by Elina Vale
The whistle of a tune.
She squeezed her hand around the pole when she realized she recognized the melody. It was the song her father used to sing to her, and the one she had heard in the Gate Run...
The Song of a Mermaid.
“Please, come to me, bold man of the sea...”
The person whistling it wasn’t very good, but the song was definitely the same.
Shri descended the stairs, squinting her eyes against the darkness. She was in the ship’s dungeons. There were three cages with iron bars and two of them were empty. In one of the cages was a woman who stared back at Shri. She was a decade older than Shri, and her blond hair was cut short. The beads and feathers hanging from her ear looked like they had seen better days. A noticeable scar ran down her face, from her forehead across her left eye and all the way to her jaw. It didn’t make her look ugly; in fact, it made her look wild and frightening. Shri grasped the iron bars of the nearest cage with white knuckles as the ship leaned to one side. She closed her eyes, feeling her stomach lurch again. The waves splashed against the hull of the ship.
The ship is not going to sink. It’s a pirate ship. It can handle the waves.
It straightened, and Shri opened her eyes.
The woman seemed unaffected by the movement of the vessel. She leered at Shri, unmoving. She had stopped whistling and now rested her head comfortably against the wall. Her clothes were different from what Shri had seen outside of Ironflare so far. She wore a long, grey, dress-like shirt. On top of it, she had a short, dark gray jacket. She had leather pants and sturdy-looking boots, and her gaze was intense, with a touch of arrogance.
Shri ogled her through the bars and cleared her throat. “So... why are they keeping you here?”
“Because I disobeyed.” The woman’s voice was dark and raspy.
“What did you do?”
She lifted her eyebrow. “I refused to kill someone.”
“You went to jail... for not killing someone?”
“They can make me a pirate, but they can’t turn me into a widow-killer.”
Silence fell between them and continued for a while. Shri tilted her head, observing her companion. The blond woman leaned forward onto her knees, returning Shri’s gaze.
She nodded toward Shri's hands. “You wear a ma’tera bracelet. You are a senatai?”
“Something like that,” Shri said, glancing at the black bracelet. “What was that song you were whistling?”
The woman shrugged. “I can’t recall its name. Some old tune from the Islands. My granny used to sing it to me when I was a wee girl.” She stroked her shoulder with a grimace. It appeared to be at an odd position. The joint was dislocated. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Nothing. They’ll fix it when we’re home.”
“You know if it doesn’t get fixed in time, it will be harder to get in its proper place. It will hurt, and it might never function properly.”
“How would you know? What does a landbound baby-senatai know about medicine?”
Shri ignored her provocation. “Earlier in life, I was a healer’s apprentice.” The memory of Rilda’s starved face flashed into her mind, but she shook it off. “I have fixed those kinds of injuries. I could twist it back into place if you wish me to.”
The woman burst into laughter. “Don’t you see where I am? Why would you heal the wounds of a prisoner?”
“I’m also a captive,” Shri returned, holding the bracelet. “But I can still fix your arm, even without magic.”
She studied Shri for a while before nodding. “Alright, fix it. It’ll serve them right.”
Shri asked the woman to lay on the floor and place her injured arm between the bars, instructing her to lean her side against the cell and hold on. Some counterforce would be necessary when she started pulling. Once the woman was prepared, Shri took a firm grip on her arm.
“This will hurt,” she warned.
“Just do it."
Shri placed her left foot on the woman’s side and started pulling gradually but firmly. The woman suffocated her cries as the dislocated shoulder moved inside her flesh. Soon, Shri felt a small pop as the shoulder slipped back into place.
“Thank you baby-senatai,” the woman bid, rubbing her sore shoulder with her opposite hand.
“My name is Shri.”
“Mine is Roxana.”
Heavy footsteps echoed from the stairs. Soon, the boots of a man appeared, followed by the rest of his familiar form. It was the fair-haired man from the alley, one of the Mairas who had kidnapped Shri. He looked at both of them with an unfriendly gaze.
