Karadra's Shipwreck

The Ship - Chapter 14

They got dressed and tidied up the room they’d shared. Daylight was now flooding in, and the sun had climbed up high on the endless blue. Together, they stepped out on the deck. A table had been set, and everyone sat around it, eating in the fresh air. The captain and his wife had helped themselves to grapes, cheese and honey, and next to them, the Sarkanta guided large pieces of pork into wide-open jaws with rows of iron teeth.

Maestra and Arsik approached the table, the latter like a hungry shark. His respectful nod to the captain earned him a gesture towards an unoccupied chair. Maestra leaned over Karadra, who seemed exhausted – she hadn’t slept all night. A big chunk of her black hair had fallen off, exposing an ugly gap of skin on her skull. Embarrassed, she was trying to hide it with her fingers.

“It’s nothing,” Maestra assured her smiling as she embraced her warmly.

“What is going on, Maestra?” the captain asked, glancing between her and Arsik. Maestra sat down and started eating as if she were starving.

“Everything is well, Sentrik. I was speaking with Arsik. Informing him about our mission. Just an introduction to it, I mean.”

Maestra hesitated. Arsik stopped himself from saying anything; he had spent enough time on ships to know his place. Amongst a crew, you earned what you earned, when you earned it. There were no shortcuts, no quick routes. You didn’t try to earn anyone’s trust or favor, especially the captain’s. Captains knew how to read and handle people, and Arsik avoided this pitfall.

The captain peered at him. “You think you’ve got what it takes, lad?”

Arsik didn’t answer. He simply looked deep into the captain’s eyes and waited. The anger tickled the spot over his nose as he heard the monster’s chewing next to him, making him blink.

“You seem weak.” The captain turned to Maestra and then to Karadra. “Then again, no one on this ship is what they seem, are they?”

Silence descended again. Maestra pecked at her food; Karadra had pushed her plate aside like a pregnant woman nauseated by the thought of a meal. Arsik looked at the sunbaked, weaseled face of the captain. He was carrying more than one burden himself.

“I am a quick learner,” Arsik said simply, and nibbled at a piece of cheese and honey with his right hand, while hiding his mutilated hand between his legs.

The captain nodded. “I hope so, for your sake, lad. The lass here risked a lot to keep you on this ship. To be honest, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea, but… I trust her on such things.”

Maestra smiled graciously at him. Her hand touched his shoulder, and Arsik felt a sting of jealousy.

Arsik turned around a bit more abruptly. “Maestra told me a few things. I would like to know the rest, otherwise I won’t be able to help you.”

Maestra’s smile evaporated at those words. The Sarkanta choked back a laugh which sounded a lot like contempt. Not about to let it pass, Arsik glared at him. Arthax paused his chewing to return the look with eyes like amber.

“Did you choke on your food, Arthax?” he asked caustically as the vein meandered like a river on his forehead.

Arthax stood up, his towering shadow swallowing Arsik. “I don’t choke on bones, human,” he said and left a big chunk of meat drop on his plate, shattering the morning’s peace. Karadra startled and Arsik regretted it at once. Maestra glowered at him disapprovingly.

Arthax departed without another word, leaving behind him a long belch.

Tenderly, the captain rested his hands on Karadra’s shoulders. “Let’s go downstairs,” he suggested gently, and she nodded. Everyone stood up. “Sit down and have your meal, Arsik,” he said. “And come find me here tonight. We’ll sit and chat, just the two of us. You will learn all that you wish to know.” Arsik nodded. “You too, Maestra,” the captain went on. “Soon, we’ll be traveling on dark waters, and I need you rested. No trouble.”

The last part was spoken in a softer tone. Maestra swallowed uncomfortably and nodded.

The pair departed. Maestra piled a few pieces of fruit on a plate, swept past Arsik without touching him and disappeared, leaving him alone at the table.

He sat on his own and enjoyed his meal.

***

He rested till the afternoon to regain his strength, then rose and washed up in a barrel in a dark corner of the deck. A brush found on his nightstand helped him remove the crust of filth and tribulations, whole layers of it, that had long ago taken residence on his body and hadn’t bothered him until now.

