Emily's Saga

by Travis Bughi

  Mosley’s brows furrowed and he opened his mouth, but Emily pressed on.

  “There’s another reason I said no, one I’m just now coming to realize. Gavin needs . . . he needs a woman nearby. He wants to be like my parents, where they share duties to clean the home, stay indoors, and raise children. I’ve already been a part of that life, and I’m in no hurry to do so again. Even though I love my family, it’s stifling to stay with them now. I can’t be myself in a world like that, not when there’s so much else to see and do. How could I settle for just one part of this life? I want it all, and Gavin cannot compete with that.

  “Sometimes, I think love just isn’t meant to be. I know an elf in the forest of Angor whom I believe has feelings for me, and if I’m right, then he’s had more than a few sleepless nights. Like Mark—oh! Oh no! I still have Belen’s letters! Damn. I can’t give her his note. Damn it! I hope she believes Adelpha. It’s too late to turn back, isn’t it?”

  Emily paused for a response, but then realized she’d been rambling on. The words had been tumbling out of her so rapidly that she hadn’t even grasped that her audience probably wasn’t listening anymore. She turned her eyes away from the water ahead to look at Captain Mosley.

  He was staring right back at her, one eyebrow cocked up high, and mouth hanging open like she was the strangest thing he’d ever seen.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to dump all that on you. I don’t normally do that.”

  “Well, I sure hope not,” the Captain replied, shaking out of his confused expression. “But I did gather one thing from all of that.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re going to make a terrible pirate,” he said.

  She laughed.

  “Now, let go of that wheel before you kill us all,” he said. “I’m going to do you a favor.”

  “Oh, okay.” She smiled and stepped back. “What’s the favor?”

  “Simple, really,” he replied, grabbing the wheel again. “I’m going to have you handcuffed and thrown into the hold.”

  She laughed again, but stopped when she saw that Mosley wasn’t laughing, too.

  “Wait,” she said. “You’re serious?”

  “Don’t worry.” He winked. “I’m sure you’ll find a way out.”

  Epilogue

  There was something about the darkness of the sea that set Carlito’s mind at ease.

  He couldn’t quite put his finger on why. At night, the world was a pitch black realm of the unknown. The water could be heard—sometimes even felt, as it splashed in waves around and against the ship—but not seen. The cold, salty water would mist towards a man standing too close to the edge of the ship and touch the skin like a phantom hand. It was a welcome touch if the sun was out, but in the cool, night breeze, the faint mist felt like the clutch of death.

  The sales flapped, and the rope that held them creaked under the stress. However, both were as invisible as the wind they caught. The darkness consumed all, with only the stars above piercing tiny holes in the blanket of black. Aye, without a lantern, an unfamiliar man would stumble into every mast, pulley, bucket, and guardrail across the entire ship. All the while, the vessel was prone to lurch suddenly at an unexpected volley of waves.

  Yes, there was something about the night that brought a definite quietness to Carlito’s mind.

  He knew this ship well enough that he never tripped once. Despite being a crewmember on The Greedy Barnacle for less than a year, he’d been a sailor as long as he could remember. He patted the ropes as he ducked under or over them, ran his hands along the invisible guardrails, and only once stopped to slide a mop bucket out of his path. When the cool mist splashed over the side and upon his face, he embraced the icy feeling, for it was as close to mortality as he’d ever get. He felt dangerous at night because he had an advantage. Being immortal was grand, and he loved it, but to stalk and kill unseen, to remain undetected, that was something else entirely.

  So, as he stalked closer to the pirate on watch, the only other pirate awake at this hour of the night, he did so quietly. What was his name? Started with an ‘L,’ he could have sworn. Ah yes, Lonzo! That sounded right. He should have known that for Carlito had handpicked Lonzo for second watch.

  There were few things Carlito prided himself on more than being a good judge of character, and Lonzo seemed like a man who didn’t hold strong bonds with anyone. He’d come aboard the ship alone, and that was exactly what Carlito wanted. Now, a mere ten paces away from the man, Carlito pondered how easy it would be to stalk a little closer and slit his throat.

