Thea

The captain had ordered two raiding ships carrying sixty men be sent to scout an island north of the capital. The island had been dominated by the Vivarrians for years. Driada’s crew had ships that were long and narrow and were pushed forward by thirty oarsmen. These ships were ideal for raiding, as they could move swiftly, and were lightweight. The men took turns relieving each other from the labor. Driada was aboard one ship with her Highlander friend Erjon by her side. The captain was not on board their ship, but she could see him on the other one ahead of them. He was tall, with an angular face and dark eyes. His head was shaved, and his beard was well groomed. He was well known in their kingdom as being a stern captain, but one who successfully raided many ships. Though often I wonder if that renown should be given to him or to the crew, Driada thought. Yes, he gives the orders. But we are the ones who do the fighting. Oarsmen unfurled their single sail and the wind pushed them forward toward the sea. Archers were stringing their weapons, and men were readying their spears. A few whispered prayers to the gods. We haven’t even spotted an enemy vessel yet, and already they’re speaking to their gods. Driada fought the urge to roll her eyes. As foolish as they might seem, she knew how important these rituals were to them. Raiding is about more than being physically prepared—it’s about being mentally prepared, too. “I suppose your sword is already sharp enough, Erjon?” Driada asked. He patted the scabbard hanging from his hip. “I’m as ready as ever.” “I hope we come upon a merchant vessel on the way,” Driada said. She secured a brimmed hat onto her head. “It would be nice to bring back some extra wine to camp. Especially with the Highlanders guzzling it all.” “Perhaps we should begin drinking something weaker, so they don’t try to steal it from us,” Erjon suggested with a crooked smile. “Wouldn’t that be nice.” Erjon picked up an oar. “I had better get to work.” She looked at the rowing men. She was relieved from manning the oars that day. “It’s too bad I’m not strong enough to help with that,” she said sarcastically. “I think you’d need to gain a bit more muscle first.” She swatted at him and missed. Driada huffed and moved to the bow of the ship. She looked to the sky. It was cloudy, and the wind blew strong. The sound of the grunting oarsmen filled the air. They sailed past islands that they had all become familiar with throughout their years at sea. She knew who ruled over each island, and who they answered to. And hopefully, they will all pay tribute to the king when the time comes. She noticed movement in the corner of her eye and turned to look at what it was. One of the men was pointing at something in the distance. She followed his line of sight and saw it. Sails. Another crewmate beat her to the triumphant call. “Sails!” The men jeered. Driada felt her spirits lift as well. She narrowed her eyes, eager to see who their opponent would be today. The ship moving toward them was a merchant ship, and by the looks of it, it was a Vivarrian vessel. It had two sails, and oars on both sides. It was long, and deep, which gave them the advantage of speed. With two ships attacking it, the fight would be won swiftly. “I wonder if they spotted us yet.” Alarmed screams emanated over from the merchant ship. “By the sounds of it, they have.” He slammed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. “Ready?” She grinned. “Always.” I may not be as strong as the other crewmembers, but I’m fast. And no one ever expects a girl to come at them with a weapon. Both of their ships approached the merchant vessel. The Iosians lifted spears and launched them, piercing the ship’s side. Archers let their arrows fly. Driada watched them burrow into the chests of merchant men too foolhardy to hide from the onslaught. Once their sister ship was close enough, they threw out a plank and began to board. They rushed onto the deck, cutting past those who stood in their way. As soon as they were close enough, her crew followed suit. Driada was pressed against a crowd of bodies practically vibrating in anticipation. With a signaled cry, they rushed forward and joined the rest of their crew. Once on board, one of the guards on the merchant ship swept at her with a curved dagger. It nicked her arm and she cried out, swinging her sword toward her enemy’s chest. It left a wide gash, and he fell to the deck, his head smashing against the planks. Before she turned to face her next opponent, she looked into the man’s eyes. He was young, around her age, with glistening black curls. He gaped at her, as if he couldn’t possibly imagine why they were here—why an armed woman was here, and why she had killed him. Driada hardened her heart and pushed all feelings of remorse away. Another guard came running at her, from the side, but she moved quickly enough to skirt pas his assault and knock him on the back of the head. He stumbled, recovered rapidly, and lunged at her feet. He cut her near her ankles, and she sprang forward, kicking him in the head. He rolled over, unconscious. It was over quickly. Driada heaved an exhausted breath and wiped the sweat from her face. The merchant ship’s crew had either been subdued or killed entirely. Captain Neleos strode across the deck, surveying what they had accomplished. From the looks of it, the captain was trying to suppress a smug grin. He acts as if it was he who accomplished all this. He forgets that we are the ones who fight for him. Without us he