A wind had come down from the North, not too worrisome, but the waters around them were black and strange, heavily burdened by history. Arsik didn’t feel safe. From the beginning of this journey, even during sleep, adrenaline coursed through his veins. His body felt fully active; no way to change that now. Even while resting, his heart beat fast and strong. Maestra was in his mind, weaving her web from corner to corner, deftly and languidly.

When he got dressed, Arsik went to the steering wheel. He admired it, trailing his hands over the wood. It didn’t move unless it wished so itself. An invisible power guided it, just as Arsik had suspected.

He saw Arthax nearby. In the dusk, the dragon’s shadow slunk on the deck like the shadow of a red cloud against the wind. When Arsik approached him, the Sarkanta’s eyes held the same contempt as before.

“Hello,” Arsik said, without receiving a response. The creature kept staring out at the sea. “Nice sword,” he went on awkwardly as he studied the impressive weapon. The blade widened in the middle and curved smoothly near the edge. Three runes decorated the leather-wrapped handle under the bolster. Arsik raised his brows, impressed.

“Have you ever been where we’re going?” he asked. “Do you think that huge sword will do you any good?” The creature ignored him. “Big weapons are fine, no argument there, but they don’t always win a battle, you know.”

Arsik sounded like a spoilt teenage brat. Arthax turned to him, vexed.

“I fought a knight the day before yesterday,” Arsik informed him. “A mountain of metal, with a huge sword and a big shield, but-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. “You will die first,” the Sarkanta said.

Arsik startled. Arthax turned his head away slowly. “Why are you saying that? Do you know where we’re going? What exactly do you know?”

“Wherever it is we’re going, you will die first,” the Sarkanta repeated and walked away.

Arsik let him go. Bitterly aware that he wasn’t the best version of himself at the moment, he resorted to the table and the leftovers from that morning’s meal. There was rum in the captain’s cup, up to the middle, and Karadra’s cup was almost untouched.

His tongue traveled between his lips and behind the nearest tooth; a small island surrounded by a sea of saliva. Raising the full cup, he took a generous swig. Rum ran down his throat and onto his tunic shirt like sweat. When he lowered the cup, he saw Karadra across from him.

He stared at her as he held the cup. She stared back, looking tired, as always. A dark purple shawl threaded with gold was wrapped around her shoulders. Such fabric must have come from the East. One couldn’t mistake Elven embroidery for anything else; Arsik had seen such needlework many times on Exotia’s merchant ships, but the colors bespoke of a different origin. He concluded the shawl must belong to Maestra.

Another chunk of the woman’s hair had fallen off. Her head now looked like a forest with little clearings.

Neither of them spoke, but Arsik experienced the itch on his skull again. He tried to scratch it but couldn’t reach the spot. Leaving the cup on the table, he tried again with his good hand.

When he failed, he noticed that the itch had retreated, along with his thirst for rum. What oddity is this now, he thought as Karadra smiled at him. After a few moments, she left, and the captain replaced her on the deck.

When Arsik went to him nervously, Sentrik greeted him and led him to the steering wheel. They sat on a bench under the night sky and the moonlight that revealed dry, black rocks shooting up over the waves. Arsik was trying –and failing– to gather his bearings, but there were no stars anymore, only the moon; he couldn’t see anything. Even the emerald-green light of the Pantheon star, usually dominating the East, was now only a distant red glow amidst the endless black, unreliable for any kind of navigation.

The captain produced an object wrapped in leather. The small package was tied with red thread. He lay it down in front of them and uncovered it slowly. Arsik bent over it, frowning. A long, curved blade reflected the moonlight; a scimitar, decorated with runes.

“Pick it up,” said the captain, and Arsik obeyed.

Very satisfying it felt as he weighed it – light like the wind but steady, and a perfect fit for his hand. The handle was silver, while the runes on it were black.

“There’s a series of protection spells on it, Arsik. I don’t know the details. Karadra…” Arsik’s eyes snapped to his. The captain spoke slowly. “It’s for you, lad. Does it suit you as a weapon?” Arsik nodded. “Then it’ll serve you well. Us too.”