  “Ahoy there, Lonzo!”

  The first mate’s voice rose out on the wind, and Lonzo jumped in shock. Carlito smiled in the dark, knowing he’d done well to get this close.

  “Who’s there?” Lonzo called, and then turned himself and his lantern to shine its yellow light in the direction of the voice.

  Carlito stood still and let the illumination fall upon his grinning face. Lonzo, upon seeing this, sighed in relief and relaxed.

  “Oy there, sir,” he said.

  “Bah! Don’t call me that.” Carlito spat and walked up to stand next to Lonzo. “I already got a name, and I like it just fine.”

  “Aye, Carlito it is.” Lonzo smiled, enjoying the familiarity he was being granted.

  Carlito leaned against the guard rail on the back of the ship, while Lonzo tied his lantern back up, securing it so there was no chance it would fall and start a deadly fire, and mimicked the first mate.

  “Quiet night so far, sir—eh, Carlito,” he said. “What brings you out here?”

  “I like the night, old man. Not much more to say. Were it my choice, I’d sleep all day and sail in the night.”

  Carlito leaned out over the rail and let the cool breeze push into his face. Lonzo grinned, revealing rotten teeth.

  “You would, eh? Damn dangerous, that is. Isn’t it?” Lonzo noted. “How would you see where you’re going?”

  “I wouldn’t do it close to shore, you numbskull!” Carlito growled out the words and then sighed. “But out here? On the open waters? Now then, that’s a real sailor’s joy. The sun’s a good indication of direction, but the stars, mate, the stars tell you where you are. That’s the real power of the ocean, old man, let me tell you.”

  Lonzo nodded, seeing the logic in what Carlito was saying. They remained quiet for a moment, letting the ship crash against the waves to send sprays of salty water into the air.

  “Let me ask you something, Lonzo,” Carlito said.

  “What be it?”

  “Did you ever think to ask the Captain what happened to the last crew?”

  Lonzo’s eyes popped open in the dark. He did not hide his surprise well, at least not well enough from Carlito, and he turned his head away from the darkness to look sidelong at the first mate. Carlito, however, was keeping his head pointed straight out into the black with a placid look masking his motives.

  “No,” Lonzo finally said with lingering hesitation, “I didn’t.”

  “Well then. Would you want to know?”

  Lonzo paused for a moment in thought. He’d figured out, rightly so, that there was a reason the Captain hadn’t told him why a whole new crew was needed. Lonzo also figured that there was a reason Carlito was offering to tell him now. He was about to become privy to secret information, and that would then require him to make a decision on it.

  “Alright.” Lonzo nodded slowly. “What happened to the old crew?”

  Carlito paused before answering. He let the waves crash into the ship once more and felt the mist rise up to touch his skin. Lonzo had now turned his full body to face Carlito, yet still the first mate leaned casually against the guardrail. Finally, Carlito turned his head away from the sea to look directly into Lonzo’s eyes.

  “They died,” Carlito whispered.

  Lonzo’s hard eyes went soft. His lips parted, and he blinked. Carlito stared back motionless. Lonzo took in what Carlito was saying, and Carlito let what
he had said sink in. Neither man looked away in the silence that passed.

  After several more waves had crashed against the ship, Lonzo told Carlito what he wanted to hear.

  “Alright,” Lonzo said. “I’m listening.”

  World of Myth IV

  Journey to Savara

  Prologue

  The cool, salted air swept over Takeo Karaoshi as he stood aboard the mighty ship of his lord. The crashing waves sent forth a mist that whipped about him in the wind, and he embraced it with calm satisfaction. Under the naked sun of midday, such assaults were welcomed guests upon his skin. The ship seemed to appreciate it as well, and Takeo watched the sails fill to the brim.

