Shatter (The Children of Man)

by Elizabeth C. Mock

  A head peeked out from the cabin looking confused. When he saw Faela waving from the pier, the tall, shaggy redhead exited. “You yell wherever you go, lady?”

  “Depends on whether I need to be heard or not,” she replied shifting her weight to the side as she leaned her hand onto the knife hilt. “So, you him?”

  “Aye,” he said with a shake of his head. His hair seemed compelled to fall in front of his eyes. “But I don’t take passengers, sorry.”

  Roderick had said his piece and needed to get back to work, so he made no farewell before returning to his preparations. Faela swept her gaze around the wharf. Her options were narrowing quickly and she thought about that smell on the steamer.

  “Why not?” she asked Roderick’s back.

  “I don’t like people on my girl who couldn’t tell their aft from their prow.”

  Faela chuckled at the clumsy wordplay. “What makes you think I can’t?”

  That made Roderick stop, but not turn to face her as he gripped the edge of the cabin’s roof. “I can see that vial ‘round your neck clear as day, lady. You’re one of them healers. Magic users don’t know boats.”

  “Well, that’s a bit of a generalization, yeah?” Faela said as she tucked the telltale glass vial under her shirt.

  Swinging up onto the cabin, Roderick balanced an elbow over the long boom that reached back over nearly the entire length of the boat. He pulled at some of the rope. “What’s this?”

  “Line that’s rigged to the sail is the sheet,” she answered with a bored tone of voice, “and that is specifically part of the mainsheet, because it’s attached to the boom.”

  “What kind of rigging is this?” He fired at her without acknowledging whether her answer had been correct.

  “All wherries have gaff rigs. And before you ask, I can tell because it’s a fore-and-aft rigging system running along the line of the keel,” she said with knowledgeable efficiency as she pointed up to the four-cornered sail, “which is controlled at its peak by the throat and peak halyards.”

  Roderick grunted in surprise and hopped off the cabin. “You from sailing stock before you went to the temples?”

  “I just know my way around a wherry. Looks like you could use an extra hand,” she said looking at the two other sailors working at the aft to get ready to sail, “and I can pay.”

  After a few moments of examining the woman on shore, Roderick said, “You’re lucky that Jack broke his leg.” He liked her direct approach and she didn’t seem like one to waste time yammering.

  “You’ll take me?” she asked waiting for confirmation before she boarded.

  Digging into his jacket, he removed a dented brass pocket watch to check the time. “We’re running behind,” he said with a begrudging shake of his head as he clicked it shut. “Just don’t breaking nothing, yeah?

  Her hands splayed on the side of the wherry, the wind misted Faela's burnished and freckled face as it carried the sweet smell of wet and rotting plants onto the deck. Roderick had gone inside the cabin after they had launched well before midday. One of the other hands, a quiet man that Roderick called Beau, walked behind her with some line slung across his chest. He nodded to her, but otherwise ignored her presence. As her weight readjusted, she felt the reassuring outline of the dagger in her boot press against her leg.

  On the far bank, sheep dotted the gently sloping hillside as they did their best to keep the vegetation under control. After her initial help with the halyards, they hadn’t needed her assistance. With nothing to keep her hands busy her mind began to wander. Beau swung up onto of the top of the long cabin and began raising the throat halyard to keep from losing the wind to the bend of the river.

  With the prow to herself, the tension in her back eased. As the sails caught the wind again, the animals receded into a mass of clumped white fluff. Faela wondered if sheep ever longed for freedom, to break away from the herd. More than likely, they never thought beyond the grass in front of them and the occasional delight of finding a tasty bit of clover. Sailor and sheep alike disappeared from her field of vision as the riverboat corrected course and veered away from the bank. Sailing on her family’s trading wherries had taught her how to tie an anchor’s bend before she was five as well as the routines of their crews. Beau would have plenty to keep him busy at the stern. Faela estimated. It should be long enough.

