《The Illusion of Freedom》


 Chapter 1: Adrift

    "A''ight, switch to sails. Time for boiler maintenance!"


    "You didn''t say it right."


    "Damn you and your sailor talk, you know what I mean. I''m an engineer! Let me do my job, you do yours!"


    By then, the conversation derailed into a fit of insults and colourful cussing. The engineer stood his ground as he lobbed verbal bombs on his opponents, and the sailors ganged up to pepper him with a volley of crude barbs. Keeping well out of the conflict were the small group of scientists who waited for the shouting to cease. Before setting sail on the Steamship Serendipity, these gentlemen had never heard such verbal abuses spoken.


    "Oh thank the heavens!" one of the scientists said, breathing a sigh of relief. The others looked at him with hope and curiosity written across their faces. He nodded to the wheel barometer. "The air pressure has been dropping rapidly."


    "Thank heavens? That means a storm is on its way!" another said in exasperation.


    "Yes, and I''d much rather my ears be filled with the roar of a storm than with the braying of this drove of asses." The one who had just spoken was Baldovo. He was the exception to the rule that the well-educated were refined and proper. However, his mannerisms were tolerated by the rest of the expedition team.


    "Well, shouldn''t someone tell them so that they can prepare?" asked Volente, whose delicate nerves were unsuitable for the voyage. Thus he had come equipped with his smelling salts, cologne-drenched handkerchiefs, and herbal infusions. The very mention of the storm cast a green pallor over the reedy man.


    "And spoil their fun?" Baldovo responded, placing his hands behind his head.


    "We are all in the same ship. It sinks, we sink together," intoned the brassy baritone of Colto, his existence defying the preconception that all scientists were pasty and unfit. Instead, he was broad shouldered, muscular, square-jawed, and swarthy. Rising to the occasion, he bravely interjected himself into the argument. Baldovo applauded his gusto, and Volente held a handkerchief over his face.


    A new explosion erupted after Colto said a few quiet but firm words to the captain. Despite their yelling, the crew worked in unison. They were talented at multitasking, getting their jibes in while keeping their hands busy. Their efforts paid off, for they weathered the intense storm.


    After the winds calmed, the cleaning and maintenance began. One of the men called out and pointed frantically towards something floating in the sea. At first, the sailors dismissed it as debris. However, the man who had spotted it insisted he saw a person. After several men passed the spyglass around, the captain decided to investigate.


    That decision proved fruitful indeed. Someone was pulled from some wreckage, bundled in a waterlogged blanket. It took some time to unravel the unfortunate soul, who, to everyone''s surprise, was a woman. The elements had made their mark, for she was blistered and chapped. After a brief discussion, she was taken to the cabins and stripped of her wet clothes and placed in a warm, clean cot.


    The three scientists sat in a circle in the mess. "We might have competition. It could be another expedition had come before us to observe the phenomena near the Blazing Crescent," Volente offered helpfully.


    "Doubtful," Colto puffed out a ring of smoke from his pipe. "There would have been more debris."


    "I''m afraid I''m inclined to agree." Baldovo relented. "She looked like she was drifting on the remains of a small fishing boat."


    "Could it have been a tender or lifeboat instead?" Volente inquired further.


    Baldovo let out a short bark of a chuckle, then wafted away the smoke from Colto''s pipe. "What does it matter if someone else got here first? They won''t be returning, and therefore we snatch the victory by default." Both Colto and Volente stared at Baldovo, Colto with contempt and Volente with shock. Neither gaze made an impact. "I am sure we will hear the woman''s explanation as soon as she is well. And then we can pick apart her explanation to our satisfaction."


    <hr>


    After the initial novelty had passed, the woman was left to recover, and the SS Serendipity resumed its course. Its purpose was to study the harsh weather conditions around a volcanic archipelago with the express aim of finding a passage through. A pass had been charted generations prior, but after a series of violent eruptions, it was no longer accessible. It was commonly believed that the islands of this archipelago were uninhabited. Beyond this barrier, however, was verdant land with abundant resources. While many tried not to get their hopes up, several were convinced the woman was from beyond the Blazing Crescent.


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    When the aforementioned woman had recovered enough to speak, she said very little. Questions were asked, but her answers were often vague or deflected. Language wasn''t a barrier, although she had an unplaceable accent. Most of the crew called her Red due to the colour of her hair.


    Once Red''s strength had returned, she pitched in as best as she could. She helped with cooking and cleaning, falling in line with the crew''s pecking order with peculiar ease. There were times it seemed to the crew as if she had been there the whole voyage, for she had an art of being present but unnoticed. She was no stranger to hard work, and yet once the shuffling gait of illness wore off, she moved with lady-like grace. She puzzled the crew, particularly the scholars on board.


    The ship''s resources were dwindling, but the scientists were unsatisfied with their finding, constantly arguing over the data they collected. The welfare of the crew was the Captains concern, and thus he declared they were heading back. There was another decision that needed to be made: what to do with Red. Determined to get answers, he summoned her to his quarters. When she arrived, she paid him all the respects due and then waited for him to speak.


    "You have been with us a while, now." Captain Galli folded his gloved hands behind his back. ''Red'' gave no response, but looked at him attentively with her large grey eyes. "We are heading back to Floratti, a port in my homeland of Lomany. Do you know where that is?"


    Silence was the woman''s initial response, but after a blank span, she nodded. Red pointed to the correct location on a map.


    "So you can read?" The woman nodded again. With greater scrutiny, the Captain''s gaze travelled over the bedraggled woman. She was short. Although her shoulders were narrow and sloped, her figure spread out into wide hips and thick, sturdy legs. One might call her stout, if one were to be so impolite. Captain Galli had worried her presence on board would distract his men, but when she wore a cap and the loose work clothes, it was sometimes easy to forget she was a woman. That was until she smiled. She had a warm and feminine demeanour when she did. "While you are on this ship, you are under my protection. But once we reach port, that will end. I need to know more about you so I can direct you when we arrive."


    The woman looked down, her eyelids drooping without fully closing. After thrusting out her weak chin, she looked up again with a focused stare. "What do you need to know?"


    "Where are you from?"


    "Siperon."


    The Captain''s eyes widened before a smile creased his face. "So you are from beyond the Blazing Crescent." Captain Galli seemed pleased. Whether she was Siperian or not had been a heated debate among some of the crew. He stepped closer. "And now, tell me, are you an exile or someone in need of asylum?"


    For a moment the woman''s expression was unreadable. She stared at the Captain. No. Through him, as though an answer lay beyond. After a few prompting gestures from the Captain, she uttered a response. "No."


    "Is there a specific place you are trying to get to?" The woman shook her head again. With a sigh, Captain Galli continued his questions. "Do you have any contacts outside of Siperon?" Another head shake answered his question. "Well, then, what were you doing out at sea?"


    The woman''s eyes darted side to side and lines creased her forehead. "I was fishing on the wrong side of the island. Then the storm came."


    "Is there a right side of the island?"


    "Yes. The side facing the bay," the woman responded in a matter-of-fact tone, offering a cheeky cant of her head. When the Captain squinted at her, she immediately straightened up. "The waters are much calmer on the eastern side."


    "And which island do you speak of?" Captain Galli prodded, now that he was getting more words out of her.


    Uncomfortable, Red fidgeted with the tassel end of her makeshift belt. The Captain crossed his arms and tapped his foot. Seeing this mark of impatience, she looked up again. "I promised I would keep the island a secret."


    "Promised who?"


    "I also promised not to speak of them."


    The captain stroked his beard, mild frustration toiling despite his efforts to be patient. "Alright. What is it you expect to happen when we get to port? Will you want to live in Lomany?"


    The woman ceased fiddling with her belt and instead laced her fingers together and laid them upon her midriff. "I have no expectations, sir." Her face became pensive. "Maybe it is time I be more straight with you. You have been good to me. I will tell you a little about myself." The Captain raised his bushy eyebrows, nodding for her to continue. "My name is Trosyn Nytt. I was born in the slums of Roneon, in the Kingdom of Ayokonia. I belonged to no prominent family, trade, or guild. I fought on the losing side of a revolution. Most of my life I did what I could to survive. But I wanted more. I wanted comfort. This desire has led me to where I am now. I was tangled in things bigger than me. But I am not a danger to you or anyone in Lomany. If I have the option to live a simple life, I will take it gladly. If that can be found in Lomany, I will stay in Lomany. If not, I will move on." Trosyn deflated under her baggy clothing and looked down. "I know I do not belong, but I do not need to belong. I just wish to be."


    It was a while before the captain could form a response. She had been tight-lipped until that point, and suddenly she was sharing more about herself than mere facts. "I see. That is all for now. Good weather permitting, we will reach Floratti in just over two weeks. You are dismissed, Red." Pause. "Unless you would prefer to be called Trosyn or Miss Nytt."


    "Red is fine, sir." Trosyn wasn''t sure whether to bow, curtsy, or salute - and instead did all three. The crows feet at the edge of the captain''s eyes deepened with the grin he wore beneath his beard.

 Chapter 2: Her Story

    "Something does seem different about Red," Volente remarked as he watched Trosyn clean up after some sailors. Colto and Baldovo looked up from the stack of papers in front of them.


    "Where did that come from? We were discussing the weather patterns at--"


    "Yes, yes. I know. But we''ve been arguing all day over how to interpret what information we did gather. The trouble is I think it is premature to form any theories from what little data we currently have. It creates bias." Volente sat back in his chair, his face peevishly scrunched.


    "They will expect us to have something to show when we return," Colto responded.


    "We have readings. But we need more. Surely no one wants half truths and lazy theories?" Volente gestured at the pages of graphs and notes in front of them.


    "Our investors will. We can make a faulty theory then prove it wrong on our next run. No shame in making mistakes as long as you are the one to correct them before someone else can," Baldovo interjected.


    Volente sighed and seemed to slide down in his chair even more. Then he sat back up straight and pinched the bridge of his nose, sliding his spectacles as he did so. "I can''t think clearly with the constant chugging of the engines and rocking of the ship. Can we discuss this during the next boiler maintenance?" Volente lowered his hand, peering at Baldovo. There was Trosyn beside him, picking up some dirty dishes and smiling. Baldovo was smiling back, and perhaps his gaze lingered a bit longer than Volente felt was appropriate. "Baldovo!"


    "What? Oh, sure, never mind! We can discuss it later," Baldovo said hastily. Colto placed his hands down on the papers, looking between Volente and Baldovo. He then handed Trosyn an empty glass.


    "Red. Do you have some time?" Colto asked. She looked up from the tray of dirty dishes, surprised. She was not the only one, as Baldovo and Volente also seemed taken aback.


    "I''m sorry, no." Trosyn turned to leave, but then paused and turned back. "Why?"


    "I have questions. Maybe later?"


    Trosyn hesitated, then nodded. "After I''m done my chores. Meet back here?" Colto leaned back in his chair and inclined his head. The woman smiled, but he did not reciprocate. Instead he got out his pipe. Volente grumbled, turning his chair away from Colto. Not wasting anymore time, Trosyn left.


    "Well, Colto, you surprise me," Baldovo remarked with a wolfish grin.


    Colto lit his pipe. "Why?"


    "Even the sailors are leaving her alone. And here we have our titanic gentleman swooping in." Colto looked up from his pipe, giving it a few quick puffs. He levelled a steely gaze at Baldovo. Volente fanned the smoke away from his face and made a few more plaintive noises. "You really are just going to ask questions, aren''t you?"


    "Yes. And you will be there, too," Colto intoned.


    "What?" Volente protested.


    "Both of you." Colto''s already narrow eyes squinted. "Likely she''ll vanish when we reach port."


    "Ah, yes..." Baldovo remarked. "We best take this opportunity."


    <hr>


    Later in the evening, Trosyn met with the three scientists in the mess. Colto gestured to an empty chair, and Trosyn sat down. She folded her arms and gave each of the men a long stare, ending with a pointed look at Colto. "I''m here. What do you want to know?"


    "Everything." Baldovo said before Colto could respond "But as time is limited, I suppose we can start with what you are running from."


    Volente and Trosyn both looked surprised by this question. Colto leaned back, intrigued. The red-haired woman looked down at the table, then back at Baldovo. "Why do you think I am running?"


    A smug smile spread across Baldovo''s features. He laced his fingers together, resting them upon his chest as he leaned back in his chair. "Because you haven''t tried to go back." This earned an uneasy stare from the rescuee, who eventually looked down. Volente and Colto both learned forward, faces expectant.


    "For once in my life, I am not running," Trosyn said, her voice very low and steady. Baldovo raised his eyebrows as a cue for her to continue. "I have accepted that going back is impossible."


    "But you''re here. Was that impossible?" Colto asked.


    "I was allowed to leave, but I would not be allowed to return," she said quietly, arms tensing.


    Volente leaned forward and frowned. "So you were banished?"


    Trosyn sighed heavily. "No. I was merely discarded." The three men looked at each other. "The storm that blew my fishing boat so far out to sea was not natural."


    Volente waved a hand and sat up straight. "Now see here, miss, how could a storm that large not be natural? There''s no man-made device that can do that, and our records of the brief exchange with your people show them as comparatively primitive - what''s so funny?" Volente cut himself off as first Trosyn let out a dry laugh.


    "Of course man couldn''t change the weather. It was the spirits who invoked the storm."


    The three scientists exchanged incredulous glances. Volente looked intrigued, but Baldovo and Colto were both grim-faced with doubt. "Spirits? Did your people go back to spirit worship?"


    Trosyn leaned forward, unfolding her arms and placing her palms down on the table. She frowned deeply, looking each of the scientists in the eye. "It was your world''s technology which ruined us. No. I don''t blame you..." she held up a hand as she straightened up. "But that was still the consequence of outsiders meddling. The machines and the rapid growth of infrastructure and cities - it all angered the spirits. It was harming them, and we stopped caring. We thought we could win. But they cursed us all with infertility." Colto''s eyebrows shot up, now showing some interest in Trosyn''s story. Baldovo snorted skeptically, but he did not interrupt. "They created the curse. And if they all withered, then they could not lift it. We would perish as a people. So they made themselves necessary to our survival. Fertility festivals and rituals were performed in hopes of their benevolence. And some were granted the relief from that curse, but most children were born with the same blight."


    "So you pray to spirits to have children," Baldovo snorted. "But if everyone does that, then of course you''d believe only the ones who have children would be blessed by the spirits."


    Trosyn shook her head. "There were many who chose not to bow to the spirits. They tried to find a different way to have children instead. None of them succeeded."


    "So your entire people are bred like cattle by invisible forces?" Baldovo could not hide the belittling amusement in his tone.


    "They are not invisible to everyone." Trosyn crossed her arms.


    "Do you see them?"


    "No. But I could feel them."


    Baldovo sighed and looked at the others. "I see..."


    "I don''t think you do. Your world and my world are different. If you want to learn about me, you will have to abandon what you already know." The fiery haired woman rose from her chair. "And until then, I do not think there''s much I can teach you."


    Volente stood abruptly. "Oh, please, stay. That''s just Baldovo''s way," Volente gestured to Baldovo, who shrugged and shook his head.


    "Yes, we are listening," Colto added in his quiet manner.