is nothing. “All right, everyone, you know what to do! Collect the spoils and start loading the ship!” Captain Neleos exclaimed. Driada shot off with the rest of her crew and helped haul crates onto their thin ships. It wasn’t long before sweat dripped from her forehead onto her face. She had to be careful not to slip on pools of blood, or trip over a dead or wounded merchant’s body. She glanced at the boy she had rendered unconscious. When I first began raiding, I felt guilty for attacking them. I barely even flinch anymore. She looked away and picked up the next crate. The strain of such close contact fighting was hard on her limbs, however, and she was only able to help lift a few crates of gold and copper. Not exactly as fun as wine, but this will do. After about twenty minutes, the cargo had been successfully carried about their ship. They left the vessel, and the remaining survivors, behind. * * * * Thea of Ios sat by her husband’s deathbed. Blood red drapes hung from the windows of the royal bedchamber. Their oaken bedpost was decorated with carvings of nymphs floating through the water and playing on the shore, near the trees. But even the nymphs would not be able to save him now. King Arkon, who had been so mighty and powerful only days before, now lay pale and ghostly. Water had filled his lungs, killing him. He was with Hidir, the god of death. Despite his recent victory in battle, the gods had not rewarded him. Yet again, they had abandoned Thea when she needed them most. The bedroom was filled with the smell of incense and sweat. The opened window helped little to clear the air. Two priests lingered near the doorway, waiting to attend to the king’s body. Thea wished Arkon would open his eyes, that he would not leave her with the responsibility of tending to the kingdom on her own. But he did not wake. He would never rise again. The realization rocked her like a powerful wave at sea. The next few days would be reserved for mourning, but after that, she would need to assume the mantle of queen, publicly. That would mean she would have to lead her people, the Iosians, and their serfs. She could not show any weakness, even after the loss of her husband. She sat motionlessly on her oaken chair, her hands folded in her lap, and waited for a god to appear so she might bargain for her husband’s life, as the heroes from stories had done. But the gods never appeared. She was alone, with the body of a husband she had never truly loved. She had been his second wife. His first had betrayed him to their enemies. Her name was Helle, and it had been struck from every record in the kingdom. Arkon had hated her deeply for her betrayal. Thea had worked hard to prove to him that she could be trusted. That she was not like his first wife. She had been friends with the king, certainly, but they had never been in love. Thea had known from the start that she could not possibly love the king the way a wife should. But he had remained by her side through their short years of marriage, without any trace of unfaithfulness. He had been a confidante, a shoulder to cry on, someone with whom she could share all of her worries. But now he was gone. She would need to find the courage to lead her people without him. Ios was an unruly land, with two feuding tribes. They were known as the Tolensi and the Ardians. To outsiders, they appeared to have similar customs and religions, but to those who belonged to the groups, they believed they could not be more different. Thea belonged to the ruling clan, the Iosian clan. Their customs were dominant in Ios, but the influence of the other tribes was undeniable. They were a constantly shifting culture, with intermeshing dynamics. Thea was still growing accustomed to their foreign customs and religions. She had no idea how she would continue to maintain peace between them, as her late husband had. Thankfully, though, she had paid close attention to his diplomatic meetings. She had always been listening, even when she wasn’t by his side. The servants knew better than to tell the king that the queen had been listening at the door. And when they were in private together, the king would tell her all about the warring tribes and their demands. Despite having never sat on the throne, Thea felt she possessed enough knowledge of her people to lead them. But despite this confidence, she couldn’t discount the nibbling feeling of doubt and fear in her stomach. There was so much she didn’t know. So much she still had to learn. It was clear from their recent battle that their navy was doing quite well, despite being comprised entirely of pirates. But Thea knew it would not be long before the forces of Vivarre returned to their city. The Vivarrian Empire was known across the world for their wealth and power. They were challenged by few, and those who dared to cross them were usually sentenced to death. Their empire spanned across the entire sea, and Ios was one of the few nations they had failed to capture. Not for lack of trying, however. Vivarre had been sending ships to Iosian waters for nearly three years, and their pirates had always given them a good thrashing. But it was only a matter of time before Vivarre sent in more ships, larger than theirs, that would overpower them in an instant. Until then, however, Thea was determined to put up a fight. Vivarre was known to take complete control of a country once it had established dominance. The language, culture, and religion of whichever country they had colonized would be completely erased from history, replaced