyes. We all had to weigh the decision at our own pace. Some came to it sooner than others.”
“Who was the first?”
“The first was the only one not asked. His name was Aiven, and we were as cousins. It is taboo for gods to reproduce as mortals, but they were like us once, and the old urges do not leave. Aiven came to Yeribelt loyal to Taryl Renivar, and upon learning his origins, yearned to better serve his god. I don’t know what led up to his sacrifice, but my father suffered horror to elation, as Aiven’s death caused his chains to loosen.”
Flynn didn’t reply at first, surveying his surroundings. All was peaceful. “And then they came for you?”
“I’d barely been conceived,” she replied with amusement. “No, it took some time to understand what Aiven had accomplished. And there was reluctance, to ask for any more senseless sacrifices.”
“What changed?” he asked.
“Time was passing. Children born in Yeribelt were growing to old age, and still their Living God was bound.”
“Taryl’s back was against the wall,” Flynn concluded.
Zella glared at him vindictively. “You could say that.”
His expression turned apologetic. “You’re still afraid of me?”
It was insulting he should have to ask. “When it is only the two of us, I know you are harmless. When there are others around, I’ve learned to watch my neck.”
* * *
Shea’s cigarette case rattled in her hand. This rate, won’t last till shore, she thought. Zaja had taken the wheel, allowing time for a smoke break in the shade of the mast. The sails above were furled; the afternoon winds had been working against them. “Alright there?” she asked Zaja after lighting her cigarette. “Only ever see you work. Do take breaks, right?”
“This is my break,” Zaja replied cheerfully. “They don’t have oceans where I’m from, never mind ships to sail them.”
“Serious? Nothing of the sort?” Zaja shook her head. “Got lakes, least? Paddle boats? Swimming?”
“There is a river that runs through Quema … man-made, though, and heated. Never got to try swimming.” She looked past the ship’s edges to the sparkling ocean. “Wonder if I’d be any good…?”
Shea gave a chuckle. “Not the place to learn. Let us know when your hands get sore. Take the wheel back then.”
“Careful, Ali.” Jean was sitting above her, on the lowest beam of the mast. “Leave it to Zaj and she’ll sleep on that wheel before givin’ it back.”
“Makes me sound like some kinda perv,” Zaja huffed. “I just want to be helpful.”
“And that’s fine for warm weather and clear skies,” Jean replied. “Dark clouds roll in
, get your ass back inside and leave things to us.”
Shea looked up. “Bit preachy, aren’t we?”
Jean dropped from the mast to the deck. “Just don’t wanna lose another friend on this trip.” She turned and walked backwards, looking up as she spoke. “Bet he’d be up in the crow’s nest right now, shoutin’ ‘Ahoy!’ or some other pirate crap.”
“Mack, was it?” She regretted asking; the way Jean looked down on her, Shea felt like an unwelcome replacement. They had been seven, Flynn had told her, not long ago. With Shea along, they were again.
“Yeah, him,” Jean replied tersely.
“Plan to find him?”
“If he’s alive,” Jean returned, before biting her tongue. “Gotta look. Get Flynn to find us a way back to Breth or twist Poe’s arm when he gets all godded up. Don’t know if Mack’ll wanna see me after what I…”
“What?” Shea urged.
She shook her head. “Shit I said in the heat of things. Meant ’em, mostly—I don’t owe him love. He’s still my best friend though, and I’ll be there for him for that.”
Jean excused herself below deck, and as Shea climbed the stairs back to the helm, she confessed, “Don’t think Jean fancies me much.”
“It’s just how she is,” Zaja said. “She’ll look out for you if you give her a chance. Back on Terrias, I was unconscious for two days straight, and Jean watched over me. I owe her for that and, if I make it long enough, I’ll help her find Mack. I’d like to know they’re alright before I go.”
“Make it long enough…?” Shea parroted. “Odds really that bad for this mission?”
“They’re pretty bleak, especially for me,” she replied. Concerned, she added, “You know I’m sick, right?”
“Heard something of it. Don’t get it, honestly. Some talk of ‘cold blood’ and lost me there.” Medicine had not been Shea’s strong suit. She hardly understood how her own body worked, let alone the different breeds of people in her company.
“Feel some part of yourself,” Zaja said. “Like your forehead or your heart or someplace where there’s heat. You’re warm, Shea, because your body makes you warm. Mine doesn’t.” At Shea’s first sign of concern, she clarified, “That part’s natural. For me. I need outside warmth to survive, but my body doesn’t store it correctly and parts of it are dying as a result. That problem is mine. They call it Nyrikon’s Syndrome back home.”
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