    Trosyn looked around, and after a moment of hesitation, she sat down again. "What do you really want to know?"


    "Well, I''d be interested in knowing more about you and your history," Volente said, with a rare smile on his face.


    "That''s a long story."


    "That''s fine. How about... we just plunge into the middle, and you can fill in the gaps as they become relevant."


    Trosyn raised her eyebrows at the man. "That''s... an odd way to start. Even in the middle I wouldn''t know where..." she began to say but Volente clapped his hands together, causing her to go quiet.


    "Sorry. Yes. I know. Think of a point where your life really changed."


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    "There were several of those points but... perhaps I will start with my life as a slave."


    The three men looked at each other, eyebrows raised with surprise and interest.


    "You were a slave?" Colto asked.


    "Yes. For a time. I''d say when I was purchased was when my life had gone on a path I could not escape from. The path which led me here."


    "Well, then, let''s hear it," Volente said, shifting in his chair to get more comfortable.


    "Alright."


    Trosyn leaned back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling. Her thoughts collected and the memories coalesced. The reminiscing woman nodded softly, glancing to each of the three men. Colto lit his pipe, and she focused on the tendril of smoke that drifted from it as she began her tale.


    My homeland of Ayokonia had been through a bloody revolution. The lower classes, which I had been born to, rose up against the aristocracy. However, by then I had been living like a society lady despite my humble origins. How that came about can wait, just know that I was employed by a faction I did not feel I belonged with, the Ayokonian Loyalists. But I did not approve of the violent methods of the revolutionaries either, the Kayonn Revolution Army. My heart did not belong to either side of the conflict. The Loyalists lost, and I escaped with a small unit to an island. There we hid for years until we were discovered. My unit split into two groups, one which hid and the others which staged a meagre resistance, but the plan was to surrender. We were tired, you understand. I was tired.


    I had thought we''d be put into prison camps. Instead, we ended up on a slave ship which sailed to newly established colonies. There I was sold. I remember how my heart raced as my mind went over all the possibilities. My life would be entirely at the whims of an enemy. I was trying my best to keep calm, taking deep breaths as a new shackle was placed on my wrist, one which hummed. I could feel power resonating from it. I was told if I disobeyed, I would experience intense pain.


    As I walked along a plank my mind was reeling, and I was grappling with the true severity of my situation. But all that paled when my master was revealed to me. I remember it so clearly, looking up when I heard a slaver say "She''s all yours now." Standing there, holding what looked like a key in his hand, was a face I had not seen in years.


    Benold Ovollar.


    I can see from the looks you are giving me, you wonder who that is, and why I say the name with such feeling. Well. Benold was a pivotal part of my life before and during the conflict. He was once my mentor and guardian. But when the revolution broke out, we became enemies.


    There were too many mixed up and tangled emotions, seeing Benold holding the key to my misery. Although I used to adore and look up to him, he eventually caused me great sorrow. He had associates who disgusted me. I could never reconcile how this polished and proper gentleman could be involved with such depraved people. I always believed he was better than them. I wanted to. But over time I was forced to abandon that belief. And standing there, in his power, terrified me. But also, there was a strong pulse of hope.


    Benold was austere as I remembered him. I could see some frosting at his temples, but he stood with the same self assured poise as he did in my memories. There was a time I could read him, but at that moment I could not. I had spent too much time away; there was no telling how he would have changed.


    Our ride to his estate was silent. When we arrived, Benold told his housekeeper, Mrs. Gray, to prepare me a cot and find me some suitable clothes. I was wearing little more than a thin slip, and Benold insisted I needed to wear something appropriate and functional for work. However, I don''t think the rags I was wearing were the cause of the staring. There were whispers about what sir Benold would want with a slave. At first I thought it was because they were worried about their own jobs. These were paid servants. But later I overheard enough to tell me that he often turned his nose up at slaves, and found their presence distasteful. What this meant for me, I could not fathom at the time. But it nourished that tiny hope I''d been holding on to.


    Mrs. Gray did her best to get me cleaned up and dressed with as little inconvenience to the rest of her staff as possible. I could tell with her frequent sighs and sharp glances that she was not appreciative of this surprise, and I felt under foot. She did not dare leave me unsupervised, and thus she had to spread herself thin in running the household and minding me. I was placed in the kitchen for a time and ate with the scullery maid, who could not stop staring at me.


    "Do they beat you?" I remember her asking me.


    "Sometimes," I responded.


    She looked at me critically and went on to say, "You don''t look beaten." So I told her I had time to heal. Not yet satisfied, she asked me if Sir Benold beat me. By this time I wasn''t sure whether to be amused or exasperated with her constant question and preoccupation with beating. "He hasn''t, yet. Does he beat you?" That flippant response came out before I could think better of it. I was about to apologise, but the maid laughed.


    "No, he don''t even know me name," she said with a large grin, showing her prominent, crooked teeth. "Sometimes I get my ears boxed by Mrs. Gray or Cook. Not sure what you''re doing here. I already work like a slave!"


    I don''t know why this memory has stuck with me, I can hear her accent, the way she spoke clearly as if it had happened moments ago.


    After eating I helped her clean. At first her wary glances told me she did not like my presence. I was a threat to her. But then it dawned on her that I was beneath her, and she seemed to take particular pleasure in ordering me around, as people had always done to her. And I honestly wasn''t bothered by the treatment. The airs she put on in trying to command me were almost comical.


    You are looking a bit glazed at the eyes. Am I boring you? Of course, you want to know more about what sort of master Benold was? Well, I will get on with it then.


    I was summoned to the parlour, where Benold was waiting, sipping a glass of wine. He looked me over critically, keeping his glass close to his face, almost as if he could hide behind it. He wanted to see me, but I got the sense whenever I looked up at him, he did not want to be seen. No, not that he didn''t want to be seen, but he didn''t want to be seen through. And it was something I had always done in the past. Looked past the mask he put on. But now I had so much fear and hope that I could not see him clearly past my own imagination. He looked simultaneously tender and cruel to my eyes.


    "What are you good for?" I remember him asking those precise words. And then he cleared his throat, took a sip, and corrected himself. "Good at." It seemed an odd question, considering he had guided my education. He knew my strengths and weaknesses and I reminded him of such. He just stared down at me and reminded me that it was a long time ago, and things had probably changed.


    I don''t remember everything I listed. I just remember that he seemed to be looking for something, or waiting for something. Whatever I told him, it wasn''t what he wanted. And I felt anxious to find that thing he wanted to know, but at the same time, afraid what it might be. There were certain skills I had acquired during the revolution which I did not want to mention. I wanted to put it all behind me. But secretly, I felt as if he was waiting for me to expose myself. I had been trained in the art of spycraft and seduction.


    "Really?" Volente blurted out. Colto raised a thick, sculpted eyebrow at him and Baldovo laughed.


    "Is that so hard to believe?" Baldovo asked. "I''m sure she was once pretty. Well. Presentable." Volente just stared at Baldovo, looking vicariously embarrassed and indignant.


    Trosyn cracked a smile, not seeming offended at all. "I was always plain. Fortunately for me, there''s more to seduction than physical appearance. But it certainly helps." Trosyn took off her cap, wiping her brow with the back of it and then tidied up her knot of messy hair. The men watched her, marvelling that this woman, with her freckles, nubby nose, and coarse red hair, was ever employed in such a way.


    "So you were a spy," Colto intoned.


    Trosyn nodded her head, putting her cap back on. "I was trained in spy craft. But on the roster I remained in the infantry as a scout. My training was very rarely used, and I was only ever assigned to a few covert operations."


    "They let women into the armies?" Volente''s astonishment was on free display.


    "Unmarried women? Absolutely." Trosyn tilted her head. "Do they not allow women in your armies?"


    "Certainly not!" Volente uttered, scandalised at the thought. "We protect our women! We don''t throw them into harm''s way!"


    "If you want to survive, you use what you''ve got."


    Volente stammered, mouth moving like a fish at mealtime as he struggled to justify his culture''s chauvinism. Baldovo chuckled at his gobsmacked peer, about to sitr the pot a little further. However Colto cut him off at the pass by asking, "What did Sir Benold do next?"


    Ah yes. Sir Benold. I didn''t tell him about my hidden skills. He seemed suspicious and disappointed, but eventually told me that I''d be working out in the fields. I didn''t realise that I was hoping to be a house slave until I felt the crushing disappointment of being assigned to field work. But I hid it as best I could, and complied with his wishes. He told me that if I worked hard and didn''t cause any trouble, that I may be trusted with different duties. Holding on to that hope, I was resolved to do just that. He dismissed me, and Mrs. Gray took me to a small storage room where a cot had been fitted into. I shuddered at the sound of a key in a lock, sealing me in there for the night. Overwhelmed with the situation, I cried myself to sleep.


    I awoke early. I had time to reflect on the situation. I admit, it occurred to me that I might be able to provide myself with some benefits and security if I could attract the good opinion of someone in power. Benold was secretly a romantic, a fact he tried to hide from everyone. But it was complicated. He was like a father to me. And I felt I owed him the respect not to attempt to toy with his emotions. I began wondering if there was a steward or a footman that I might win the favour of. But as I became acutely aware of these thoughts, I was disgusted with myself. I swore once the war was over, I''d never use these skills again. So I resolved to improve my situation with hard work.


    I hardly saw Benold in the weeks that followed. I went out to the fields, I worked hard, and then I came in, ate with the scullery maids, and then was locked in for the night. It was the middle of the harvest season, and men and women were out there working the fields. I was able to blend in more or less. There were overseers who jeered at me, and gave me a hard time. But everyone was too busy to go out of their way to cause me much grief. I even enjoyed listening to the chatter of the other field workers, but didn''t dare join in. They talked about their families, about how the colony was doing, and shared recipes. It was all wonderfully mundane and common. And I cherished it.


    When the harvest was over, however, things changed. Soon my presence was more conspicuous, and the men were like wolves, waiting for me to show a sign of weakness so they could tear out my throat. I wasn''t sure if it was because I was a woman, or because I had once fought for the Loyalists. But I endeavoured to keep my head down. This continued on for a month without any word from Benold. It occurred to me that I may have been forgotten, but I refused to give in to despair.


    Volente let out a long yawn, then quickly excused himself, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "You are quite the storyteller. You''ve always said so little, I''m a bit surprised."


    "It is late," Colto stated.


    Trosyn nodded her head. "It is. And work begins early. I''m sorry. I''m sure you were more interested in how I got in the ocean."


    "Well, yes, we want to know how to get to your world," Baldovo admitted.


    Trosyn smiled somewhat wryly. "I thought so. But it''s been a relief to tell someone my story. I''ve had to keep so much to myself. But it''s unlikely you will ever make it to my homeland, so my secrets can''t hurt anyone here."


    "Red, it''s alright. Listening to your story is a relief from the same old yarns the ship crew tell." Volente said, with a gentle yet tired smile.


    "But I wouldn''t be too sure we won''t find a way to your homeland. Still, if it helps you to tell us your story, we''re all ears," Baldovo remarked.


    Volente reached over and took Trosyn''s hand. She looked at him guardedly and tensed, but she stopped herself from pulling her hand away. He saw this and cleared his throat, giving her hand one gentle pat before letting go. Trosyn''s gaze dropped, and then she gave a quick, apologetic glance to Volente, who shook his head. Trosyn''s hand then went to her stomach and she looked away. Baldovo and Colto observed this interaction, giving each other meaningful glances.


    "It is late," Colto repeated with a bit more emphasis as he rose to his feet. The other two scientists concurred.


    "Meet me again tomorrow night, and I will tell you more," Trosyn offered. The men all nodded, and the group dispersed to their bunks.

 Chapter 3: Tantrum

    "Sit down, Colto! Leave it!" Baldovo tugged at the brown waistcoat of his much larger associate. Dogged and disapproving, Colto''s intense gaze remained upon an oblivious pair of sailors who were nudging each other and laughing. Trosyn walked away, seeming completely unaffected by smack to the rump she''d received in passing. The laconic scientist was not quite so unaffected by the display.


    Reluctantly, Colto sat back down, but he continued to keep a wary eye on the men as they quaffed their grog. As Colto backed down, so did a sigh of relief escape Volente. Volente had been holding his breath since Colto slammed down his pewter mug and rose to his feet sharply. But no challenges were issued, and a potential brawl was averted. "Dear me, we needn''t be, if you excuse the term, rocking the boat." Volente received a frightful stare from Colto for his quip, and he quickly brought his handkerchief up to his mouth, looking away.


    "They''re red-blooded men, don''t begrudge them a little fun. I''m sure Red can handle herself. If she looks distressed, then we can try to civilise the brutes," Baldovo remarked, waving his hand in the air in his carefree manner.


    "They''ve been tame until recently. I think the Captain may have said a few words to the crew," Volente suggested as he lowered the cologne soaked cloth from under his nose. "I''m sure if she has any troubles, she can bring it to Captain Galli''s attention. He''s a respectable sort, I think. A man of character."


    "If it''s not the Captain taking liberties himself and marking his territory," Baldovo mused out loud. Colto gave him a baleful look, while Volente looked positively scandalised. "What? Look, even if the Captain is a virtuous fellow, if she snitches to him and he comes down, they''ll only be harder on her. Best not to make a deal of it, for her sake. There''s no protection for a woman in her situation."


    "Which is why we should protect her," Colto''s even tone carried with it a plodding but immovable weight. He picked up his mug of ale and took a sip, shifting his glare back to the untowards sailors.


    "Don''t pretend we''re any better. We''re only listening to her story for our own gain, and she knows it. She''s a smart lass who understands quid quo pro," Baldovo remarked before taking a bite of hardtack, then quickly washed the dry biscuit down with a hearty mouthful of ale.


    "She deserves some respect," Volente suggested, eyeing Trosyn as she returned with an empty tray to clean up after some other men. One of the other sailors belched and staggered to his feet, nearly falling down again. Trosyn quickly set down her tray, and helped him to his feet. They watched as she gently guided him out.


    "I agree," Baldovo remarked as he observed Trosyn. Colto lifted a thick eyebrow at his fellow scientist, and Volente peered at him with eager hope for the man seeing the error of his ways. "...And to show her respect, we should let her handle herself."


    "There, that''s the last of the cleaning. Don''t you three have better things to do than wait for me to finish my chores?" Trosyn asked, slinging them a spirited smile. It transformed her face, which was usually so carefully guarded.


    "I''m sure we could be organising our notes, but I think better in the mornings," Baldovo responded. Colto stood and pulled out a chair for her, gesturing with his large brown hand for her to sit. Trosyn arched an eyebrow, smiled, and took her seat.


    "You said you''d tell us more, and we''re here to listen," Volente said softly as Colto returned to his own seat.


    "Alright, where was I when I last spoke?"


    "Working in the fields, after the harvest. You indicated you did not get along too well with the other workers," Volente reminded helpfully.


    "Ah... right," Trosyn sighed as she took a moment to reorder her thoughts. She played with a loose lock of her wavy red hair, eyes going distant as she conjured the image of events long past.


    "If it''s difficult, you can skip past this part," Volente reassured. She laughed and shook her head.


    "I''m fine, but thank you for considering my feelings... Volente is it?"