  The extra thrust pounded the vessel forwards, propelling it with a sudden eagerness not fully experienced since they’d departed from Lucifan. Takeo knew full well the reason for this sudden change of fortune, too. They were nearing Savara, the land of deserts, ancient kings, and lawless people. Similar to the Great Plains, the wind was strong here, if not stronger. The journey had taken nearly half a year up to this point, but Savara was a necessary stop on their way home, east, to Juatwa. Any day now, they would reach the grand desert, restock supplies, and then finish the journey by heading south around Savara and coming up on the southern end of Juatwa—the place that Takeo called home. They would make port in one of the cities favorable to his lord, Ichiro Katsu, and then reunite with his lord’s armies before continuing their conquest.

  But for now, Takeo only considered the present day, and there was much to enjoy.

  He had on his kimono, for one, a pleasant feeling all its own. The robes wrapped around him comfortably, always tucked left over right across his front. This was so even in Lucifan where he had received constant, confused looks from the natives, perhaps because only the women wore such clothing, often called ‘dresses’ or ‘gowns,’ and Takeo wondered why the men should be so stubborn as not to partake in such comfort.

  Then again, perhaps he received looks because he hadn’t been wearing his armor. Takeo had to admit that the kimono didn’t offer much protection for one of the warrior class, but if he had known that he would see such a sheer volume of combat in Lucifan, he would have brought his lamellar armor from home. He also would have brought some proper footwear rather than the formal geta.

  He narrowed his eyes to protect them from a sudden gust of wind, strong enough to make his body sway back, and he briefly considered undoing his hair from its queue. That thought, though, was instantly dashed. As nice as it would likely feel to unleash his lengthy hair into the wind, it would be considered most barbaric out in the open like this amongst his lord’s crew. He touched a hand to his hairless chin and then reached down to his waist.

  Like any samurai who dared carry such a title, Takeo was always armed with a traditional katana, and he rested his palm on it now for comfort. His older brother, Okamoto, had said it was their father’s sword. Takeo had never known his father, knew nothing of his father, and only acknowledged his existence because Takeo did not believe himself to be immaculately conceived. Takeo had not known his mother either. He’d been raised solely by Okamoto, and it was his brother who’d once wielded the curved sword of the Karaoshi Family. Okamoto had died just one year prior, and Takeo was now, to his knowledge, the last remaining Karaoshi.

  This thought and that of his brother’s death seeped into his mind and darkened his previously content mood. He felt the anger surge within and closed his eyes to calm it. His heart told him there was nothing wrong with the pain he felt—the loss of his one and only family should hurt him deeply—but his mind reminded him that his status did not allow for such sorrow.

  He had honor to maintain, duty to uphold, and destiny to fulfill.

  He was a samurai.

  Takeo opened his eyes and breathed deeply. His fury drowned in the cold serenity of inner peace, and his eyes fell upon another samurai walking towards him. That samurai was older by at least a decade and heavyset for a warrior. His confidence preceded him, shadowing his greying yet well-groomed goatee and causing those he walked by to stand a bit straighter.

  “Good day, Renshu,” Takeo called out.

  Renshu closed the distance, and the two faced each other, put their hands to their sides, and then bowed. It was a shallow one, barely a bend at the waist, but they were in sight of Katsu’s other samurai and servants. There were certain formalities, even amongst rivals, that needed to be observed.

  After they both stood erect once more, Renshu said, “Our lord wishes to have a word with us in his private quarters.”

  Renshu’s family name was Miyazi. The family had a plethora of members, and their name stretched back to ancient times. There were songs of old that sung of the Miyazi, and this, combined with Renshu’s age, entitled him to more respect than Takeo felt he’d earned. The man preferred to fight in the heaviest armor, used fierce war cries, and did not shy away from using unarmed strikes in the midst of combat, even while dueling.

  There were times that Takeo thought Renshu was specifically bred to be his opposite.

  “Both of us?” Takeo asked. “Katsu has not spoken to me for months. And since when did you become his messenger boy?”

  Renshu smirked at the insult but otherwise didn’t appear disturbed. That was a rare thing for a man who’d built his reputation on aggressive vindication. Takeo tensed.