“You, senatai,” he said to Shri. “Your presence is required on deck.”
“Who are you, anyway?” she returned.
“You don’t need to know.”
“Fine,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll call you Feather-ear.”
Roxana made a snorting laugh, and the man pushed his face closer to Shri’s. His eyes were angry. “I’m Jogen. Jogen Bloodrock.”
“Wow.” Shri was impressed. “That’s some name.”
“I earned it by slaying twenty-one men in a single battle. I stood on a rock, and as I swung my axe, the rock changed color.” He grabbed Shri’s arm and herded her toward the stairs. “Let’s go.”
Shri glanced back at Roxana. “It was nice to meet you. Come see me if they ever let you out of here.”
Roxana lay on her back on the floor, one leg tossed over her knee. “Don’t worry about me. Now that you’ve healed my shoulder, I’m fine.”
Jogen roughly escorted Shri to the stairs. They climbed to the middle deck before Shri stopped and turned to examine her captor.
“Why have you brought me here?” she asked. “I have no interest in you Mairas.”
“Quiet.” He squeezed Shri by the arm and tugged her along.
She jerked out of his grip. “Don’t pull me!”
Jogen let out a laugh. “You are our property, now, girl. We will handle you the way we want to.” He grabbed Shri’s wrist again and looked at the ma’tera-bracelet. “Roxana said you healed her. How?”
“Not everything requires magic,” Shri said. “A relocated shoulder doesn’t.” Again, she pulled away. “Neither does a dagger in someone’s back.”
“That’s true.” Pulling his own blade out from his belt, Jogen hurled Shri against the wall and pressed the point under her chin. “You’d do well to remember it.”
She felt a shiver down her spine. The stories she had heard about the Mairas, rogues, told that they were the fiercest of the pirates, murdering whoever they wanted without thinking twice. Provoking them would be a bad idea. Jogen pulled her away from the wall and shoved her forward. She stumbled up the stairs.
When she stepped outside, a burst of wind caught her hair, sending it into a wild dance around her face. Her heart jumped into her throat. The gray, untamed sea welled underneath the ship like a living creature. The waves were much bigger than they had been when she traveled from Glasswater to Senatai Island. Threatening clouds hung overhead like a dark blanket. The sea was enormous, and the waves were sharp and angry, as were the cold bursts of wind. This was the open ocean. The Salty Sea. Memories of all the stories she had heard from her father since she was little came into her mind: waters so deep that the Spike could fit underneath; primitive, monstrous creatures living within; horrific storms which could break a ship. She hadn’t believed all those stories when she heard them, but now, looking at the turbulent sea, they didn’t seem so unlikely.
Shri saw Aigon on the deck, but he was focused on his other men. Jogen grabbed her by her sleeve and hauled her to the center of the deck.
“I can walk,” Shri insisted, twisting out of his grip.
A bucket of water with some cloths and brushes awaited her.
“Start scrubbing,” Jogen ordered.
Not what she expected. She wound her arms around herself when the brisk wind caused her to shiver.
Jogen leaned closer. “You’re cold?”
“Yes
, I am.”
“Then start scrubbing. It’ll keep you warm, little senatai.”
He shoved Shri down on her knees and left.
The days passed, and Shri got used to the ship's schedule. She was a slave, but she was not forced to sleep in the dungeons. Uncertain of her role, she decided that she was something between a prisoner and a trainee. Jogen had been set as her personal guard, which came down to a lot of pushing and jabbing. He even hit her in the face a couple of times. Shri started wondering if it was all a test. Maybe the Mairas were assessing her to see if she was strong enough to endure their lifestyle. Of course, she was strong. She knew it. Oh, they had no idea what she could endure. She was from the Pit, after all. She had become the only woman to ever survive the Gate Run. She had killed the High Master of the Spike. She couldn’t help but wonder what new talents she could learn from the Mairas. Still, if the ship took her farther away from her mission, if she remained a prisoner indefinitely... all would be lost. All those who needed her would be gone. Was there some chance that Eavan had been correct? Could her capture be fated? She might, after all, be on the right path. Maybe it was the universe directing her. Maybe the Gods themselves.