    "Yes," Volente said, visibly brightening. Baldovo snorted back a snicker and Colto just clasped his hands and placed them heavily upon the table, waiting for Trosyn to resume.


    I won''t deny that the overseer liked to take a switch to my backside to hurry up my work. However, there were others he cracked down on as well, even though they were paid farmhands. Paid paltry sums, I should add. But paid, and when the frost came, they could go home to their families. Some of the men purposely worked too close, brushing up against me. Some avoided me and would make a point of leaving when I was near. Most of them found some way of verbally demeaning me. And words can leave their mark, and some of the remarks stung. Some filled me with fear that they would escalate past words. But I had learned by that point not to show it. It''s not like when I was much younger and first found myself homeless.


    "Homeless?" Colto parroted.


    "Sssh. Don''t derail her," Volente waved a hand at Colto.


    "It''s fine. I''ll keep it brief. I was an orphan, and the orphanage I grew up in was rapidly losing funds while more orphans were pouring in. We could either starve while being abused by the overwhelmed staff at the orphanage, or try our luck on the streets," Trosyn explained.


    "If fertility was as low as you said, what was causing the surplus population? It''s not like ignorance and accidents could happen," Baldovo asked, a clever glint in his eye as he readily pounced upon a contradiction. Trosyn caught that expression and smiled sweetly.


    "Low fertility is why the orphanage was unprepared. A pox had ravaged the slum I was born into. It passed through children quickly and savagely, but oddly more children survived and made rapid recoveries. It hit the adults slower, and weakened them so that other sicknesses would take root and finish them off." Trosyn interlocked her fingers and set them on the table, tilting her head to Baldovo. He looked her over a moment or two, before murmuring something inaudible to himself.


    "Continue," Colto prompted.


    I had despaired that Benold had forgotten me. So when I saw him speaking with my overseer, I let my curiosity get the better of me, and placed myself as close as possible to catch his eye. We had been close once, certainly he couldn''t be indifferent to me. I could handle his hatred more than his apathy. Eventually he did look my way, and quickly away again. But it was enough. He gestured to me as he spoke, and I began weeding even closer.


    Master Benold asked the overseer if I was working well. I heard a pile of words, like wench, slut, and useless. I''d lost my pride long before this, so I was not angry or crushed by the report I knew to be false. It was more that I worried about the consequences. Benold was a proud man, and would not want to look foolish by buying a ''useless'' slave. I worried he would blame the overseer for not utilising me correctly, and then the overseer, berated, would take it out on me even more. I could handle pain and discomfort, but I had my limits. And I did not wish to meet them.


    I am sure you can imagine I was very anxious to know what Benold would do with that information. But he remained calm and detached, thanked the overseer for the report, and moved on to other matters. While I was stewing over my own fate, I noticed something wasn''t quite right in the tree line. Quickly, my attention went to shifts and shadows. Something was lurking.


    I wish to explain that while I cannot see spirits, I can sense them in other ways. I was attuned to magic, although I could not use it myself. And something in those woods was creating an illusion to cover their movements. And then I sensed a heat. I did not want to expose myself to whatever happened next. I dove behind one of the water troughs we were using to irrigate the land. Soon after a volley of flaming arrows descended, assisted by unnatural winds. Benold took cover, and pulled out his revolver, returning fire, yelling for someone to fetch his rifle. Benold was an excellent marksman, and once he set his eyes on a quarry, there were few who could escape. The trouble is, he could not see anything.


    I could. I saw the shapes in the forest. People wearing animal skins and leaf cover cloaks. As more of Benold''s men rushed to the scene and began firing back, it became chaos. I worked to put out the fires closest to me. It''d be hard to say the order in which things happened. Needless to say, the attack was repelled, but not before doing some damage to his fields. I knew this meant we''d be driven even harder to work to make up for the losses. I was bereft about this, but I was alive. Some of the others weren''t so lucky.


    As I was getting ready to head inside and wash up, I was shocked when Benold came up behind me, putting a hand on my shoulder. He spun me around, and studied me, looking very grim. He said he saw me duck before they attacked, and asked me how I knew they were coming. He sounded suspicious. It occurred to me he might believe I had a hand in the attack somehow. I did not know how to defend myself, since I did not even know who they were.


    I don''t remember what I told him. He kept asking me questions, and I tried to be honest, but didn''t want to explain my talents. All the years I''d known him, I kept them hidden. People like me were hated or exploited, so it was always a secret I bore. Eventually, though, I had to explain that I sensed the danger before it occurred. I didn''t think he would believe me, but this got a sort of smile from him. It wasn''t a kind smile. It was more self satisfaction, as if I were confirming something he already believed. It was smug. But I''d prefer a smug master over an angry one.


    To my relief, he told me my talents were wasted in the fields. I agreed, although I wouldn''t say as much. I could do the work, but I felt that I could do so much more. However, my heart sank when he told me he wanted to accompany his sentries on patrols. There were hostile forces encroaching, and this was the first time they had the gall to strike at his estate. His sentries were all ex-military, which I had fought on the opposite side of. I wanted to bring this to his attention, but I didn''t have the confidence to speak to him plainly yet. If I thought the field hands were bad, I could only imagine it would get worse among veterans.


    "Well, clearly you survived," Baldovo said cheerfully. Colto and Volente each gave him measured stares.


    "I did," Trosyn responded, giving a small shrug.


    "I must say, Red, miss, you seem to be telling this story as if it all happened to someone else," Volente observed. "You say what you felt, but you don''t seem to really feel it anymore."


    "It''s all in the past. I''ve shut that door," Trosyn said, her tone sounding tired. Colto leaned back and lit his pipe, nodding to Trosyn to continue.


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    I was anxious my first day tagging along with the patrol. It went better than I thought. The guard I was assigned to seemed annoyed by my presence, but he was very professional. He told me at the start if I stepped out of line he wouldn''t hesitate to shoot me. I felt that was fair, and did not step out of line, therefore we were able to coexist in mutual indifference. I only did a patrol in the morning and in the evening. In the meantime, I was told to do whatever Mrs. Gray asked of me. Which meant scullery work. I was worked to exhaustion, but it was better to fall asleep the moment I got back to my room than to spend the time thinking about my situation.


    Not much occurred. There was only one incident where my senses were of any merit, and that was driving off a small scouting group. I gathered from hearing people talk that people from Ayokonia had begun to colonise the bay. They ran into resistance with native people who had rejected technology and tried to live in harmony with the spirits. It surprised me as I had always been taught the islands were uninhabitable. But here they were, claiming the island as an ancestral home, and at odds with Benold and his connections.


    Benold was the civil Governor of the nascent colony. However, he was still subordinate to Commander Slacht, the military power on the island. I despised Commander Slacht and everything he stood for. Knowing that Benold was still under his thumb meant that I was in a delicate situation. Ah, sorry, I went off on a tangent. Anyway, I was doing patrols. Incidents were rare on my watch. Of course I was never armed. And I was always under the watchful eye of the guards. I was also, in the evenings, under the watchful eye of Benold. I''d see him on his private balcony, observing me.


    A few times he had spoken to me briefly, but he still kept his distance. It was like he was waiting for something. He must have become impatient, because one evening I was told to report to his private wing. I won''t deny I was curious. I would even say intrigued. I''d been wondering what his plans were, and how I fit into them since I''d arrived.


    I remember this event so clearly in my mind. How he sat there on a clear night, the forests in the distance beyond his manicured estate property. The clear stars. The balmy coastal air. The way candlelight reflected off of the glass flute he drank wine out of. His eyes on me. I still had that sense of anticipation from him. It started innocent enough. He asked me more about my senses and what I could detect. I did my best to explain them. Then he told me for an hour or two each night: that he wanted me there, watching from his balcony. His wish was my command. I asked him if he''d be out there during my watch duties.


    This is where things began getting personal. I remember the exchange, almost word for word. It all started with a remark like, "It''s been a long time since we sat together peacefully, like this." There he was, swirling his wine, staring off in the distance. I told him it was too long. Again, he mentioned how things were different. It was a recurring theme in our previous interactions. "Things are different now."


    Benold said to me, "I suppose you must hate the Kayonn*." That was a very uncomfortable thing for him to bring up. What was I to say, as having fought on the losing side against them? As being enslaved by them? Despite most of them being from the very slums I grew up in, while he, privileged as he was, was the very person the Kayonn fought against? It was all so backwards how we fought on the opposite sides of our origins.


    "Hate is a strong word," I cautiously answered. "I do fear them."


    He said he understood that. It''s when he said next that made me anxious. Or maybe it was the way he asked it. His wine glass stopped swirling, he dipped his chin, and he looked at me directly. "Including me?"


    Again, what was I to say? If I didn''t fear him, it would seem like disrespect. If I did fear him, it may be a slap in the face to a time when we were close. "You haven''t given me reason to be afraid. But I do know the power you have over me." It was the most honest answer I could give.


    He did not seem to like this response, as he took a big gulp of wine. That was one of his tells, whether he took a dainty sip and fully savoured the flavour, or took a large mouthful. "Wise." He said after a pause. "I could do anything to you." As you can imagine, this remark did not reassure me. I was doing everything not to panic. "Surely you''ve heard the stories of what happens to slaves."


    It''s my default to keep talking as if nothing is wrong. So that is what I did. I looked out at the stars to hide my expression and said, as casually as possible, "I have not heard the stories, but I have an imagination." This may have been fine. But I think the comment I tacked on is what perturbed Benold and sent the conversation spiralling downwards. "Power corrupts."


    Affronted he looked at me sternly. "Not here!" he insisted. Thrusting his finger down at his estate, he added with emphasis, "I''m civilised again!"


    I should have shown better judgement. But instead, I played coy. "Are you saying you weren''t civilised before?"


    This riled him up and he sputtered, finishing off his wine and immediately pouring more into his glass. "Of course I was, but war can bring out the savage in anyone!"


    I knew I needed to quickly assuage his ego. But in those days I hadn''t learned to not speak in layers. On the outside, a compliment, but underneath, toxic. "This is a nice civilised corner in an otherwise savage world." I turned away again. "And they can only benefit from your good example, like how I did once."


    This did turn Benold thoughtful, but it also calmed him somewhat, at least on the surface. But I suspected there was still tension and strife churning underneath. "I am a good example! I am a pillar of good society," he exclaimed. It took everything for me to not shake my head. He was better than the worst, but he was not the paragon that he deluded himself into believing he was. And there it came again, his wistful sigh and remarking, "That was a long time ago." There was nothing I was going to say. I turned as if watching the tree line for something. But when I didn''t respond, or report anything of value, he continued. "You joined the Ayokonia army. You... rejected me."


    This brought up a lot of difficult memories. I am sure you are eager to know what the baggage between Benold and I was, that made this conversation so pivotal. But all in due time. All in due time. First, just let me get to the end, and I can answer the questions I see in your eyes.


    "I never rejected you. I just went in a different direction. My joining the Ayokonia Royalists had nothing to do with you," I explained. He looked dubious of my explanation as he drank more of his wine. "It all had to do with needing the access to save someone''s life."


    "Would that life have been the life of Baron Blaire?" Benold asked with thinly veiled contempt. Truly, the veil was nearly transparent. But I wasn''t about to start lying. With a power word, he could send me into a world of pain.


    "Yes," was all I said. I did not elaborate. But I could tell he wanted more as he tapped the side of his glass, staring hard at me. Ah, I see those looks. To give some quick context, Baron Blaire was a heated rival of Benold''s. And again, the story of Baron Blaire and I can be saved for another time.


    "Is it true you two were lovers?" Benold asked me. I did not appreciate him prying into my personal affairs, but I was the one with the bracelet. I must have rubbed it or touched it, because he suddenly looked at it, scowled, and poured himself more wine.


    "We were friends," I told him firmly. He did not look convinced.


    "Friends? He kidnapped you!" Now, now, I see that look Volente. I will explain, just let me get to the end of this, as it''s all pressing on my mind. "He kidnapped you! Yet everyone said he was your hero. Your HERO! Yes... saving you from the villainy of... of me." By this time my patience was as empty as his wine bottle.


    Now let me say, I am not proud of what I said next. "And now you''ve saved me from the villainy of the Royalists. Is that it? I should be grateful. And because I fall for my captors, it''s only a matter of time..." He was shocked, horrified. I should have stopped. I knew I should have stopped. There was a voice in my head screaming at me to stop. But I was physically exhausted, and I was still reeling from losses I hadn''t had time to process. "You have done well for yourself! You got everything you lost, but you''re still not happy, are you? Not until you have someone to keep you warm at night. Is that the real reason I''m here?"


    Baldovo broke out in raucous laughter. Colto was less than amused as he shook out the ashes from his pipe. Volente was dabbing some cologne into a handkerchief. Slamming the table, Baldovo looked up with a wide grin on his round face, "Calling it like you see it, hey, Red?"


    Trosyn was silent. Baldovo continued to laugh until he noticed that Trosyn was not smiling with him. Volente rubbed the bridge of his nose and Colto placed a hand on Trosyn''s shoulder. Aware that his his mirth was ill timed, Baldovo ceased his laughter but offered no apology.


    "So. How mortified was Benold by this? I imagine he was speechless."


    "At first," Trosyn reflected. Although she had delivered her story like an impartial narrator, her half lidded eyes and tightly clasped hands were starting to show another story. Colto gave her shoulder a squeeze and retracted his hand, going back to polishing his pipe.


    "Was it... very bad? His reaction? Did he... hurt you? You don''t have to go on," Volente asked, lowering his hand timidly, as if afraid to know how this story turned out for Red.


    "I''ll be fine. I''ve brought the story this far, and it wasn''t very bad, no," Trosyn reassured Volente. Still he waited, wide-eyed.


    "Go on, we''re ready," Baldovo said. Colto nodded in agreement.


    Benold was shocked, as Baldovo predicted. He made a gasping, wheezing sound that had me worrying he''d be clutching at his chest next. What would I do if I''d killed my master with words? Surely, they''d accuse me of poisoning his wine. He then began stuttering, and it took a while for me to make sense of the partial words he formed. He then managed to collect his wits and he stood up, in full imperious glow. "Is that what you think? I would never sink that low. I know what SOME people might think, but I am not..." He trailed off, his emotions getting the better of him. He was angry, and I had rarely seen him this furious. Then he fell into stuttering again, losing his cool. "I thought maybe you''d..." He began, then cut himself off, narrowing his eyes. I remember how that look cut me to the core. "Is that what you want? For me to force you? To make myself the villain?" He threw his wine glass to the ground, and as it shattered I''m sure I felt something in me shatter as well. I was truly terrified. "Get out. I WOULDN''T WANT YOU ANYWAY! GET OUT!"


    Too dumbstruck to listen I knelt down instead to pick up the shattered glass. He then grabbed his bottle, raising it and told me again to leave. I ran. Men came barreling to the hall, and I kept running. There were confused murmurs, but I heard my master telling them to let me go. I was in a panic, and I felt a great deal of remorse for pushing him. But more than that... I knew the reason he was angry, it was because I hit too close to the truth. He wanted me. This titan who had always loomed over me, always high on a pedestal, but directing my life. How was I supposed to feel? I got to my room and I cried, afraid of his feelings, and of my own.