  “Shall I tell our lord you do not wish to speak to him?” Renshu responded.

  “Of course not.” Takeo bowed his head. “I shall see him immediately.”

  “Excellent,” Renshu stepped to the side and gestured with his arm. “Lead the way.”

  Beyond the insult that they should not walk together as equals, Takeo was apprehensive at having Renshu behind him, unseen. He hesitated and let his palm tighten around the pommel of his katana. Renshu saw the move and looked into Takeo’s eyes. They stayed like that for a moment before Takeo released his grip.

  “Very well,” he said and walked forward.

  Renshu followed, and they spoke no more as they traversed the ship. Their wooden geta clipped and clopped across the deck, sending servants and other crewmen scattering to get out of their way. Those that did not hurry fast enough gave a deep bow of apology as they moved aside. Takeo gave a slight nod of his head in their direction to accept the apologies. Renshu ignored them.

  The two crossed the mighty vessel from bow to stern. There, the shogun and his wife spent most of their time. Their room was large, lavish, and on any other day Takeo would have been honored to be welcomed inside of it. It was an area reserved for the privileged of the privileged and for those few servants who’d earned the trust required to wait upon them. Not even the superior rank of the samurai class was enough to enter a shogun’s presence without permission.

  Not even when the shogun was your lord.

  So, when this request was sent, Takeo’s chest should have swelled with pride. Okamoto had been close to Katsu for many years and never missed a chance to speak to the shogun personally. In fact, one of Takeo’s first memories as a young child was that of his older brother kneeling and pledging his sword to Katsu. Takeo had been instructed to kneel and pledge, as well, but it was Okamoto’s reputation and skill with the sword that Katsu had noticed at the time. Over many years, Okamoto spent tireless hours working to not only endear himself to Katsu but also to teach his younger brother the way of the warrior. With this, he’d been successful. Takeo, bred from the same stock as his brother, had the same natural affinity for the blade and began to best all, even his own brother, in combat.

  Meanwhile, Okamoto rose within Katsu’s army, building renown with every village and daimyo conquered. His biggest, and last, promotion had been one year ago—a mission to sail a single ship to Lucifan as Katsu’s ambassador where he would meet and assist the lord’s new wife, Heliena, a young amazon woman of striking beauty.

  Takeo had remained at his brother’s side until that journey, and if he’d known that Okamoto was going to die, he would have
followed his brother across the sea.

  So, after years of fighting for and losing his brother in service to Katsu, this invitation should have been a sign of recognition, acknowledgement, and perhaps even appreciation. It should have been the prelude to honor being showered upon the Karaoshi name. This should be a samurai’s dream.

  However, Takeo felt none of these things, and he knew exactly why.

  As the two approached their lord’s quarters, the servant standing outside the door bowed low and opened it. Takeo, still in the lead, entered first with Renshu less than a pace behind him. The servant stood only once both samurai were inside and the door was closed behind them.

  “Peasants,” Renshu muttered to himself.

  Takeo remained silent. He disagreed with Renshu, but he chose not to voice the opinion now. He was instead focusing his efforts on examining the room.

  Takeo had never been inside Katsu’s quarters, not once in the entire time he’d spent on this ship. Still, despite that, very little of what he saw surprised him. As any average person from Juatwa would expect, the interior of the shogun’s room was lavish in design. There were colorful paintings mounted on the walls, mostly of either Katsu’s manor or his esteemed family members. Where the paintings did not suffice, tapestries woven with ancient legends and warriors of old hung from golden rods or were laid out upon the floor. Great chests, locked and secured with heavy metal straps, were situated along the outer rim of the room, both out of the way and easily within view of the large bed in the center. The bed itself had blue and white curtains that hung from the ceiling and draped around its entirety. To the right of the bed was a massive dresser stocked with elegant kimonos for both Katsu and his wife. To the left of the bed was a single table with scrolls carefully arranged atop it.