instead by the “proper” Vivarrian ways. Both king and queen alike had sworn that they would never let Vivarre take Ios in its clutches. Their sailors had done an excellent job of resisting them, mainly by raiding their ships when they dared approach their waters. She would need to be prepared for an attack. Thea sighed. There was too much to think about, and so much grief. But even a queen did not have the luxury of grieving for long. Decisions needed to be made, and there was no one else to make them but her. She took Arkon’s hand in her own. “I’ll miss you, dear friend,” she whispered. “Please guide me. May the gods meet you favorably in the afterlife.” Once the priests entered the room to tend to the king’s body, Thea was escorted to the great hall for “silent meditation”. Despite their good will, she did not wish to sit alone in the throne room. There were too many specters there, and they all bore Arkon’s face. “Tell Herkuan I wish to speak with him,” she said to one of the servants. He nodded and hurried down the hall. The throne felt too large and empty for Thea. Though Arkon had not sat in it for many days, she still thought she could feel his warmth lingering there. Dying flames flickered on the ashes in the hearth. She longed to hide in the privacy of her room. But I’m the queen of Ios now. I’m no longer simply “the king’s wife.” Thea wandered over to the long banquet table where Arkon had spent recent days writing letters and drafting legislation. On the table sat two loose sheets of parchment that she recognized. They included the details of the Iosian raids on the Nokari. Arkon wrote of how they surprised them at daybreak, and pillaged their resources, bringing home much wine and gold, to the pleasure of their people. “It’s impressive, isn’t it?” She turned around to see Herkuan, one of her councilmen, entering the room. She motioned to the notes. “These?” “Yes.” He approached and leafed through them. “It’s a pity you weren’t there to witness it yourself. He brought great pride to the Iosian people.” “He always has,” Thea said, working hard to keep her voice from shaking. Herkuan nodded silently in reply. I can’t imagine what it was like for him, Thea thought as she watched the councilman read through Arkon’s writings. They had known each other since childhood. My loss may be great, but it is felt by all of us. Especially those that fought by his side in the recent weeks. “Even though he’s dead, it still seems so impossible for him to have died this way,” Herkuan murmured as he wiped his face. She cast her eyes to the floor, to respect his dignity and avoid the sight of his tears. “I know. The gods did us a disservice by taking him this way.” She balled her hands into fists. “It makes no sense for him to have been broken so easily, like a blade damaged by rust.” It didn’t seem possible, and yet only moments before she had held his lifeless body in her arms. “At least we have his account of the battle with the Nokari,” Herkuan said, motioning toward the parchment. “This will certainly be helpful for our records…and for the bards, so they might sing of his glory.” Thea pulled out a chair and took a seat. Herkuan followed suit. “Arkon put so much effort into uniting the tribes of Ios and leading them into battle. Now that responsibility falls upon my shoulders. How will I convince them to pay tribute to me, as the new regent?” Herkuan hummed lowly under his breath and knitted his brow. “I understand your concern, my queen. It won’t be easy to pick up where the king left off in the discussions of peace between the tribes.” He met her eyes with a hesitant smile. “But it won’t be impossible, either. All your council will be here to assist you. Besides, now is not the time to worry about the politics of the realm. There are rituals we must observe…for the sake of the dead.” Thea nodded. “You’re right. We must pray to the gods that they take care of his soul on his way to Irium.” He tapped his fingers against the table rhythmically. “Yes, though best not to speak too much of Irium just yet, especially with our Highlander friends joining us.” “Gods damn the Tolensi,” Thea snapped. “This is my husband’s funeral, and he will be respected in the way of our tribe.” He bowed his head. “As you say, my queen.” She regretted her harsh tone but sensed no resentment from her councilmen. He surely dealt with much worse from Arkon before he died. She groaned and threw back her seat, preferring to stand. “I’m sorry for being curt with you. I’m simply…overwhelmed at the moment. I wonder if it matters which gods we pray to…the gods we know, or their strange new druidic gods. What does it matter when all these deities do is abandon those who need them most?” Herkuan raised his hands hesitantly, palms open, his expression wary. “I know you are grief-stricken, my queen, but we mustn’t blaspheme—” “Since when have you known me to be a pious woman?” Thea shot back. “This is not the first time the gods have abandoned me, and I doubt it is the last. I may want my husband to have a proper burial, but that does not suddenly give me faith in the gods.” She remembered a time before her marriage, when she thought she had lost everything. Her mother had been a renowned singer, who performed all over Ios. Her father was a ship’s captain, serving the king. Their family had close ties with royalty, even after their fall. The gods never told them why they had been abandoned. But it became clear to them that they had fallen out of favor when her father was injured at sea. His leg had