    "You''re right, that wasn''t very bad," Baldovo said, sounding almost disappointed. Volente nodded, not quite catching the nuance in Baldovo''s voice, but Colto leaned forward, squinting his already squinty eyes at Baldovo.


    "We don''t need these details," Colto said as he rose to his feet. Trosyn looked up at him, and immediately dropped her gaze.


    "I''m sorry, I made you uncomfortable," Trosyn said. Colto walked away, but Volente and Baldovo remained.


    "Don''t worry about him. A little discomfort won''t do him any harm. He''s just a very private person, and projects that onto others," Baldovo said as he stretched his arms and stood up.


    "If it helps you to talk about these things, I don''t mind listening. But you did worry me you might share... too much indelicate information," Volente said quietly to Trosyn. She nodded her head.


    "No, I won''t go into those sorts of details. But I do need to purge my feelings, then I''ll be able to truly leave it all behind. And eventually, you will learn how I got to your seas," Trosyn reassured.


    "Perfect. Don''t worry, I understand letting you get this off your chest is just tit for tat," Baldovo said as he picked up his waistcoat which had been hanging over the back of his chair. "As long as you keep up your end of the bargain, I''ll listen to anything you wish to say."


    Trosyn regarded the two remaining men for a moment, as if reconsidering whether they were the right people to tell her story too. But a sweeping glance around the ship''s nearly empty mess told her enough. There weren''t many other candidates, and she didn''t know what would happen when she reached Lomany.


    "Thank you for understanding."


    "Well, have a good night. I hope you can put these feelings to rest, Red," Volente said with a gentle smile.


    As the two men walked, rocking with the sway of the ship, they looked at each other. "Volente, don''t go getting sweet on her," Baldovo warned. Volente looked over at Baldovo, aghast.


    "What? No, I''m not! Am I?"


    "Are you?"


    "I... just thought I was being kind," Volente said, straightening his cravat.


    "Just be careful, Volente. I know her type. They only bring heartbreak. Even if it isn''t their intention, they can''t help themselves. Besides, she will probably disappear the moment we reach port. Just be on your guard," Baldovo warned. He continued walking, but Volente stopped, dumbstruck. He then hurried to catch up to Baldovo, as the two men went to their stateroom in thoughtful silence.

 Chapter 4: Ego-Stroking

    The soft clink of a teacup being reunited with its saucer was followed by a satisfied sigh. Captain Galli looked up with a pleased expression, most noticeable by the twinkle in his eyes, for his moustache and beard hid a majority of his smile. "I don''t know how you make such good tea with the cheap stuff my bosun always finds," the Captain remarked. Trosyn only smiled as she stood attentively by the small table in the Captain''s quarters. "You''d make a fine steward''s assistant, Red."


    "Steward''s assistant?"


    "Cabin boy. But I''m not keen on calling you ''boy''," the Captain explained as he lifted the teacup to his mouth for another sip.


    "Ah."


    Trosyn remained standing as the Captain finished his tea, so she could take the tray away. The two remained in mutual silence for a while. The Captain read over some letters as he enjoyed his touch of civility in the wild waters. Just as his cup was drained, he looked up at Trosyn.


    "All finished, sir?" Trosyn asked. He nodded. Just as Trosyn was about to lift the tray, a brown, calloused hand covered hers. The Captain looked at Trosyn''s eyes as they slowly lifted. Her gaze immediately dropped to his hand, and he removed it.


    "You''d also make a fine wife." Trosyn''s eyes fluttered and she lifted the tray as the Captain clasped his hands, placing them on his stomach while he leaned back. Trosyn straightened up, lifted her chin, then laughed.


    "Is that an offer?" Trosyn asked, making light of the remark.


    "It is." Trosyn''s face quickly sobered. Seeing the shift in Trosyn''s demeanour, the Captain elaborated, "I''m a widower. I''ve thought of remarrying, but life on the sea keeps me from home." Trosyn said nothing as she listened to the Captain''s proposal, her thumb digging into the tray. "But you seem well suited for life at sea. I could use the companionship. And more of this fine tea," The Captain smiled again. "Think about it."


    Trosyn nodded her head. "I will. Thank you." Trosyn gave a small curtsy, hands too occupied with the tray to salute, and she left, albeit a bit more briskly than she had come in.


    Trosyn kept moving at a very quick pace, and until her name was called, she didn''t even notice that she had sailed right by Volente. She paused, looking over her shoulder at the spindly professor, the sea breeze blowing his silvering hair. "I''m sorry Volente, I don''t have time. But I''ll see you tonight?"


    Volente raised a hand to protest, but she quickly turned and kept walking. After a pause she heard his voice calling and fading behind her "Alright. Tonight, then..."


    <hr>


    When Trosyn finished her chores, she went to the usual table to continue her tale. However, Colto was conspicuously absent. Trosyn looked around, but before she could ask, Baldovo raised a hand then made a sweeping motion.


    "Don''t worry about him. He got stuck on an inconsistency in the data and is tracking it down. He said to begin without him," Baldovo explained. Trosyn looked at the empty spot he normally occupied, and then sat down.


    "Before we begin, is everything okay, Red? You seemed a bit... distracted earlier when you left the Captain''s quarters," Volente asked. Baldovo sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose and gave Volente a meaningful glare.


    "I''m fine. The Captain was just reminding me that there are some decisions I need to make before we get back to Lomany. I have a lot on my mind," Trosyn responded as she coolly laced her fingers together and placed them atop the table.


    "Oh. I see," Volente mumbled quietly. "Yes... well... ahem. I imagine there''s a lot to consider."


    Baldovo stared at Volente for a solid minute before he cleared his throat. "Well then, if memory serves, Benold had an ungracious tantrum because you had the audacity to state the obvious. He wanted a woman. Odd a man of his standing didn''t already have a wife, though. Or did he?"


    Trosyn belted out a laugh, which left both Baldovo and Volente rather bemused. While she''d made wry chuckles and polite giggles, she hadn''t quite brayed like this before. She quickly silenced herself, but a smile remained as she shook her head. "No, he did not. His parents died quite young, so they never had time to arrange a marriage for him. And he was often too busy to arrange it for himself."


    "Hm. Well, perhaps you can fill in some of the history between you and Benold. You mentioned you were from two different castes, so how did you meet?" Volente asked as he removed his spectacles to clean them off.


    Benold and I? We were indeed from different worlds, although we lived in the same Kingdom. He was on the upper level. Roneon was built in the foothills. Several grand estates spanned the promontories. And the slums where I dwelled? In the lowest ditch. I remember one day I was walking along the sustaining wall that separated my neighbourhood from the upper town. I heard some laughter up above but didn''t pay it any mind, until there was a clatter behind me. I turned around and there on the ground was a small leather pouch. Hanging over the fence were two silhouettes of men above.


    "Now look what you''ve done!" One of them chided. I picked it up, hearing the unmistakable jangling of coins. Something like that could have gone far. I won''t deny that I wanted to keep it. But those men saw me. So I called up to them.


    "Meet me at the gate and I''ll return this to you!" Although, it would have sounded more like... "Mee''me a''ther gate, guvs, ''n this''ll be gain back t''yees!" in those days. But I will spare you the accent from my youth. They had no idea what I was saying and yelled after me when I scurried off to the closest gate. After I had waited by the gate long enough, one of them appeared. And that was Benold. I held his purse through the bars and he snatched it from me. He held it out like it was filthy, as if trying to decide whether he even wanted to put it back on his very fine belt. He did after some deliberation, lifted his nose, pivoted his heel, and stormed off.


    I know, charming. But after a few steps he stopped, emptied the contents into his hand, and turned around. He asked me my name, and I told him. He thanked me, albeit begrudgingly, and left. I didn''t see him again for some time.


    Later on, I suppose he actually came looking for me. It took him a while and he clearly hated being in the slums. From what I gathered, he had a bet going with someone else in his circle that he could tame and polish one of the wild children that were running rampant through these streets. Understand, by then us street children had a reputation. Most were pretty savage. I was mugged or just beaten for fun by bigger, stronger kids. I was distrusted by adults and chased away from anyone''s home or business. But I never had it in me to turn to thuggery, instead satisfying myself with begging for scraps.


    I found myself a niche. For whatever reason, I almost never got sick. So I stayed close to those who were, as everyone was afraid of catching what they had. Which meant until they were dead, no one would mug them if they had the pox. So often I sat with them, talked with them, tried to make them comfortable. I held their hands as they died. And then, when they were dead, I stripped them of anything valuable. There were always rag and bottle shops that wouldn''t ask questions.


    So understand, I did not have a sheltered life. I was used to death and brutality. But I was also very open, and many believed me na?ve. In some ways, I was. I can''t explain it, but since it never occurred to me that things could be better, I never had the sense that I ought to be upset by my surroundings.


    Well, Benold found me. He wanted me because of my honesty, to give him an edge in this bet. He told me I could be taken care of, given shelter, and food. I asked him if I would get to eat every day and his response, bless him, was puzzled. It was as if he didn''t realise anyone could even survive not eating three meals a day. I was sold! I happily went with him. Since I never knew my birthday, I don''t know what exact age I was. But I had started to... become a woman, but my transition wasn''t quite complete. But due to my malnourishment, this wasn''t very apparent. I think he believed I was younger than I was. It was to his embarrassment later when he found out otherwise, and he quickly arranged a chaperone to live with him in addition to his housekeeper. But, for all intents and purposes, I was his ward. And he would provide me with an education and turn me into a proper lady, intent on erasing any sign that I''d ever lived in the slums.


    "So Benold was a great deal older than you," Baldovo observed.


    "Yes," Trosyn responded, giving a light shrug.


    "So you lived with him? Not in a separate apartment?" Volente asked.


    "It depended. He had a country estate in a nearby valley, and a promontory townhouse in Roneon. When we were in town, he kept me in a hotel. Which I found very odd. When we were in the country, I stayed with him," Trosyn explained.


    "You mentioned he was your mentor," Volente pointed out. "Was there anything he was training you in other than how to fit into society?"


    "No, mostly just elocution, etiquette, and of course academics. He did try to teach me shooting, but after a few mishaps he abandoned that very quickly and forbade me to ever touch a gun again. Especially never his guns, as they were his babies."


    "So you met because he wanted to tame a wild child, and you were his horse in a bet," Baldovo summarised. He leaned back and saw Colto approaching. Colto said nothing as he sat down in his usual spot, already with his pipe sticking out of his mouth. He sat down without ceremony, asked nothing, and nodded to his associates. Trosyn gave him a nod and a smile. He returned the nod, but not the smile.


    "That is about right. I was a vanity project. I didn''t really understand that, or care. I thought he was wonderful. Benold gave me shelter, food, and security. While he did nag and scold me, he never lay a hand on me. It was novel. I often braced myself to be hit, but it never came, and he seemed disturbed that I skulked and winced when I got something wrong, or when he raised his voice. And I could see him beam with pride when I told him how grateful I was, that he was a true gentleman. You could say I worshipped him, and he revelled in it. So we got along very well," Trosyn recounted. "They were such happy days. The days which I think he kept alluding to in our conversation. The days long past, when our relationship was new, innocent, and straightforward."


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    "And by the time you were a slave, your relationship was none of those things," Baldovo remarked, shifting in his chair with a creak. Colto spewed out a stream of smoke and looked at Baldovo. Trosyn''s throat muscles came into brief relief as she swallowed a lump forming. She was silent for a moment or two, and then nodded.


    "No, there was nothing new, innocent, or straightforward by then."


    "...Had he... I''m sorry it''s indelicate to ask and I don''t want details, but had he... taken advantage of you?" Volente asked, his trademark handkerchief already in his hand. Trosyn immediately shook her head.


    "No. He did not. But he put me in the power of those who tried. And then refused to believe me when I begged him to make them stop." Trosyn leaned back in her chair, fingertips tapping gently at the edge of the table as she looked off, a faint smile drifting onto her face, crows feet deepening at the corners of her eyes. "Benold also nearly killed me once or twice. But that is neither here nor there."


    Baldovo and Volente both gave each other side glances, bewildered why Trosyn would smile at such a statement. Colto rolled his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other. "Did Benold turn you out after his tantrum?"


    "Ah, no. I suppose I ought to get back to that part of the story," Trosyn said, readjusting her mindscape.


    I was terrified the next morning. But nothing was said. I was expecting to be packed off and sent back to the slave market, if I am honest. I was told I was not on patrol, and just to help in the kitchen. Benold was having guests, and they needed the extra help. I had heard the previous night that he was expecting esteemed guests, but it had gone out of my mind. I considered the lack of repercussions an oversight. But I was tense the whole time I worked on cleaning and prepping food.


    While I was in the cellar grabbing some wine I heard someone come in. I thought it may be the butler, but I was shocked and mortified when I turned around - no it wasn''t Benold. It was his cousin, Vormind. Vormind was a spendthrift who had gone criminal, but Benold was always using his influence and money to bail him out. Give me a moment.


    Alright. Vormind is hard for me to talk about. He... did things to me... I can see Volente reaching for his smelling salts. Steady on. I won''t go into detail. It doesn''t matter what he did, just that it left me scarred and afraid of him. I wanted to scream but I wasn''t sure if anyone would hear me, or care. I held the bottle of wine in my hands defensively as he slithered up to me, grinning. I tried to get around him, saying I had to get that wine to cook. But he wasn''t accepting that and he pinned me. Don''t worry, like I said, I won''t share anything unsavoury with you gentlefolk. He told me that Benold didn''t quite seem himself, and blamed me for it. I don''t know what Benold said to him, if anything, about the previous night. But Vormind told me that my job was to keep Benold happy. If Benold was happy, he wouldn''t have to come visit me again, to retrain me. He alluded to the ''good old times'' we had. Then left.


    His meaning and intentions were clear. I was very distressed, but I had work to do and threw myself into it to try not to think about it. After that, I refused to go anywhere alone. I always made sure I was in the company of at least one other servant until I''d heard that Benold''s guests had left.


    Once things had slowed down, I was left to worry over my uncertain future. But I do not enjoy sitting and worrying. So I went looking for work. Begging for work. And so I accompanied some of the maids. But it also meant I was made aware of the rumours already spreading through the household. Benold''s shouting had been heard and repeated. It earned me the contempt of most of the staff. But they were undecided whether I ought to be scorned for being so haughty as to reject the master''s advances, or smugly snubbed because Benold had angrily rejected mine. What is that saying... damned if you do, damned if you don''t. I made note of who said what, but to them all I smiled and kept on working hard. To get upset or defensive would just fuel their imaginations. They were left perplexed when, as each day passed without me being sent away, I worked alongside them as cheerfully as I could. It didn''t matter that I was falling apart inside. I had my smile, and it was always my greatest ally.


    After a week of no more patrols and a lot of domestic work, I was notified that Benold wanted to see me in his study. So the time had come. My head was swimming and my heart was racing as I approached him. He stared at me very sternly, snapping a book shut. But then, to my bewilderment he apologised. He stated that, as a gentleman, his boorish behaviour was inexcusable, even to a slave. It was his duty to rise above and set an example for all. You can imagine he went on quite a bit in his self aggrandizing apology. But I patiently listened. When he was done, I told him I not only accepted his apology, but had one of my own. I spoke out of line, and understood if he did want to send me away. He told me he would do no such thing.