She had never believed in any god. She knew people in the Pit who adhered to religious rituals, but they were few and nothing regular. They prayed for a goddess of land, called Mother, to provide them with freedom. Clearly, when no hope had been granted to them by any holy force, the custom had slowly died in the Pit. But there were other traditions. Shri had seen temples in Glasswater, but she had no clue what gods were worshiped within. The ruins on Senatai Island had a mystical presence. So far, she had been too caught in her own tasks and problems to study these concepts. But now, when she was at the mercy of the sea, she started to think about the gods and goddesses. She had witnessed her shipmates making unfamiliar signals to the sea every morning, almost as though they were greeting it. When a storm hit, it probably wasn’t a bad idea to have a goddess to pray to.
Shri performed the chores assigned to her without complaint. She cleaned the deck until her fingers were sore. She served the meals. She endured the whistles and the groping of the men, and an occasional slap from the older female warriors. She didn’t like it, but they never forced themselves upon her, so she kept her words to herself and did what they asked of her.
She tried to ask about their culture and their magic, but she was repeatedly told that their secrets were not to be shared with outsiders. There were other senatai on board, including an old man called Mahox, who seemed to be their leader. Shri was having trouble arranging a meeting with him.
After a week of sailing, they came across another ship. Shri caught a glimpse of it on the horizon, but the Mairas quickly locked her in her cabin, so she had no idea what happened next. She heard some screaming and rumbling, but in a remarkably short time it was over, and the ship lurched onward again. When Shri asked what had happened, she wasn’t answered. But several new barrels had emerged in the hold, so she understood.
Pirates.
Robbers.
Shri fingered the ma’tera-bracelet around her wrist. She hadn’t seen any magic used on the ship at all. For all she knew, they had been lying about having senatai on their island. If it was so, her journey was for nothing.
“Shri.”
She glanced up from her sewing.
Jogen nodded his head. “Get up. Follow me.”
She had become used to Jogen’s rudeness, but she didn’t like it.
"Now!" He smacked Shri across her cheek, tossing her head with enough force to leave a sting on her skin. Shri endured the blow without complaint, placed her sewing on the bench, and stood up. Wrapping her brown coat around herself, she followed Jogen to the ship’s prow, where the gorgeous figurehead stood. Shri had admired the figurehead since the first day. As the ship pushed its way through the sea and its dark waves, the statue of a man holding a spear in his hand seemed to declare the Mairas’ might to all who might pass them. At least three times Shri’s size, the colossal statue stared forward, gleaming with bluster and defiance.
She tore her eyes away before her captor slapped her for losing focus. Aigon and Mahox, the old senatai, stood before her like statues against the wind. The sea churned around them, and the wind blew briskly. Aigon simply nodded at her. His gray hair was damp with tiny drops of rain, and his eyes were like iron. Without speaking a word, he left Shri alone with Mahox.
Mahox wore a long, gray, woolen coat; no robes, no amulets, and no clear markings of his status. But Shri could sense that he was a powerful senatai. The feathers, beads, and laces in his long hair and wrinkly ears swung in the wind. Arms stretched forward, he stared at the stormy sea.
The ship made a sudden dip on the waves, and Shri felt her stomach lurch, but she tried to dismiss it. After a week, she still hadn’t gotten used to it.
Mahox glanced at her. His light-blue eyes were haunting and perceptive. Shri felt exposed, like he could look right through her and learned all there was to know. He kept his gaze, and all she could do was allow him to search. Ultimately, he released her, fastening his eyes again to the sea.
“Aigon said you are a senatai,” he noted in a quiet voice.
Shri’s forehead wrinkled. She nodded.
“Let me see what you can do, then. What elements?” He sounded bored.
“I’m not here to perform for you,” Shri said.
He let his arms descend, and the light escaped from his eyes. “Yes, you are. After you have told me your nature talents, I will remove the ma’tera.”