Arsik opened his mouth to protest. “No, it is yours,” the captain insisted. “Not a word. Now, put it aside and listen to me, lad, because the things I’m about to tell you are very, very important.”

Arsik carefully wrapped the blade in the leather and placed it next to him. He glanced at the door that led below deck. Seeing no one, he focused on the captain again.

“You are a man of the sea, I can see that. That’s good. Means you’ve been tempered by salt.” The captain seemed to measure him with every word, fighting not to be disappointed. “Tell me, Arsik, are you a man of faith as well?”

Arsik faltered. How he hated those tedious questions! More, though, he was bothered by the uncomfortable answers he had to give. Everywhere, someone would eventually ask him something like this and he’d be forced to give an answer befitting the asker so not to upset them.

“No,” he finally replied. “But I’ve seen a lot, so…”

The captain shot him an odd look, gritted his teeth and mumbled something that surely wasn’t good. Great, Arsik thought, another fanatic. He hadn’t expected differently. All islanders were mostly religious. It made sense: they prayed for protection, for their ships, their crews and their families. Sailing was a bet for every seafarer; they always did what they could to win, even if the result depended purely on luck. That didn’t console them – they wanted to have control; it was human nature. So, they made offerings to Theanivar’s temple for a safe journey, they sacrificed animals to the Sentinel or Revedon, God of the Sea.

Most islanders believed in the Ten Gods of the Final Light. That faith began early on in their lives, as it happened with Arsik’s parents too. He didn’t mind. When he traveled, he wanted every person with him to draw strength from somewhere. He didn’t care where, as long as they did.

Arsik could neither tolerate nor forgive weakness. He never managed to like a weak person, not even his friend Talos, who died like a spineless sea creature out of the water.

“Damn you, Arsik,” the captain growled. “You must have faith, if not in the Gods, at least in something else. I don’t care, but you must squeeze what I have to say inside your ugly head, and if you question me, I swear I’ll toss you overboard to feed the fish, you understand me? Test me to see if I’m speaking the truth!”

The captain’s words pounded in his ears like a hammer. No room for wiggling out of this conversation; it was a straight line and Arsik had to walk on it unwaveringly. Regardless who the ship belonged to; the captain was in charge. Arsik believed that wholeheartedly, and it wasn’t his place to upset the man.

He nodded slowly and tried to listen to him attentively.

The captain stood up. “By the siren’s cries and all the demons!” he swore and went to bring drinks from the table. Seeing the almost empty cups, he roared like a barbarian. “Wife! Rum, godsdamn it!”

Arsik couldn’t believe what he heard and, a moment later, he couldn’t believe what he saw either. A sealed bottle soared through the air, straight from the hold to the deck, and flew weightlessly towards the captain’s hand. He snatched it, bit down on the cork and spat it on the floor.

Filled with awe in the face of this most beautiful thing, Arsik saluted the captain. “Marry her, captain, if you haven’t already,” he said and they both laughed.

“Laugh while you still can, lad; soon enough, you won’t be in the mood for it. Now, drink, before I cut off the rest of your fingers.”

Arsik hid his hand. When did he see them? “Aye, aye, captain.”

They clinked their cups in a toast and drank.

“Now. You’ll listen to me without interrupting, so I can explain what we’ve set out to do. What we’re looking for… You must first learn where it came from and to do that, I need to teach you a bit of history. If you had faith, you would’ve studied the scriptures and saved me a whole lot of trouble, but judging from that face of yours, the only thing you’ve read in your life is bottle labels.”

Arsik had started to become dangerously fond of the captain. Sentrik didn’t mince words, his intentions streaming out of him clear and straightforward. Arsik appreciated a man who didn’t hold anything back, even one as religious and set in his ways like the captain.

“Damn you, Arsik, drink, listen and shut the hell up.”

The captain gazed out over the waves, listening to the wild night. He took a deep breath and let his body relax, in a moment of reprieve and silence in between the gusts of wind.