    I was relieved. I was a little embarrassed, but very much so relieved. But I was bold enough to ask for the real reason he purchased me. He told me he was not ready to divulge that information. The fact he was avoiding telling me was saying a lot. It meant whatever it was, it was very personal. I hoped that he would assign me back to patrols, but it sadly was not the case. He said Mrs. Gray had good things to say about my domestic work, and so I was to be a house slave. While when I first arrived that was what I wanted, now that I had become the subject of scandal, I was less enthused. However, I had set a precedent, so I was going to continue to be the infatigable, smiling, simpering house slave.


    There was the other matter of Vormind''s visit. I asked who all had access to my room. He said himself and Mrs. Gray. I then asked him if I was to obey only him, or obey his guests as well. He told me of course I must obey his guests, unless it contradicts one of his own orders or rules. This did not leave me very comfortable. I finally asked him if I needed to obey Vormind. This gave him pause. In the past I had tried to tell him of Vormind''s dealings with me, and he denied them. But there was an event later where he saw, first hand, what Vormind was capable of. And some of the bitterness that grew between Benold and myself is that he still did not cast Vormind out. They were still as thick as thieves. And it hurt to think he''d allow Vormind near me at all.


    After some time to recollect, he told me he had told Vormind not to lay a hand on me, and if he did, I was to tell him straight away. I wasn''t sure it would do any good, as it hadn''t in the past. But it was better than having to pretend there was nothing wrong. But at least I could remind Vormind of Benold''s edict, and perhaps, it would help. Perhaps, it would not. That remained to be seen.


    Now I had to decide. How would I ensure my own survival in this situation? After accusing Benold of wanting me as a bedmate, it wouldn''t be so simple to turn around and offer myself up. I didn''t want to, either. While I had abandoned most of the dignity he had tried to instill in me, I had enough pride to not want to be some dirty secret, sneaking into his bedchamber and stumbling away in shame. But even with Benold''s so-called protection, I worried Vormind would check up on me. So how to make Benold happy, but perhaps not in the way Vormind had in mind?


    I recalled Benold''s wistful allusions to the past. I could not go back to that. Not entirely. But I could recapture some of what used to work. So I turned to Benold and told him how grateful I was that he had bought me, that after hearing staff talk about what other slaves went through, I knew I was fortunate. I told him that even though he had behaved a little poorly, it was just the wine talking, and that he was the pinnacle of stateliness and chivalry. Maybe I was laying it on thick. But he soaked it up. Yes. All it took was to praise and worship him. And that I could do, despite the injuries that lay beneath the surface.


    And so, despite the mishap on the balcony, things were looking up. But I was ever on guard against Vormind, should he return. And I was flattering Benold any chance I got. And as I stroked his ego, he gave me more and more chances. Soon he wouldn''t have anyone but me serve him his meals. He''d often request me for other menial tasks in rooms he was in. He checked on me frequently. His demeanour towards me had softened a great deal. And maybe it was all an illusion. Maybe it was all nostalgia. But I was becoming comfortable. I was almost... enjoying being a slave.


    I know, that sounds odd. But when I thought back to the crushing responsibilities I had taken upon myself during the war, it was freeing to have no responsibility at all. I had my duties, but if I failed in them, the only person who suffered was me. Because I was the bottom of the hierarchy, I had nothing I needed to prove. No one wanted my spot. No one was trying to take me down. And no one expected me to be anything I wasn''t. I was smiling for real after a while. I enjoyed the hard work. I had enough food. I had a safe place to rest. And freedom? Well. Being a slave didn''t take away my freedom, because that was something I''d never had.


    "Never?" Colto asked, arching one of his thick, sculpted eyebrows. Trosyn shook her head.


    "On the street I was a slave to hunger and desperation, and forbidden from leaving the slums. In Benold''s care, when he first set out to gentle me, he did not want a half finished project being seen, so I was closely monitored, sheltered, and controlled. In the war, almost any act of individuality or thinking for myself was considered dereliction of duty best, treason at worst. After the war, I was on the run with my unit, and we could never stay anywhere long. And I was bound to my responsibility to them. I''ve never taken on a profession of my own choosing. Lived in a house of my own. Gone to a place because I just wanted to go. I was always in someone''s control."


    The three of the scientists were silent, each regarding Trosyn, and each thinking about the nature of freedom itself. Trosyn allowed them their time to digest. She got up, taking away dishes and fetched Colto a new receptacle for his ashes.


    When Trosyn returned, Baldovo and Volente were staring at each other in a none too friendly way. Whatever it was that transpired between them in Trosyn''s absence, Colto was staying clear out of it, as evidenced by his raised eyebrows, heavy lidded eyes, slack jaw, and body slightly turned away from them as he read from a stack of papers he had brought with him.


    Trosyn noticed the tension, but elected to not remark on it as she sat back down. "Where was I?"


    "Not minding being a slave," Colto said, his tone dry.


    "Ah... yes. That. I won''t bore you with the minutiae that followed this transformation from constant worrying about my security, to feeling quite secure. The rumours and scandal faded, as I had anticipated that they would if I didn''t react to them. Some staff still gave me a hard time. Most were agreeably indifferent to me. One or two even took a shine to me. I wouldn''t say we were ever friends, but on friendly enough terms. As far as I was concerned, I was a very lucky slave." Trosyn paused, noticing that Volente and Baldovo were still encouraging meaningful looks, seeming to be conducting a whole other conversation through body language and nuance. When Volente noticed her glancing at them, he cleared his throat.


    "Well, it is late, that is probably enough for tonight. Really, I should be writing this all down. Would it be alright if next time I brought some paper and recorded notes on your story?" Volente asked, trying very hard to not look at Baldovo as he once again cleaned his spectacles.


    "No, I do not mind. But if I tell you not to record something specific, please respect my wishes."


    Volente nodded eagerly. "Oh, yes, of course, absolutely," he beamed. But his smile faded as he caught Baldovo''s smirk. Volente looked down at his spectacles, cleaning them with increased vim.


    "Well, good night, Red," Baldovo said, breaking his attention away from Volente. Baldovo rose and gave a mighty yawn and stretch. He then reached over, placing his hand on Volente''s chair. "Time for us to retire."


    Volente looked as though he were about to say something, but closed his mouth as though thinking better of it. He rose to his feet, giving Baldovo an irritated glower, to which Baldovo just smiled. Colto also got to his feet, snorting softly at the two other scientists.


    "Well, Red, I guess you will have a lot on your mind if you''ve never had to make the decision of where to live and what to do before. Guess you''d better figure all that out before we reach Floratti," Baldovo remarked.


    Trosyn frowned at him, his words hitting her with such accuracy as to her own anxieties that it was truly uncanny. She tried on a smile, but it vanished quickly. "Good night."

 Chapter 5: Knock-knock

    "I hope your constitution is as robust as you boasted, Red," Baldovo remarked as Trosyn brought him his drink. She tilted her head to the side questioningly, but didn''t ask. He smiled and answered anyway. "A few of the sailors have become ill."


    "Hmm, yes, I had heard about that," Trosyn remarked as she cleared the table next to Baldovo. "Drinking alone today?"


    "Just taking a break. The others are collating. We will see you tonight, right?" Baldovo asked. Trosyn nodded her head. "Ah, good. Be careful, though, as I''m afraid Volente may be coming down with something as well."


    "Oh dear. I hope not," Trosyn said with a frown, balancing the tray along her hip. "You''d best make sure to take extra care not to catch it as well."


    "Oh, it''s not something that spreads," Baldovo said, smiling behind his mug.


    "Seasick?"


    "Love sick." Baldovo snickered. Trosyn did not find it quite so amusing.


    "If he is, it''s not for you to spread around, Baldovo," Trosyn chided. Baldovo raised his eyebrows, astonished at being reprimanded by her.


    "You are getting bolder," Baldovo remarked, setting his mug down heavily.


    "I adapt," Trosyn remarked before walking away to continue her work.


    <hr>


    As per their usual routine, the four gathered together again at a table. Colto with his pipe, Volente with stacks of paper and a pen, and Baldovo with his smug attitude. Trosyn, of course, had her story to share.


    Let''s see now. Ah yes. I''d reached a comfortable equilibrium. Time passed, then Benold decided to make use of some of my more hidden talents. Without really telling me where we were going, he told me to dress for outdoor work and we set off on a pair of horses. We passed through the forest and came to a clearing with a sizable knoll. On the side of a swell was an opening, leading down underground. He said he needed someone who was sensitive to spirits to venture down there with him. I was astounded. You see, Benold is afraid of confined spaces, although he''s always tried to hide it. To think he would willingly go into such a place was unthinkable. But it occurred to me, he may have overcome that.


    He didn''t say what exactly he was looking for, just that it was something he hoped would help him. Oh. Sorry, I need to back up before this. Let me re-order my thoughts. While I was accompanying Benold on some errands, one of his associates took him aside to speak with him. This associate, Sintol, was always looking to make money. His latest scheme involved working with a hated cult for access to secrets, which Sintol believed could lead to immortality or prolonged youth. I wasn''t entirely sure which, as the one doesn''t always necessarily mean the other. I had overheard only part of the conversation, but when my presence was noticed by Sintol, he appealed to me. This took me completely off guard. I had thought he might go silent or reprimand me. Instead, he sought to draw me in and convince me to help him convince Benold. What this told me is that at least one of Benold''s inner circle believed me to have influence worth courting. This also meant I could be seen as a threat by his fraternity. The moment Benold realised what Sintol was trying, he ended the conversation abruptly.


    The surprises did not stop there. Usually Benold did not speak of the brotherhood he belonged to, and their plots. But that day, he opened up to me. He explained they needed to fully conquer the island to amass the power and wealth necessary to make a bid for power back in Ayokonia. The government was weak after the civil war and it was a matter of time before a decisive coup would shift the balance. And I''d known for a long time Commander Slacht was the mastermind between more than one coup.


    Benold was concerned about getting involved with dangerous forces and making the wrong allies. Sintol only cared about the wealth that could be gained from such an alliance. This cult, the Unseelie Eye, were known for pacts with spirits that were, shall we say, far less sympathetic to humanity. There was always a grievous cost in dealing with them. But Sintol believed that through combining technology and access to these dark but powerful forces, they could bypass that cost, or minimise it to turn a profit.


    Benold chose his words carefully. I wish I could remember exactly how he said things. There are such nuances to Benold I struggle to convey. But I knew he was asking for my input without asking, for a man of his station would never seek advice from an inferior such as myself. Image was everything, even behind closed doors. So, I begged his permission to speak freely and was granted it, with feigned reluctance. I told him his reluctance was wise. Although with the power the Unseelie Eye could grant them, it would damage their already precarious reputation. And there was no guarantee that they would be granted what they were promised.


    Benold said that Sintol had every intention of preempting a betrayal once they got what they wanted. I cautioned him that such a ploy would never work in their favour. To have reached a point to gain anything from the Eye, they would already have burnt bridges with current alliances. Then to turn on them would not win them back favour, but leave them struggling on their own. The secret to eternal youth would not save them, and may just encourage someone else to try and steal it.


    Benold listened carefully. He said he thought Commander Slacht must have already considered this, but was concerned that Commander Slacht hadn''t dismissed the plan immediately. He was weighing it out and giving it consideration. Benold was clearly apprehensive. I further added that power could be gained from other resources, if they were patient and good stewards of what they had. He said something about being wealthy enough to be truly independent, and I began to wonder if he was finally considering moving on from the Brotherhood.


    The relevance to this is probably because I used the word ''stewardship''. Which got him thinking about using the resources on the land they''d already claimed. And thus I bring you back to the underground tunnels he wanted me to help him search.


    It became apparent to me rather quickly that Benold was still uncomfortable underground. Since there weren''t any other staff around, I let my guard down and began to chatter away at him. I must confess, in my younger years, I was quite loquacious. During the war I had learned to be silent and say only what was necessary. My prattling worked like a charm. Soon my jokes and anecdotes were putting my master at ease. Then I heard the sounds of knocking. As the clatter echoed through the winding tunnels, I knew my purpose. That was the sound of a Coblyn: ugly little spirits resembling people, but generally curious and benevolent. However, their attempts to help were often misinterpreted, and led people to disaster instead.


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    Benold was clearly unnerved by the noises, fearing a collapse. He wanted to leave, but I bid him to remain calm. I insisted we follow the sound instead of moving away from it. It took some convincing, but he finally relented. Although I was his slave, he knew where spirits were concerned, I was his guiding light.


    We were led to a fork and he began heading right. I told him it was the wrong way, and he insisted that was where the knocking was coming from. I told him to close his eyes and really listen. That was just the echo. Unfortunately, he could not distinguish the echo from the source. Although he''d been following my lead to that point, I believe he felt he needed to remind me of the power dynamic. He insisted we go right. He had worked up quite a bluster by this point, but I decided the only way he''d learn was to find the consequences for himself. And so, I let him go right, and dutifully, albeit cautiously, trailed behind.


    The knocking became less frequent, and we went in circles. Benold was getting increasingly agitated. My chattering went from reassuring him to irritating him. So a silence came between us. Just as Benold was saying we ought to give up the expedition and go back to the entrance, there was a series of rapid knocks below us. I knew what this meant. I tugged on Benold, who resisted being moved at first, but when he felt a rumble under his feet, he gave way. Where he had been, the ground swelled before parting, and two large clawed appendages thrust through. There was a quake and the tunnel we''d entered through collapsed. Caught between rubble and a monster, we were in dire circumstances.


    Was I afraid? Yes. I regretted not being firmer, and instead electing to teach Benold a lesson. I had imagined Benold may have come to some mischief, not any serious harm. And before you wonder, this creature was not the Coblyn, nor did the Coblyn lure it to us. The knocks were a warning. But that didn''t matter now. We faced a creature with the head of a bear, and giant, broad paws like that of a mole, and a long serpentine tail. I had never seen such a creature, nor heard anything matching this description.


    I was not equipped to do anything. So I did the only thing I could think of. I dropped down to the floor and covered my neck. What was I to do? I had no weapons, and our path of retreat was blocked. The whole room was filled with the resounding boom of Benold''s rifle. I could feel the sound in my chest. The creature roared and I stayed down. I heard the clatter of the rifle and feared the worst. Just as I looked up, still prostrate on the ground, I saw Benold step in front of me, his revolver out. Of course he''d bring a back up. He emptied the entire chamber into that creature. It did not go down, but his final shot, to its nose, caused it to reel back.


    That was it. With one hand he stooped down to drag me to my feet. Meanwhile my hand grabbed the lantern I''d dropped. There was a tunnel just past the hole crafted by this creature and that''s where we ran. The creature howled with anger, and its sounds chased us through the winding tunnels. I kept my wits about me, searching for an advantage.


    "If we can get up there, we should be out of its reach!" I exclaimed when I spotted a high shelf in the rock.


    "How? We don''t have time!"


    "Give me a lift!" He hesitated. "Trust me!"