  As the sun dipped below the horizon, the water shimmered pink and orange like swirled ribbon candy as the boat sent waves rolling toward the banks. Considering the sunset, Faela looked down at her interlaced fingers and thought, He should be going to bed soon. And I should be there.

  She pulled them apart and her right hand found its way to the vial that hung at her throat from a leather cord. As her fingers curled around it, she hummed the simplistic melody of a lullaby. A red mist covered her eyes. The notes of the melody continued and matching golden designs wove into her temples. Her mind skimmed over the riverbank, past the sheep, past Davenford, down the Yaniv, and across the northern edge of the Kurinean Sea as blood called to blood.

  She felt the mind of her infant son gurgle happily as she brushed it with a kiss. She projected to him images of cradling him in her lap fast asleep, just as she had after his birth a few months ago. No almost half a year now, she corrected, but pulled back her guilt and instead said to him, Time to sleep, lamb.

  Her humming changed key as she began to sing the lullaby her older brother had sung to her when her nightmares would come. Unlike most children, Faela’s nightmares had not come at night, but during the day when she was awake. Back then, only her brother could calm her hysterics. Now, she finished singing the final lines of that same song to her son hundreds of leagues away.

  Shine, shine like the sun. Light will come and night be done.

  She could sense his thoughts of feeling full and warm as his eyes fluttered and closed as though they were her own. Sending him the ghost of a caress, she withdrew. Mama loves you, Sammi.

  Faela felt her throat thicken as she let the contact slip away. Inhaling the cold, moist air of the incoming night, she chewed on her thumb and the now familiar void settled back into her chest. The horizon had finally swallowed the sun and she wiped away the wetness from her cheeks. “I'll come back for you when I know it's safe, love.”

  Feeling a touch on her shoulder, Faela woke instantly tipping her hat back off her head. Her dagger flashed between herself and what had woken her, while her other hand captured what had touched her. There was a metallic clatter and a muffled curse in the dark. Blinking, she saw the sputtering light of the lantern that she had knocked out of her assailant’s hand. In the jumping shadows, she saw red hair.

  “Darkness, if this is the greeting you give anyone who wakes you,” Roderick muttered, “no wonder you’re traveling alone.”

  “Are we there?” Faela asked without apologizing. She pulled her hat back down on her forehead, then twirled her dagger and returned it to its boot sheath.

  “Aye, we’re at the Ravenscliffe ferry dock.” Roderick munched on a pear noisily as he retrieved the lantern.

  Moving her pack from where she had been using it as a pillow, Faela unlatched one of its outer pockets and removed a pouch. She opened it, retrieving a handful of coins. Counting out five silver, she returned the rest. She braced her feet against the deck and pushed against it to stand. When she handed the money to Roderick, his eyes widened. He lifted one of the coins to inspect the stamp.

  “Lady, this is too much.” He shook his head causing his hair to settle back into his eyes again. He pocketed two, but tried to give three of the coins back to her.

  Threading her arm through the strap of her pack, she held up her free hand. “You didn’t have to take me on, but you did.”

  Faela laced the pouch back onto her belt. Cinching the leather tight, she refastened the belt and let it fall onto her hips. After she clasped her pack into place, she closed his hand around the payment. “Let’s just call the rest gratitude, yeah?”

 
; He led her to the side of the boat where they had tied off. It lacked a plank, but the drop down to the dock seemed manageable. “You be safe out there, lady.”

  Faela offered the young captain her hand. “My thanks, Roderick. May the winds always be at your back.”

  He shook her hand with a fast and firm squeeze. “You as well, lady.”

  Vaulting over the side of the wherry, Faela staggered as she hit the deck hard, but kept her feet. Roderick didn’t seem one for prolonged farewells, so she didn’t bother to turn around as she jogged toward the road. It would still be a few hours until dawn and the closer she could get to crossing the border before it broke the better off she would be.