been punctured by a javelin. Once the healers inspected him at the temple, it was clear he would not live. He died within a fortnight. As for her mother, she was hounded by rumors of her role in his demise. People accused her of consorting with evil spirits, and from then on, she was called the Siren. In part, because of her husband’s death, and in part because of her haunting voice, that had once sounded so beautiful. However, her mother was not the only one who suffered. Thea had always admired her parents for their strength and resilience, but once they had died, she could only rely on herself. “When my father died from injuries, I knew the god of the sea, Pirei, had forsaken us. I promised I would never allow myself to be weak like that again.” She struck the table with an open hand, and Herkuan flinched. “They have done nothing for me, and I will not stoop to honor them for taking our king from us!” Silence followed her words, broken only by the sound of her heaving breaths. Herkuan was tight-lipped, preferring to direct his gaze away than to meet her rage head on. Thea returned to her seat. “That will be all, Herkuan. Thank you.” “I will not be far,” Herkuan said, in place of a farewell. He moved slowly through the doors, shoulders slumped, most likely intending to drink himself into a stupor. There would be much of that in the coming weeks. As Thea watched him leave through the tall throne room doors, torchlight flickering over them, she could not help but hope Arkon would walk toward her with open arms, returned from battle. But he would not return. She would never see his smile again. She wanted to cry, yell, destroy all the plates and bowls that reminded her of his recent existence in the palace—but she had to remain at least somewhat composed, especially with Herkuan still nearby. If the council saw any such signs of disastrous emotions, they would consider her unfit to rule, and she could not trust any other person to continue Arkon’s work to unify the tribes, and resist colonization from outside forces. Thea foresaw the looks of skepticism that would appear on the faces of her people when they saw a queen sitting on the throne, and not a king. Though it was not unheard of for women to pick up weapons in Ios, it was common knowledge that they were not fit to rule. When had there ever been a skilled female ruler or philosopher in the history of their tribe? And yet, despite the weight of the past, Thea knew that she must retaliate against their enemies harder and swifter than her husband ever had. Thea’s fingers drifted over the pages, admiring his handwriting, and the last words her husband would ever write. Ios had become infamous because of seafaring raids. It had not been an easy reputation to earn, by any means. It had certainly not been an easy task to accomplish, considering the history of warring between their tribes. But Arkon’s great vision for the future of their realm, free from Vivarrian exploitation, had brought them together. He had been able to rouse the people in ways Thea had never thought possible. Now those honeyed words, entrancing the Iosians and Tolensi alike, would never be heard again. I can only hope that somehow, his spirit will speak through me, and I will be able to push them onward. One thing was clear, among the chaos of death and grief: Arkon had chosen Thea as his regent because he knew she could take his place. “And I will,” Thea whispered. “I will not allow our great people to be slain over your loss. We will rise, and we will resist those who seek to bury us.” The Vivarrians were powerful, but they had flaunted their power for too long, threatening the demise of their culture and history. Without the favor of the gods, Thea would need to forge her own path, even if that meant opposing one of the mightiest navies in the world. She would not cower. When she took back power from them, she would not be merciful. * * * * Driada hummed contentedly as she took a bite out of a freshly baked slice of bread. A pitcher of mead sat on the table before her. The bustle of a busy tavern filled her ears. She fell back into her seat and allowed her sore muscles to relax. The other members of her crew clinked their goblets together and drank deeply, as if they had been in the desert for months and not at sea serving their king. They had plenty of tales to tell from their recent voyage. Driada, in fact, had the best one. She had spotted a siren while on the ship. She had earned a bit of a reputation. Some of the other sailors were teasingly calling her “the siren’s lure”. Driada was less than pleased with this. I hope the nickname doesn’t stick, she thought as she took a swig from her glass of mead. Sirens were known as rare and beautiful creatures, but they were also deadly. They drew men out of their ships and into the water, where they would be killed. But the siren Driada saw had not lured her to her death. It had met her eyes before returning to the water. “I still can’t believe it was you that saw her!” Doreius exclaimed, slamming his pitcher onto the table. Driada leaned forward, smiling impishly. “I certainly did. It was a haunting sight.” He scowled. “Aren’t sirens meant to lure men to their death?” She shrugged and leaned back into her seat. “But I’m not a man, now am I?” He rolled his eyes and returned his attention to his drink. Ever since she first stepped onto one of Ios’ ships, she had hoped to spot a siren. She could hardly believe it when one appeared before her at sea, glistening in the light of the sun. The siren’s