    The roars were getting closer, and there was the sound of stone being smashed. We had brought rope as a necessary tool, and I wrapped it about my shoulder. Benold gave me a step up and I climbed the rest of the way. Anchoring the rope on a sturdy stalagmite, I dropped it down and Benold began his ascent. With the comfort and luxury he had lived in, it was easy to forget he had been trained in more than marksmanship. Still, I was surprised how spry he still could be at his age. I pulled up the rope and the monster charged into the chamber beneath us. It sniffed around and listened and pawed at the walls. Keeping otherwise still, I threw a rock down another tunnel at an attempt at misdirection. To my relief, the ursine creature charged after the noise, and I watched as its naked tail slithered around the nearest corner.


    Benold and I were silent, holding our breaths. The sound of the creature finally became distant, and we let out a sigh of relief. By that point, Benold decided to let me guide him the rest of the way. We didn''t say much. I don''t think we needed to. At that moment, we needed each other.


    The knocking continued as we tried to find a new route out. For me, hearing was more than just sounds. It was space, and distance, and time. It was things relating to other things. For most of my life I thought everyone heard the same way I did, but I was mistaken. I had exceptional acuity when it came to finding the source of a sound. The Coblyn led us, indeed, to a vein. Benold was pleased with this discovery, but concerned about the dangers that may lurk in this cave.


    I do believe Benold learned a valuable lesson. However, he was not about to admit it to me. Still I could see in the way he watched me that he had discovered a newfound respect for me. It was hard to not let it go to my head. For as readily as I could earn it, I knew I could lose it. But when I was finally alone in my room, I revelled in the feeling. And though we had been in danger, I found myself hoping to go on more adventures with him. Because out there, there was no society telling us how to act. We could just be, and I was longing to just be.


    "Did you ever see that monster again?" Volente asked. A few times through the story he had pinched the lid off of his vials of smelling salts. It was no surprise that he was relieved the danger was past, and eager to be sure it wouldn''t arise again.


    "I did not. I believe he put a bounty on the beast to clear it out before he could set up mining there. Though, that caused some of its own problems later on," Trosyn reflected.


    "It always does," Colto muttered. Trosyn tilted her head, regarding Colto thoughtfully for a moment.


    "What do you mean?" Trosyn asked, trying to draw more of a discussion out of the laconic Colto.


    "Solve one problem, and new ones arise," Colto responded with a shrug.


    "Yes, but that keeps us well employed! Because who do they come to to solve problems?" Baldovo preened.


    "I think... it''s a matter of finding the problems you can live with," Trosyn reflected. "You just keep digging until you find what you can endure." Colto blew out a plume of smoke and made a non-committal ''hmph'' in disagreement, but did not seem interested in engaging in a debate.


    "Well our most current problem is a bunch of sick sailors. If it stays with them, fine, but if it spreads, it could become a disaster," Baldovo remarked. Volente removed his spectacles and rubbed his temples with something strong smelling.


    "I''d suggest you make sure to use this oil daily, it will ward off sickness. It''s infused with medicinal herbs," Volente said, holding out a small glass jar. "I don''t mind sharing. Would you like to try some, Red?"


    "Thank you, but I''d hate for you to run out," Trosyn responded, putting up a hand of polite rejection. Volente frowned and then looked at Colto and Baldovo hopefully. Baldovo gave it a sniff then pushed it away. Colto didn''t even go near it.


    "Suit yourselves," Volente grumbled.


    Trosyn looked at the three scientists. She then put her hand out. "Alright, I might try a little," Trosyn said with a smile. Volente''s eyes lit up. He rummaged through his medicine bag and took out a small, clean vial. He worked on transferring some of the oil from the jar into it, and handed it to Trosyn. "Thank you, Volente."


    Volente smiled foolishly. Baldovo and Colto exchange glances and both stood up. Colto put a hand on Volente''s shoulder before leaving. Baldovo shook his head disapprovingly. "Come on, Volente, let''s get going. We have to be up early tomorrow to check our instruments."


    "Hm? Yes. Right, coming!" Volente said, scrambling to gather up his miniature apothecary and the papers he''d been writing notes on. "Stay healthy, Red."


    "I''ll do my best."

 Chapter 6: Falls

    The wheezing and rattling breaths filled the room like a nest of hornets. Trosyn sat by one of the lower cots, wiping the brow of one of the sailors. He was burning up, and she wasn''t sure he would pull through. The ship''s doctor clicked his tongue as he checked the pulse of one of the other sailors.


    "Rapid... thready..." he sighed as the midshipman with him wrote notes. The doctor looked over to Trosyn. "Don''t strain yourself, Red."


    "I''m not." Trosyn responded serenely as she wetted the chapped lips of the sailor she was attending to.


    "I know you''re missed in the mess, but I really appreciate your help these last few days," the Doctor, one Doctor Hern, said in his high voice, which didn''t seem to match the craggy visage of the middle-aged man. His hair was such a pale blonde against his ruddy skin that it almost took on a pink appearance in certain lighting.


    "It''s fine. I understand why you forbid me to work around food at the moment." Trosyn responded as she held the weakened sailor''s hand. "Do you really think this was caused by contaminated water?"


    "Yes. But it may have been from the last port we visited, as I know Cook is very particular about the quality of our water. I''ve seen this fever before," Doctor Hern sighed. "I''ll soon be out of tincture of silver, and will have to make do with honey and garlic."


    "Well, I should be getting on," Trosyn said as she rose from the stool she''d been occupying, hearing the slow, raspy breaths of slumber from the sailor she was attending. She left the area that had been curtained off for the sick sailor from the rest of the barracks, only to hear a clatter of rushing feet. Standing in front of her was Volente, his face etched with worry.


    "Volente, what is it?" Trosyn asked. He stared at her, wide eyed.


    "It''s Baldovo! He''s burning up!"


    <hr>


    "I think he''ll pull through. I checked in on him and Doctor Hern seemed quite hopeful," Trosyn remarked as she sat on a stool in Colto''s room. Colto was sitting cross legged in his cot, and Volente was pacing and wringing his hands.


    "He should have accepted my oil. Neither you nor I are sick!" Volente opined. Trosyn shook her head.


    "I''m not, and I never took it," Colto said in his calm, monotone.


    "Oh but you are healthy as a buffalo!" Volente exclaimed.


    "You aren''t helping yourself or Baldovo by going on in this way, Volente. The doctor said this sickness springs from contaminated water," Trosyn asserted in a firm tone, trying to straighten Volente''s coiling anxiety.


    "But we all eat and drink roughly the same!" Volente exclaimed. "It must be my medicines that have helped! Oh dear, oh dear, but maybe not, my throat is feeling sore. Baldovo had a sore throat, didn''t he? I must go gargle, I must-"


    Trosyn sprang to her feet, standing in front of Volente, hands on her large hips. "Volente, you need to stop and take some deep breaths." Volente blinked a few times, staring at Trosyn. He opened his mouth to protest but she crossed her arms and lifted her chin, standing her ground with a firm eye. This caused Volente to swallow and instead comply, breathing deeply. "There now. I wouldn''t want you to choke while gargling due to your agitation." Trosyn reached out, patting the side of Volente''s arm.


    Volente was stunned, looking down at Trosyn''s hand. This reaction caused Trosyn to immediately withdraw and mutter an apology. "No, it''s fine, it''s fine," Volente murmured as he rubbed his arm.


    "Need a distraction?" Colto asked, having silently watched the two interact.


    "Maybe, once I''ve had some medicine," Volente murmured.


    "Well, I can come by later and tell you more tales, if you aren''t bored of me yet," Trosyn said with a smile.


    Volente smiled sheepishly. "I would like that... but Baldovo might not."


    "Keep good notes, and you can catch him up when he is recovered," Trosyn said with a smile. This seemed to cheer Volente up considerably. He stood there, smiling broadly, the creases at the edges of his mouth furrowing deep. Trosyn stood aside so that he could pass on by.


    "Oh... yes.. Better go find my garlic water..." Volente said, quickly reanimating as he sauntered off. Trosyn shook her head and trailed after him, leaving Colto in peace at last.


    <hr>


    And now to return to my story. Hmm. I think the next relevant event was shortly after our adventure underground. Benold came to me and placed some silver coins in my hand. I was naturally very confused and asked him what the purpose of that was.


    "You went above and beyond your duties in the caves, and the vein looks to be very rich indeed," he told me. "I feel you are owed some of the further wealth it will bring me."


    I looked at the money. Where could I keep this safely? I tried to push the money back into his hands as I said, "This won''t do me any good. I am a slave. Where would I spend it?"


    "Surely you want a few items of your own? Or you could save it up," Benold insisted, pushing it back into my hands.


    "I am your property, Master, anything I own would be yours anyway, so you might as well keep it." Again I tried to give it back to him.


    "I won''t take anything from you that you buy yourself. You''ve earned this, and it''s upon my honour I must compensate you for discovering that vein," Benold held up his hands so I could not give the money back.


    This went on for a while, my refusal to accept the money, and his insisting that I take it. Understand, in the past when slavery was used among my people, a slave could buy their freedom. But since this servitude was a punishment, the option to buy freedom was not made available. It was not necessarily forbidden, but there was no price, no debt that could be honoured.


    "Master, if you wish to reward me, then put the money aside for me. You keep it safe, you be its steward," I finally relented. This was a compromise we could both reach. He felt he was discharging some sort of debt and was able to save face, and I didn''t have the burden of the coin. You see, I had shelter, I had food, and he''d provided me with modest and functional clothing. The only things that I wanted or needed were things money could not buy. Well, except for sweets, which I did not wish to waste money on.


    I was sometimes sent back to the mines to help interpret the messages that the Coblynau tried to convey, but in time, the miners began to understand them better without needing my guidance. While I never learned what that creature in the tunnels was, I got the sense that the Coblynau felt it a threat to them as well, and were grateful to have had it dealt with. The Coblynau can work and work, striking at the rocks, but never make any progress. They rely on mortals to excavate on their behalf. And I warned the miners to always leave offerings of food, and a small portion of the ore for the Coblynau if they wanted their continued assistance.


    The master and I were speaking more often, but he was still quite guarded and imperious. But I could see his demeanour became more tender towards me when he didn''t think anyone was looking. As for my feelings towards him, they were still confused. I wanted to love him. It would make everything so simple if I did, even if I never could express it. But there was still the taint of having had to fight against him in the war. And there was still the fear of his associates. I often thought, if he truly cared about me, he would protect me from them. But in the past, he had failed to, and even defended them. And I could not trust that history would not repeat itself.


    As I stated, I was feeling more confident and secure, but still there was some tension. But that confidence began to wane. Not because of anything he did, but the betrayal of my own body. I had always been robust, except for one matter. When I was younger I had these great pains, but I was able to seek out a wise woman who could make them manageable. And when I was in the service, they had doctors who were able to eliminate them - for a time. The ailment I had was stigmatised, so I was trying to conceal it. There was no one I trusted enough to help me find a practitioner who could abate it.


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    My work was slowing down. Mrs. Gray could see it, but wrongly assumed that I was getting proud. She probably believed that because the Master had been too soft on me, I was becoming complacent. So she began working me harder. Sir Benold, himself, was blissfully unaware that anything was wrong. He usually was unaware of the struggles of others if they didn''t tell him directly. On the battlefield, few details slipped past him. But on the social sphere he was myopic. Fortunately, the pain wasn''t constantly there. It was intermittent. So I was learning to work around it. But most importantly, conceal it.


    As I said, Benold was oblivious. And he decided it was time to expand his holdings. Why he didn''t bring a detail of men with him, I''ll never be entirely certain. But the two of us ventured out to a beautiful clearing, with cascading pools and caves hidden beyond the falls. I could sense this place had a strong connection to spirits, although I could not detect any entities close by. I took off my shoes and waded in the lucid pools while Benold watched, a smile on his face. After playing a little, he told me it was time to do what we came there for: to explore.


    Now, Benold is a warrior. He''s fought many battles. But most of them from a safe distance. And such, he''s not as brave as he''d like people to believe he was. After the last encounter, he was not keen on going back into the caves. So he instructed me to go ahead, alone, and see if I could find anything. But he also told me, at the first inkling of danger, to not take any chances and come back, where he would be waiting, armed. As his will was my command, I went on ahead.


    It was just me and the echoes of a distant drip and rushing water. I quite enjoyed the soothing sounds and feeling of depth and solitude. It was a different sort of solitude than when I was locked in my room at night. But this was dark and solemn and tranquil. I am unbothered by the dark, you see, and my eyes adjust fairly well. Eventually I found a large chamber and one of the walls felt unusually smooth, as though it had been worked. I elongated the wick of my lantern and saw writings and glyphs on the wall. I could not understand them, but I felt that they were significant. I remember running my finger over them, as if I could etch them into memory. But that was when I heard a scream.


    You can imagine I was very startled, and very distressed. I always considered that I was the one in danger, not anyone else. It took me time to wend my way back to the mouth, but I saw no trace of Benold. Instead, I saw two figures wearing tribal garb. One had a hood and cowl formed of eagle feathers. The other wore a wolf''s head upon her crown. They both were peering down into a steep descent to some subterranean pools below. I do not remember what I first said to them, but they understood me asked who I was. I answered truthfully that I was a slave. They looked at my bracelet, seeming to understand what it represented.


    What I found interesting is they said I stunk of the Comiba, which was a word I did not know. It apparently was a word they used to describe the conquerors. In part, it''s what Benold was. What Commander Slacht was. They called them devourers, and said they would bring ruin to everything they touched. I was not going to disagree. I knew there were plans to ravage this land of all its resources to fund their own take over back in Ayokonia. And there was no guarantee they would stop there. Perhaps even try to conquer all of Siperon. They then looked back down into the long drop. I remember exactly what the eagle-feathered man said.


    "Good riddance. May he be a feast for the cave worms."


    I was terrified. What would happen to me now, without Benold''s protection? I was also aware that yes, despite my grievances, I really did care about him. I was also afraid of what these people may do to me. Would I be a spoil to take back as conquest? Would they kill me? Would they just leave me? I asked them what they had planned for me.


    "What do you believe you deserve?" responded the woman with the wolf-headdress.


    This was a difficult question. "That is a trickster''s question. I believe that I deserve neither your hostility nor your hospitality."


    She smiled and pardoned her difficult question, but said it gave her interesting insight. I then went on to tell her, "You have made a grave mistake attacking Sir Benold. His men are cruel. But they are also loyal to each other, and will exact revenge with tenacity. He was the most reasonable of the inner circle. He was the only thing holding them back. I suggest you prepare yourselves for a brutal assault."


    This may have not been wise, considering my predicament. However, I felt it prudent to be straightforward with these people until I learned more about them. The eagle-man was clearly offended by my words and moved to strike me down, but the wolf woman placed her spear in his path to halt him. She spoke, "You assume we attacked him. We did not. Can you not smell it? The musk of the cave worms?"


    It occurred to me just then I made an error in judgement. I peered down into the darkness with my lantern, and saw Benold down below, lying in a shallow puddle. I saw no cave worms, and he looked as though he may be alive yet. So I apologised and begged that they excuse my ignorance. They appeared bewildered as I tied my lantern to my belt, and prepared to go climb down. I told them, "I will be punished if I do not rectify this. Please, do not stop me."