Shri scoffed. “I have all the elements.”
“You have all five elements?”
Glaring back at him, she replied, “All six.”
He frowned. “Your levity is not appreciated.”
“Who says I’m joking?”
“I understand,” he said. “You’re not a fool. But neither am I. You will show me what you can do.”
She held up her wrist. “Go ahead, remove it. I’ll show you nothing.”
Mahox flipped his wrist and the bracelet slid away from Shri’s arm, snapping into his hand and curling into a ball. He slipped it into his pocket. “What talents?”
“No.”
“We shall learn with or without your cooperation.” Mahox extended his arm and a surge of air hit Shri. She stumbled but stayed on her feet.
He sent another surge, and another, pushing Shri harder all the time. Finally, he released a spell powerful enough to knock Shri back onto the boards.
She crawled onto her fours and lifted her eyes to Mahox.
“Defend yourself!” he snarled. “Show me your talents!”
“No,” she whispered.
“You leave me no choice,” Mahox said, lifting Shri into the air.
She struggled to break the invisible ropes, but she stiffened when Mahox moved her over the side of the ship. The wind hurled through her hair, salty splatters moistening her shoes when the waves hit the sides of the ship. The water looked deep and cold. In spite of the chill, sweat covered Shri from head to toe, and she nearly blacked out at the thought of the water closing above her. She knew she was panicking, but any reasonable thought had vanished from her mind.
“Defend!” Mahox shouted from the deck, lowering Shri closer to the waves.
“Stop!” she screamed. “Please, not the water! Not the water!”
“You shall not have a place amongst us! We will leave you to the Sea! The Mother will take you into her cold embrace and blacken your sight forever!”
The waves licked her boots. Her heart raced, blood rushed to her head, and terror paralyzed her body.
The water... The darkness... Suffocation, drowning, monsters, death...
“Defend!” Mahox screamed.
“I can’t!” she wailed.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Don’t you get it?” she cried. “I can’t use my magic!”
“What do you mean?”
Shri opened her eyes and looked at
him across the water. “I don’t know how to draw magic!”
He watched her for a long time, their gazes locked across the turbulent waves.
“Please,” she finally said. “Please, bring me back onto the ship. I-I’m terrified of the water.”
Shri floated back over the ship, and when Mahox released her, she collapsed onto the deck, shaking from cold and terror.
“Can you help me?” Shri asked, stumbling up on unsteady legs. “Can you help me find my Fountain?”
Mahox crossed his arms over his chest. “I can.”
“Will you?”
“Perhaps.”
“How?”
“To begin with, you must learn the rules and the reasons for magic. Once you have mastered the knowledge, we’ll teach you how to arrange the streams, and ultimately, how to pull from them.”
“I’ve done it before. Accidentally. I just... I can’t do it anymore. But I’ve already studied on Senatai Island.”
“Pfft,” Mahox huffed. “Children. They know so little but act so pompously.” He faced the sea. “What do you see there?”
Shri followed his dark gaze. The weather wasn’t nice; gloomy clouds covered the sky, and the dark sea rumbled beneath. Cold rain started to drizzle onto her face. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and massaged her shoulders. “Water. I see water, sky, and clouds.”
Speaking with a more mellow voice, Mahox said, “I see the elements. I see the element of air moving around, dancing its graceful dance around the world and through the sky. I see the water, a life force which can be soft as a pillow but stubborn as rock.”
“I suppose I see that too.”
He looked at her. “These two elements are important for all life.”
“Certainly, we’re made of water,” she said. “But air?”
“Air is one of the most versatile elements,” he said.” “It can be used as a hammer, a rope, a shield. Beyond that, air gives us the breath in our lungs, keeps our hearts pumping blood. Air is home to the birds and the insects. It moves the spores from plant to plant, ensuring that our food grows.” He smiled. “You think you know these elements, but can you truly feel them, respect them? How do you work with these things? You have drawn magic before, you said.”