eyes had been dark. Its song, which was meant to lure men to their death, had unsettled Driada, but did not tempt her. When she had asked the others if they had heard its song, they said they had not. “You will have many stories to bring back to your father now, won’t you?” Dorieus asked. “Oh, yes,” Driada said. “He will be shocked to hear of all the bloodshed on board his ship, though.” In his younger years, her father had been the royal ship builder. He had specialized in building the fast-moving pirate ships. Her father had also carved much smaller things for his own amusement, but they never sold as well as his ships. Doreius lowered his voice. “I heard your father believes each of his ships has a soul.” This was an oft-repeated joke on board their ship. Her father was well known, and rumors of his ravings traveled far. “A few years ago, I thought he was a foolish old man that spent too much time working in his shop,” Driada said. “After spending time on board the ship and helping in the raids, I’m starting to believe him.” Doreius widened his eyes. “Really?” “I don’t speak to the ships as my father does. But I feel like there is a soul there, between the planks.” She smiled and threw up her hands. “Think for a moment of all the times those ships have protected us from arrows. The gods must be watching over us.” He rolled his eyes. “You’ve had too much to drink.” “No, I’m serious!” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I think perhaps he knows something we do not. He used to tell me that the first ship he ever built was blessed by a dryad.” Doreius rolled his eyes. “Ah yes, the familiar tale.” “He said that a dryad turned herself into a tree and allowed him to cut her down so that he could build a ship from her body,” she continued. “And why in Zeir’s name would a dryad favor your father?” he asked. Driada whistled a short melody. “It was his voice. They liked how he would sing to them. And they wanted to give him the gift of their bodies, because they knew how much he revered the royal ships.” Doreius rolled his eyes. “Right, right. And you’re certain he didn’t fabricate that tale?” “Well, I can’t be certain.” She sniffed. “Isn’t that what makes those stories enjoyable? The fact that you can’t know with certainty that they’re true?” A red-haired man wrapped his muscular arm around Doreius’ neck. “As always, Driada is right.” She bowed with flourish. “Erjon rushes to my defense once more.” Doreius groaned and pushed him away. “Let me go!” Erjon laughed and released him from his grip. He took a seat at the table. “Have you heard the news?” “No, what news?” Driada asked. Erjon sighed. “The king is dead.” “What?!” Doreius exclaimed. Driada gaped. She watched as people leaped to their feet, raising their voices. Soon, the room was filled with the sound of distressed chatter. Driada could barely hear herself think over the noise. “When did he die?” she asked softly. “Yesterday.” She frowned. “But we’ve only just returned from battle…” Erjon hummed, a deep, rumbling sound that emanated from his chest. He reached for her hand and cupped it in his own. “The gods are not always merciful. Even the best of men fall.” Driada took a deep, shaky breath. A barmaid strolled by, coins clinking in her coin purse. “Ever since I saw that siren, it’s like the fates have been punishing me.” Erjon pulled back his hand from hers. “The sirens have nothing to do with his death.” “I hope not.” Driada sighed. “I suppose this means we’re to be left without a ruler until one is chosen by the council. I’m not looking forward to the various tribesmen rallying to support their chosen candidate.” He shook his head. “There will be no election.” “Then who will take the throne? One of the king’s advisors?” “No. His wife.” “The queen?” Driada’s brows shot up. Her head was spinning. “Oh my.” The uproar had lulled into a stunned murmur. “Thea, ruler of the Iosian kingdom.” Driada shook her head. “It sounds so strange, doesn’t it? To know that we have a woman taking the throne?” Erjon laughed. “Surely that is not so strange to you! You’re the only woman aboard our ship.” “True.” She smiled. “Maybe now, with her ascension to the throne, there will be more female recruits. I wonder what this new leader will mean for us and our raids?” “I believe queen Thea will likely wish to continue to unite the tribes. King Arkon had been working tirelessly to convince the tribes to set aside their quarrels and fight against our common foe.” Driada ran her hands through her hair. Pressure was building behind her eyes. “I don’t trust the Highlanders. No offense to you, of course,” she added quickly, remembering Erjon’s Highlander heritage. “My father may have been a Highlander, but you know I never adopted any of his customs.” He shrugged. “I may as well be full Iosian.” “I don’t think we should be allowing them to fight with us, to bathe and eat with us when we’ve been at war with them for decades.” Erjon drank deeply from his cup. When he exhaled, it came out as a weary sigh. “We cannot preserve our way of life without their help. I know their ways might seem strange now, but this is a time for friendship, Driada, not more conflict. Not among Iosians.” He motioned to the men sitting apart from the rest, wearing strange golden bracelets and necklaces. “They are willing to fight and die for our kingdom. Shouldn’t that be enough?” Driada stared at the wooden tabletop, letting her silence answer for her. She wished she were at sea again, blade in hand, instead of worrying about alliances and new queens.