    "Why? Why go after him? Has he not enslaved you? Do you not realise you can be free?" I heard them questioning me. The feathered man said something about having been controlled or enchanted. I told them I had no time to explain and I jumped down.


    I approached Benold and felt his breath. He was still alive, albeit out cold. I tried to wake him, but he would not stir. Then I heard a series of clicks which turned into a screech. By now, I could smell what they described. Musky, strong, earthy, but also slightly acrid. From the darkness a giant worm slithered into view, rearing up and opening its formidable maw. I tried again to wake him, but he would not move. On the ground nearby, I saw his rifle, and I grabbed it. Although I was not a good shot, I had little choice. It was loaded and I had one shot.


    I did not wish this creature harm. Unlike the monster in the other caves, I knew cave worms were important to the distribution of minerals. It was a large enough target I probably could hit, but I knew that it would likely shrug off anything, unless I aimed specifically for its open mouth. But again, I did not wish to kill it. I didn''t have much time to deliberate. I opened fire upon it, hitting it just below its head. This caused it to reel back and shriek in pain. I stood up as tall as I could, waving the rifle with one hand, and my lantern with the other. To my surprise, and relief, the combination of pain and light caused it to retreat.


    I sank down next to Benold. I could not carry him. I was too weak. I could drag him, but not back up to the cave opening. Alas, I had not thought that far ahead. All that mattered to me was getting to him to protect him. To my surprise, the two tribespeople had not left but called down to me.


    "You did not kill it?" The wolf woman asked in disbelief.


    "Should I have?" I asked, uncertain.


    "No. Perhaps you are not like them after all. You are not mindlessly violent."


    "I am not. And neither is he. He is mindfully violent," I told them, trying to alleviate the tension with some humour. But I do not think it translated well into their culture. There was a heavy silence. I broke it by asking for their help, to which I heard the man laugh. I insisted that if they helped us, he would owe them a favour. I was desperate.


    The two conferred with each other for a while. They finally agreed to help me lift him out, with the expectation of both of us owing them a favour later. While I could not see how I would be of much use to them, I did say I was in their debt. This was a very dangerous gambit, but time was precious.


    They climbed down, and between the three of us, we were able to bring Sir Benold to the surface and lay him out. They asked again, why I protected him.


    "I was not enslaved by him, I was only bought by him. He has treated me well. If I were to flee, though, his associates would hunt me down, tracking me with this," I said, holding up the arm with the bracelet.


    "So you save him out of fear," the woman chided.


    In response, I told her, "Fear. Maybe. We both have our roles, and I take my duties seriously. Even without this shackle, I''d stay. I''ve given up on freedom. Whether it''s oppression, societal obligations, imprisonment, or relationships, we are always in bondage."


    This seemed to satisfy both of them. It may have been my imagination, but despite the fact I was under the thumb of her enemy, I do believe I earned her respect. The woman with the wolf mask introduced herself as Asion and the feathered man as Kerran. They cautioned me yet again to remember what we owed them, and then they disappeared into the foliage.


    As you can imagine, once Benold finally regained consciousness, and I told him what had happened and the deal I had made on his behalf, he was not pleased. He was not pleased at all. However, he did not bring his wrath down upon me. He just seemed tired and exasperated. That was until I winced. I was exhausted, I was sore, and my guard was down. The pains came sooner than I expected and I failed to conceal it. He showed genuine concern despite his consternation. He asked if I had been injured. I told him it was nothing to worry about. But he insisted on having a physician brought in to check on me once we were back. I could not refuse.


    Although he had a moment of warmth returned, by the time we were both well enough to ride home, we slipped into an uneasy silence for the entire journey.


    "I do not blame him," Colto observed. "Being in debt to your enemies is never wise."


    "Oh, but she saved his life, surely the debt was worth that?" Volente remarked. He''d been wringing his handkerchief through most of the story, and seemed relieved when this adventure had come to yet another peaceful end.


    "Mayhaps," Colto said distantly, shifting in his cot.


    "Well I don''t blame you for doing everything you could, Red," Volente said, arching his eyebrows and crossing his arms as he sat on the cot opposite Colto.


    "That is kind of you to say. But I understood my master''s silence as well. My actions complicated matters. But I do not regret it at all. I would do the same again," Trosyn said, smiling gently.


    "Well, you should go before it gets too late. People will talk if you leave our quarters at an indecent hour." Colto looked over at Volente when he said ''our'' quarters. He then snorted and crossed his arms, laying back down and staring at the hammock suspended above him.


    "They talk when I leave here at any hour. But I don''t care," Trosyn said, but she rose up from her stool nonetheless. "Do try and get along, you two."


    "Oh we''ll be fine. Getting along while sharing a space with Baldovo was much more difficult. I''m just relieved they had some spare rooms for us rather than cramming us into the open on the berth deck. Though I do feel it is unfortunate that means the midshipmen had to double up as well. They give us such scathing stares."


    "It was in our contract," Colto said, his words fading into a yawn.


    "Well, I should get going. I''ll check in on Baldovo," Trosyn said as she left.


    "Thank you, Red."

 Chapter 7: The Cost of a Woman

    That moist, rattling sound was troubling Trosyn. She wiped Baldovo''s brow, which was beaded with perspiration. He turned his head away and brought a trembling hand up to catch hers.


    "Relax... you''ll come through this..." Trosyn said in as soothing of a voice that she could muster. Baldovo''s glassy eyes peeled open for a moment, before rolling up and shutting again.


    "Why... waste your time..." came the hoarse whisper from Baldovo. Trosyn smiled, taking hold of his hand. Although roughened and callous, she had a gentle touch.


    "At sea, no time is wasted. I''m driven forward no matter what I do on this ship..." Trosyn stroked Baldovo''s hand comfortingly. He gave a weak squeeze and let out a few chortles before they morphed into sputtering coughs. Trosyn grabbed a clean handkerchief and passed it to him. When his fit subsided, both sat in silence for a while.


    "Tell Colto..." Baldovo croaked between raspy breaths. Trosyn leaned forward.


    "Don''t speak, just rest," Trosyn admonished.


    "...Mmm... tell Colto... tell him... I''m sorry..." Baldovo''s eyes reopened languidly.


    "You''ll tell him yourself," Trosyn said with compassionate firmness. He cleared his throat, wincing from the pain of the raw air passage.


    "I''m sorry..." he repeated, "...sorry he''s had to... get stuck with Volente." Trosyn blinked a few times and the ailing man cracked a wide grin. His coughing returned, but despite the deep, lung-scraping noises he made, she could tell it was with laughter in his heart. Trosyn found herself laughing with him as she refreshed the cloth in a cool bowl of water.


    "It''s only temporary. You''ll be fine and Volente can move back in. You''ll be back to driving each other to distraction in no time," Trosyn said warmly. He smiled and relaxed as she reapplied the cloth to his burning forehead.


    "You make... a good nurse..." Baldovo whispered.


    "I know."


    <hr>


    Trosyn once again sat herself on a stool in the corner of Colto''s quarters, hand on her stomach. Her heart was racing, but it had been for some time now. Colto was silent as he lay back, hands behind his head, barely fitting in his cot. Trosyn rubbed her stomach, trying to hide the unease she felt. He looked over at her.


    "Are you well?" Colto asked. Trosyn nodded her head quickly.


    "Yes, I''m well, thank you." Colto stared at her a moment longer, looking over her critically. His small mouth, dwarfed by his wide chin, pressed into a thin line. Trosyn smiled at him in what she hoped would be reassurance. He went back to staring at the unused hammock above them. "Don''t worry, Colto, I''m not sick. At least, not in a way that endangers anyone."


    "Hmmm... be careful," Colto intoned. He turned away from her while they waited for Volente.


    It wasn''t long before Volente came in, his arms full of tubes and rolled up parchments. "Ah, sorry..." he said, walking over to a large leather case to which he began stashing the items. "I''ll need these for reference later and... ah! Red you are here already!" Volente said, a smile perking up his face, as it always did when he saw her.


    "Yes. Baldovo is still poorly, but he''s more himself. I think he''ll be alright," Trosyn said merrily. There was a chorus of relieved sighs from the other two men, albeit the relief was from varied sources. Colto was relieved because he might get his space back. Volente was relieved out of genuine concern for Baldovo, although the two disagreed often.


    "Well, I''ll have plenty to catch him up with," Volente said as he pulled out some fresh sheets of paper and wandered over to a small desk.


    "That you will."


    We were filthy when we returned from the falls. Yes, I am continuing straight from our last meeting. Before I had a chance to properly get myself cleaned, I had been summoned up to Benold''s personal wing again. I was surprised and wondered if Benold had forgotten something. Dreading to be more roundly reprimanded for placing him in the debt of his enemies, I went apprehensively to him.


    Benold stood in the hall outside his quarters. He gestured for me to follow him. To my surprise he brought me into his private bathing chambers. I see that look, Volente. Don''t worry, I won''t say anything tasteless. At least, I hope not. Our cultures may differ on what is and isn''t acceptable. Benold told me, that although he was vexed about the decisions I made while he was unconscious, that he realised the cost at which I had made them. Extra money to the accounts he kept for me would not suit. Really, you needn''t be nervous about where this is going.


    Benold explained that he loved nothing more than to have a relaxing bath after a trying time, and said he would draw one for me - this one time - and I could take all the time I liked. Understand, I''d been cleaning myself with old rags and a cold bucket of water in my room, with no fire to sit by to warm up. This was a properly heated bath, with oils and salts and fragrances. With soft fuller and clays to draw out impurities. In short, he wanted me to have a taste of luxury as a show of gratitude.


    At first, I was inclined to refuse. While warm water would be nice, I did not find soaking and covering my body in unnatural fragrances soothing. It also did not occur to him that letting someone touch something out of their reach could be vastly unkind. To him, he was being generous. Magnanimous, even. Even if horribly misconstrued, it was kindly meant. So I agreed. He left me for the sake of decency and I won''t deny that the warmth did ease the pain somewhat. But I knew I mustn''t dawdle. There were things I needed to conceal, and staying there would likely have exposed me.


    When I finished and changed, he seemed surprised that I had not spent longer. I explained I was feeling a bit light headed, and he apologised for making the bath too warm, citing his own ignorance in forgetting that I wasn''t used to heated water. Even his apologies smacked of his entitlement. But to be honest, these things did not offend me. I found it quite amusing.


    However, I realised my error in using light-headedness as an excuse, as it reminded him of his determination to call in a physician for a house call. This did not bode well for me, as a doctor may expose me. I again insisted that I was fine, but he would not brook any protestation from me. He insisted that as his prized possession, he needed to keep me in top form. Yes, he called me his possession. He often flip-flopped between distancing himself and reminding me of the hierarchy, and asking me to be frank and reminding me that I had a mind of my own. Such mixed signals could be frustrating, but I admit, I gave him plenty of mixed signals back. I could be coy one moment, then professional and cold the next. We both kept the other on an uneven keel.


    "I can believe that," Colto mused. Trosyn and Volente looked over at Colto, who was still resting comfortably as he listened. His eyes were closed, and several times Trosyn had wondered if he''d fallen asleep. It was a surprise when he actually spoke.


    "What do you mean by that?" Volente asked, somewhat testily in defence of Trosyn.


    "You''re inconsistent. You say much, but hide more," Colto remarked, not opening his eyes. Trosyn was silent for a moment, looking Colto over critically. Colto''s quiet and often straightforward ways often left one forgetting he was an analytical and deep thinker. And while Baldovo tried to tease out the truth with verbal barbs, Colto merely observed. Volente frowned, ink dropping from his freshly dunked pen.


    "True. I could say the same about Baldovo," Trosyn reflected.


    "Exactly," Colto said, his tone underscoring a deeper meaning. Trosyn smirked and shifted her weight on the stool, a hand going to her lower back. The pain. No, she would be fine.


    "Well, I never said I''d changed so very much since that time. It was more that I changed radically from my youth, when I was open and unguarded. My vulnerability was my shield. Until it worked against me," Trosyn admitted. Colto finally opened his eyes, drawing a half-lidded sideways glance at her. This exchange was making Volente increasingly agitated and uncomfortable as he blotted his pen with a bit too much force, nearly bending the tip.


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    "Well, what happened next?" Volente asked, trying to break through the tension he was sensing but could not understand.


    In a few days, a physician came to see me. I was extremely anxious, as in the past, even when I was homeless, there was usually a wise woman I could see for herbs and tinctures. I only ever saw a man for bone setting. Even when I was in the Royalist Army, I was seen to by women medics. Yes, they served under a lead military surgeon who was a man, but he delegated to women to treat women. That is the way it ought to be. Or so I had been brought up to believe, by Benold himself. So when he brought a male physician to me, I was unsettled. He assured me that there were not any female practitioners of medicine at the colony, otherwise he would have sent for someone right and proper. He did offer to request the presence of one of his female staff, but there was not anyone working with him I trusted on that level. I had hoped that citing female delicacy I could convince him to send the physician away, but I had no such luck.


    I was in a room alone with the physician, and I gathered this man was very used to handling slaves. He was not cruel per se, but I did not feel like a person in his eyes. He wanted to ensure I had good care, so far as it would please his employer. Which meant he grew impatient with any hesitation on my part to cooperate at any part during my examination. He was able to determine the source of my discomfort straight away, and I knew he''d tell Sir Benold. I was terrified. I had mentioned the curse our people would sometimes pass over people, even those who had not performed the rituals of appeasement. But it wasn''t without a cost. And that cost was pain. He knew very well what my pain meant. That I could have children. And that made me a commodity.


    I begged him not to tell my master. But he said it was out of his hands. If I were my own person, then he would keep his confidence. But I was not. I asked him if he could bend the truth a little. I could tell he was uncomfortable. I could see he was struggling with his duty versus his compassion. But in the end, I could not convince him to change his mind. Admittedly, I did not try my absolute hardest. If Sir Benold was going to find out, a part of me was relieved he would hear it from someone else. However, I was unsure what he would do with the information.


    The doctor said he could recommend some poultices and herbal tinctures that would soothe my discomfort, as well as getting plenty of sunlight. He then went to speak to Benold. I was shaking with anxiety. Things for once were going well. And I felt this would pull everything, the boundaries that had been established, into jeopardy.


    When the doctor was gone it was a while before Benold summoned me to his study. But I knew it would come. Meekly, and trying to stop myself from blushing, I went to speak with him. I remember how he stood, hands clasped behind his back, posture erect and proper, the sunlight framing him as he looked out at the setting sun. I announced my presence, but he did not move for some time. Thoughts were running through my mind. Was he angry I kept this secret from him? Was he going to allow greed to claim him, and sell me? Was he just too embarrassed about how to approach the information?


    After a while he spoke. "I knew you''d been hiding something from me," he said, still gazing out the window. I hung my head. I don''t remember what I said, or if I said anything at all. "But I don''t blame you for keeping that a secret. I would, if I were in your situation. As a man, I can''t imagine what it is to be... what you are. The way we are." he said. I may have muttered something, I''m not sure. I do remember him looking at me briefly over his shoulder, and his eyes, they looked... sad. I didn''t understand. I thought for sure he''d be angry or contemptuous, but not sad. He looked back out the window. "It''d be selfish and a waste for me to keep you."