  At this early hour, the bluish light did little to warm the forest as the chill moisture of the night before still clung to the morning, promising colder nights ahead. Faela unhooked the last buckle and shrugged off her pack as she stopped in a cluster of evergreens. Their branches intertwined creating a thick screen between her and the road. Shivering, she pulled her hat off while she unknotted her copper-gold hair out of its messy pile on her head. It fell around her shoulders in waves providing her with a bit more warmth. Filling her lungs with the crisp, fresh air that left the aftertaste of damp earth in her throat, she turned to face the rising sun. As she relaxed her stance, she rotated her shoulders before closing her eyes.

  Though shut, her eyes seemed to glow with a red light that had nothing to do with the sunrise and the vial that hung from her neck shone with the same scarlet. Her breathing slid into the rhythm of the blood pumping through her veins and she hummed a low note. As the note resonated with the foundational rhythm of her heart, intricate lines of gold light thickened on each of her temples. Her senses raced across the forest searching for a different cadence. Pain shot through her fingers and up her arms as she stretched further for that other pulse past the mountains, but habit born of long practice forced her breathing to remain steady. Then faintly, she felt the pulse she sought far to the north on the moors of Nabos and a pressure descended on her chest that threatened to crush her lungs. Gasping for breath, she broke the contact and stumbled, falling to her knees. Her breath came in ragged gulps as if she had stayed underwater for too long.

  Shoving back her thick hair that had fallen into her face, she rested her hands against her thighs while she waited for the tremors to pass. She felt for her pack and slung it across her back, while numb fingers latched the buckles into place. Once secure, she scooped her hat from the needle-strewn carpet and pulled it back on.

  “Well, north it is,” she said to a finch hopping along a nearby stone searching for his breakfast.

  Pushing through the dense branches, one slipped past Faela whipping across the bottom of her cheek. Her fingers brushed the stinging welt to see if it had drawn blood as she turned away from the road and further into the woods. The twig just barely broke the skin leaving a tiny stain of red on her fingers. She rubbed it off on the sturdy fabric of her overcoat.

  As a gentle breeze rustled the leaves, it left a lazy peacefulness in its wake. It conjured images of her little sister's cat, Lusi, stretching after a sun-soaked nap on the cracked, slate terrace behind her parents’ kitchens.

  Such a wickedly slothful, hedonistic beast, she thought as she ducked under some low-lying branches. Just as quickly as the memory tugged her lips into a smile, the pain that crept into her eyes removed it. Her fingers laced through the silver chain also around her neck and her thumb circled the medallion as if seeking some solace in the contact.

  Time seemed to freeze along with Faela as the morning’s quiet shattered as something crashed through the brush like a hunted animal. Dropping the necklace, she yanked the brim of her hat forward. Her face hidden, she clasped the vial that hung at her chest. Her fingers tightened as the light surrounding it bled into crimson.

  Before she could turn to face the source of the noise, a man appeared blocking her path. No sound had alerted her of his swift approach. Halting, he inclined his head, his thin, sloping nose in the air, as if to catch a scent he had momentarily lost. The movement caused the water in his sable hair to glint in the increasing morning light as it stuck to his shoulders. His appearance bore a strong resemblance to a wet terrier. When she noticed his light brown eyes, Faela stepped back increasing the space between them as she recognized the telltale sign of a magic user capable of wielding several colors.

  “Your first mistake was taking it,” he growled low in his throat, “but your last was making me chase you, you son of a flea-ridden whore.”

  Faela’s mind went blank at this man’s sudden appearance and in that moment all she seemed able to focus on were the spots of dust and pollen drifting in the light behind him. Transfixed by the floating motes, her panic began receding. With a steady resolve replacing the shock, her expressionless face transformed as the corner of her mouth jumped into a half smirk.

  “Well now, this is just awkward,” Faela said with a shake of her head. “You have me at a definite disadvantage by having such intimate knowledge of my mum, when I don’t recall ever having met you before. But given your current choice in attire,” she said indicating his bare chest and feet, “you seem well acquainted with that particular profession. And I know that this coat is a bit bulky, but does it really make me look like a boy?”

  “What?” the man demanded his brow furrowing clearly confused by her response.

  “My gender,” she said enunciating each syllable. “You seem confused. ‘Cause I’m a girl, not a boy.”

  Though adrenaline still rushed through her from the shock, as she awaited his response, her artist’s eye could not help pausing to appreciate the lean musculature of his lithe build marred only by a network of thick, raised scars. Yet, the Lusicans at Kitrinostow had taught her that beauty was often found in imperfection.

  Annoyance soon replaced his astonishment, as the man leveled his unfaltering gaze at her obscured face. Her chest constricted under the predatory menace in his amber eyes before he looked past her. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  It was Faela’s turn to look confused as she remembered the forgotten commotion that had come from behind her. Turning to find its source, she discovered that her coat was caught on an unseen object. She twisted her head and saw a man crouched behind her in an attempt to hide his gangly form. He looked up at her with emerald green eyes from under the bottom of her overcoat’s stained hem, which he had used to cover his nose.

  “Howdy.” His voice cracked as he spoke.

  Repressing a scream, Faela snatched her coat out of his hands and stumbled backward until she ran into a tree, her hand clutched at the vial. Only her shallow breathing gave any outward indication of her alarm. She had allowed the silent man to distract her attention. Though an innocent enough mistake, it had been sloppy of her. Her only consolation was that the boy could hardly be a magic user of any strength, if one at all, with eyes as green as his.

  The man who had used her as a human shield unbent himself to his full height, placing him easily a foot taller than Faela. He shook out his worn barn jacket whose too-short arms left his tops of his wrists exposed, making his limbs appear even longer than they were. He smiled a warm, affable smile at Faela.

  Before he could say anything beyond his greeting, the terrier, as Faela had begun to think of him, asked, “Where are they?”

  “Well, it’s quite an amusing story actually. You see I was—”

  The quivering throwing knife embedded in the tree behind the lanky man’s left ear cut off his explanation. No one had seen either of the terrier’s hands move and Faela could not imagine where he had hidden the weapon. The terrier stood with a coiled stillness as he watched the lanky man shuffle his weight uncomfortably.

  After stretching out the silence, the terrier said, “If I wanted a story, I’d find a Lusican to tell me one. Let’s try again and this is the final time I ask nicely, mate. Where are they?”

  Pushing his unkempt nut-brown hair out of his eyes, he rubbed his flatten
ed nose. “Well now, for some reason they seem to have decided that this was the right time to take a trip to the Kurinean Sea. You know, eat some fish, visit the great Tereskan temple, take one last holiday before the harvest.”

  The terrier’s hands flexed, but he reached for nothing. Instead, he drew out each word. “Heading for the Kurinean Sea?”

  “Indeed,” the lanky man said with an exaggerated sigh. “Because during our merry little chase, we — your boots and me — tragically parted ways. You see, our lives were heading in very different directions and I’m just not a very good swimmer. Never found the time to learn really. But I can’t blame anyone but myself for that, can I?” He directed his last statement to Faela with a shrug and that infectious smile.

  Without intending to, Faela found herself returning it. “Wait, so you dropped them in the Bramm?” Faela asked, suddenly connecting the details of their situation. With these men fixated on each other, her fear had dissolved, leaving only her curiosity regarding these two.

  “Technically,” the boy said with a bob of his head, “in a stream that feeds into the Bramm. But one could interpret the events that way.”

  Faela had to repress her laughter now at the absurdity of this situation as the terrier stomped past her, crunching the stray twigs and pine needles underfoot. At the sound, Faela winced a little thinking about the lacerations that had to be ripping up his feet. The boy took Faela by the shoulders and kept her positioned between the terrier and himself. They circled each other for a few moments before the terrier grabbed a fistful of the lanky boy’s shirt collar and yanked him away from Faela. He drew the boy’s face close to his own. “Do you know the punishment for theft, you—”

  She cleared her throat interrupting him. While amused by the lanky boy’s demeanor, given the anger in the other man’s brown eyes, Faela recognized that this situation had the potential to deteriorate into something much more serious. “Gentlemen, I’m so sorry, but I don’t have time for this.”