    I thought my heart would plummet to the core of our world then and there. Sir Benold, at times, was vexing, but he was a fair master. He was my safe harbour, if you will excuse the nautical metaphor given our current surroundings. "So you will sell me?" I asked before I could silence myself.


    Then he told me I was to be sent away to be studied. Studied! I wanted to fall to my knees and cry and beg him not to. But in his pride, I felt he would be disdainful if I forgot my own dignity. Yes, I was his slave, but I was once his pupil. I walked forward, unbidden, and stood behind him, staring out the same window. "But, Master, they will strip me naked and carve me up like a sow," I insisted.


    Benold squinted. If I had pointed this out to him, he would have insisted it was because the sun had dropped to where it would get into his eyes. But I knew it was because this was not easy for him. Then he said, "Not necessarily. They''ve come a long way. But they need to know if there is a way around the spirit''s curse. And you may be the key. There is a directive from our High Minister that any Wildflower discovered is to be sent to be studied. You are deemed property of the state. It is out of my hands."


    I wanted to argue with him for my sake. I wanted to tell him he didn''t have to. But in the past I had challenged him whenever he broke the law, whenever he took the side of his criminal associates. And to say something like "You were never bothered about breaking the law before," would not work in my favour. Because from that point on, if I ever was on equal enough terms with him to reprimand him, he could call me a hypocrite. And he''d be right. What was I to do but to meekly submit? I always advocated lawfulness. Sometimes to a fault. So I hung my head and said, "If it is the law, then it is the law."


    I could tell this bothered him. He closed his eyes. No, he shut them tight, scrunched them, as if he were in pain. He looked down, and after a moment of stewing on whatever thoughts were circling through his mind, he turned on me, a vicious look on his face. "That''s it? You just accept this!?"


    This was confusing to me, as you can imagine. I stammered something like "But you said..."


    I was interrupted by a verbal explosion from Sir Benold. I remember his words clearly. Yes. His voice sounded so intense as he said, "Why won''t you fight for yourself? You were always telling me that I was doing wrong! But this law is wrong! These people oppress you! And you take it. Now they will do Spirits know what to you! They will violate you in the name of science, and still you accept it! Didn''t I teach you better? To stick up for yourself?"


    I was stunned. He''d remained so calm all this time, other than that unfortunate drunken incident. I glanced around, expecting to see an empty wine glass, but there was no such sign. "You only taught me to stick up for myself against anyone but you, and your comrades."


    There was another heavy silence after I said that. His eyes went wide, and I think I remember him going pale, though that may be just my own fanciful recollection. I could tell the cogs were turning. He had to face the dissonance and the double-standards I''d endured under his tutelage. I think, at that moment, a lot of truths were starting to come out of hiding. He looked overwhelmed and he turned away from me. I felt there was nothing left to say, and I turned to leave, despite not having been given permission to do so. It wasn''t until I was turning the handle that he told me to wait.


    "I don''t want to send you away, Trosyn," he said to me. He had rarely used my name since he purchased me. "I miss your frankness and honesty. I know I chide you for forgetting your place... but I... you know how appearances and rank are important to me." I did know. I didn''t like it, but I understood where he was coming from. These emblems of his past before the civil war were fragments of a happier time for him. So he held on to his pomp and circumstance. It was the glue that held him together.


    "I do." I was feeling very cold towards him, though I was trying not to. If our roles were reversed, I would do my duties and send him away. And it would break my heart. Surely, his was breaking as well. And maybe he thought showing his reluctance would soften what had to be done. But it actually made it harder on me. Because I had my own pain and fear to deal with, I didn''t want to also feel his as well. And I felt it. "May I take my leave, sir?" I said as frostily as I could.


    He stared at me, looking as though I had pierced his heart with an icicle. Although, stabbing a person with an icicle is not easy, you can''t get a good grip on it because it''s melting and slipping in your hands. I know. I''m deflecting because my feelings from this are wearisome. But it''s an important part of my tale nonetheless, and I need to purge it so I can move on.


    Anyway, Sir Benold looked away, nodding. I turned to leave and he clearly changed his mind as he told me again to wait. He strode over to me with purpose. And before I could ask him what else he wanted, he grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. He didn''t touch me often, preferring to be a distant lord, so this threw me off guard. Before I could process what was going on, his hands were on my cheeks, and Sir Benold was kissing me.


    .... Yes, it had come to that. I''d had my suspicions. I''m sure all of you were certain this was where it was headed. As for my response? I did not kiss him back. I was confused, and even angry. We had a complicated relationship, with so much we had yet to reconcile. The timing was all wrong. Maybe there were other times I would have welcomed such an overture, but not then. Not at that moment. As soon as I could, I broke away from him and I ran. I did not look back to see if he was surprised, angry, or sad. I didn''t want to know what my rejection would look like on him. I just wanted to get away.


    There really wasn''t anywhere I could go. I knew he had guards all over his estate, and none of them would think twice about dragging me back if I tried to escape. My room seemed the most obvious place to go, so I did not want to go there either. Instead I sneaked into the attic where off season clothing and decorations were kept, and just curled up and had myself a much needed cry.


    Volente had stopped writing, dark smudges on his fingers and chin. He set his fountain pen down, eyebrows tilted up sadly. Colto remained as calm and neutral as ever, though the flare of his broad nostrils was a sign he was holding something back, although it was difficult to tell if it was contempt or pity.


    "What happened when he found you? Was he very angry?" Volente asked. Trosyn drew in a deep, shaky breath, one of her thumbs massaging the palm of her other hand. She gave a shake of her head.


    "I think that is enough for now," she said with a wry smile, creases deepening on her forehead and at the edges of her mouth.


    Volente looked clearly disappointed, and he idly rolled his pen along the desk. "I understand," he finally said. "I''m sorry this is hard on you."


    "Don''t be. It''s hard, but in a good way," Trosyn said, smiling warmly to Volente. He straightened up and adjusted his glasses. Trosyn looked at him, and then rubbed her nose. "You have a smudge, right there, on your face," Trosyn said. His eyes widened, mortified, even though such smudges were commonplace when writing. He grabbed for his trademark handkerchief and licked it, trying to rub off the offending smudge, ignoring the blackness of his fingertips. Trosyn laughed at his antics as she got to her feet.


    "Ah, so you are leaving?" Volente said, gripping his handkerchief tight.


    "Yes. Have a good night, both of you," Trosyn bid as she whisked out of the room. Volente went back to rubbing his face and Colto just sighed, shaking his head.

 Chapter 8: The Shrine

    "Red..." Doctor Hern looked with alarm as the early fog of morning surrounded the ship. Standing at the edge was Trosyn, leaned over the railing, heaving and retching. "Oh no, you have not succumbed to it as well, have you!" He asked, walking over to place a hand on her brow. Trosyn quickly drew away from him, wiping her chin on the back of her sleeve.


    "Don''t touch me!" Trosyn snapped, her gray eyes wide and pale.


    "Red.... it''s me, Dr. Hern. I wasn''t going to hurt you. Please, let me have a look at you," the doctor coaxed, his hands out to show they were empty and harmless. Trosyn regarded him, slowly lowering her hand which had been covering her mouth.


    "I am not ill, Doctor. I do not need to be examined," Trosyn said firmly, eyeing him with a hostility the doctor had never encountered in her before. He believed she must be delirious, which was not a good sign.


    "Why don''t we get you in, out of the cold?" the doctor suggested in as gentle of a tone as he could. Trosyn furrowed her brow and shook her head.


    "I just needed some air... I''ll be fine. Really," Trosyn said, her tone a lot calmer than before.


    Doctor Hern looked at her critically for a moment longer, his tone firming. "Understand I can''t take chances with any sickness on board, Red. You know that."


    Trosyn frowned, but then sighed and nodded her head. She looked around to make sure no one was nearby and she stepped closer to the doctor. "I have no infection, doctor. I know what upsets my stomach, and it cannot be spread," Trosyn whispered, licking her salty lips.


    "Miss, I am the doctor, you are not. I would know better what can affect the health of this ship," Doctor Hern said as patiently as he could.


    Trosyn stepped even closer, lifting her round chin to look him in the eyes. "Fine. You can check for the fever if it will put you at ease. Let''s go."


    <hr>


    "So this is where you''ve all been hiding yourselves?"


    "Baldovo!"


    Volente sprang from his cot to greet Baldovo with more exuberance than Colto or Trosyn expected when his former roommate poked his head in. Trosyn had just sat down to begin yet another segment of her tales.


    Baldovo looked a little bemused by Volente and then glanced at Colto, giving a head tilt. Colto shrugged, then nodded, and Baldovo smiled, his eyebrows relaxing as he stepped in the whole way. Volente gestured to his recently vacated cot for Baldovo to sit, and he moved to sit at the desk. Trosyn remained on her stool, watching them interact.


    "Don''t tire yourself out," Trosyn warned.


    "Bah! Hound me not, woman! I know my own strength. If I wanted a nursemaid to hen peck me, I''d have proposed to you already," Baldovo growled, waving his hand at Trosyn. But beneath his ill-tempered response was a smile, which Trosyn returned. "Now then, you waited until I was asleep to get to the meat of the meal, eh? Or so Volente''s notes indicate."


    "It was starting to... ah... pick up," Volente said delicately as he began shuffling through papers.


    "Well then, I expect to be adequately entertained tonight. Trosyn, do regale us!" Baldovo said, stretching out on Volente''s cot.


    Soon after that incident, Sir Benold left on some vague business with his associates. I wasn''t packed off to be experimented on, but there was no guarantee that I wouldn''t when he got back. I was on tenterhooks the entire time he was away. But it gave me time to sort out my feelings. I even began to regret rejecting his advances. Perhaps if I had responded more favourably he would not make me go. But I also didn''t want to think the only reason he would keep me around was for his own, ah, physical gratification. Or, on the flip side, that would be the only reason he would be derelict of his duties.


    I wasn''t waiting long to learn my fate. A few days after he left, Mrs. Gray came to me and said I was to pack some clothes and be ready to leave that afternoon. I asked where, and she told me she did not know, only that a carriage would arrive to collect me. I was hoping in vain he was sending someone to collect me and bring me to him. As upset as I was with him, I''d rather deal with him than the unknown of some place of study.


    My hopes were dashed when I saw a carriage I did not recognize roll up. It was not his, nor was it driven by a coachman I''d ever seen before. But I picked up my gunny sack and got in. I had a long journey to think about what may lay ahead. I also had a long journey to think about what a coward Benold was, to pack me off like this without giving me his final decision, face to face, like a man. He often purported himself as being fearless. But he was a man full of fears and insecurities. This was just more evidence of it.


    I was taken to the harbour and brought into a small but heavily secured building. There I was put through a battery of uncomfortable tests, and talked about as if I wasn''t there by the two men conducting them. It was a dehumanising experience, but not much different than what''d I already been subjected to. Still, it was upsetting. They left to discuss me, and I listened as best I could. They were discussing making arrangements to send me back to Ayokonia. But then, a third voice joined them, and my heart sank. It was Sintol.


    The idea that Benold would let any of his shady partners know about my situation on top of sending me back to the mainland to be studied was a dagger to my heart. I heard him coaxing them that the costs of sending me back to the mainland was not worth the venture, and it wasn''t disloyal to wait until there were enough wildflowers to make it worth the charter. They said they were just going to send me on the next cargo ship. I don''t remember what he countered with, but it sounded as though he were trying to keep me in port. Which did not bode well for me. Because I knew he only wanted either money, or influence he could use to hold over Benold. I began to wonder if Benold hadn''t told him, but perhaps the doctor had.


    Eventually, that honey-tongued sapsucker convinced them to hold off shipping me away, and to send me with him for safe keeping. At this point I wasn''t sure whether to be relieved, or be filled with even more dread.


    Sintol came in, his oily grin on full display as his vibrant blue, almost violet eyes looked me over with unfettered greed. But I did not dare to offend him. Although he was the least violent of Benold''s cohorts, he was nonetheless dangerous. His battlefield, however, was always the marketplace and backroom dealings. I bowed to him and paid him all the respects he was due for his position, and he lapped it up. Of course, I don''t think he was fooled, but still enjoyed the appearance of submission all the same. It meant I was playing the game.


    Sintol took me in his carriage to his own dwelling. His property was not as sprawling or ostentatious as Benold''s. But then, he wasn''t a governor. Thus his house was smaller, but with the most modern conveniences and placed close to the market. On the way he was content to make small talk, about the town, but I could read between the lines. He was making sure I understood the extent of his power and influence. And when we arrived, he ushered me inside, past his housekeeper, and into his study for a private chat.


    "I believe you owe me," I remember him saying as he sat down at his desk, and bid me to sit in a cushioned chair. I did so.


    "I do," I admitted. I would not argue the point. The debts I was racking up, however, were not pleasing to me. Owing Sintol, Benold, and one of the natives was putting myself in an impossible situation.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    "Good, good, we understand each other," he said, grinning. But it was a dangerous grin that made my hair stand on end.


    "I think we do. Let''s get down to business. How can I discharge my debt?" I asked frankly.


    He told me that Benold was a hold out against his latest scheme, and he needed the Governor''s seal to move forward. And he said I was just the right leverage to change his mind. But that was business between himself and Benold. He knew I was valuable to his master. However, that could wait. He had a task he wanted me for first. It seemed he learned that I had helped to discover the valuable vein that Benold was mining, and he wanted to use my insight to investigate a parcel of land.


    To me this seemed fairly benign. But I felt there might be more to it than scanning an area for spirits. I suddenly realised my value to him wasn''t my fertility, but my spirit sense. This was an opportunity to make myself valuable to more than just Sir Benold. Too valuable to sell. However, I knew I could not use my wiles on Sintol; he was... of a peculiar sort. Women had no more claim on him than men; his only love was wealth.


    "And what is so peculiar about a man who has passions other than being burdened with a woman and children?" Baldovo interrupted. Colto arched his thick eyebrow at Baldovo then shook his head. Volente sighed a high, twittering sigh.


    "I believe some women are not considered burdens, but supports so men can focus on their passions," Trosyn challenged, remaining calm and collected in the face of Baldovo''s rankled demeanour.


    "Bah. Each to their own, of course. Colto over there can be a family man for the both of us. I prefer my life as an inveterate bachelor." Baldovo said, waving a hand at Colto, who remained as sedate and statuesque as he was wont to do.


    "Do you have a family, Colto?" Trosyn asked, not shielding her surprise.


    "Yes," Colto responded, his eyes narrowing. Trosyn paused, expecting him to go on. Then her eyebrows raised then fell as she put on a wry grin. She should have known better than to expect elaboration from the tight-lipped ox.


    "I am sure you are eager to get back to them, Colto," Trosyn remarked, watching him carefully. There was only the slightest softening of his stern demeanour as he nodded, but said nothing more. "Well, I guess I''ll get back to my tale, then."


    "Please do," Volente said, sniffing at Baldovo for his rude interruption.


    As I said, I knew I didn''t have a simple task before me. I was not taken to a tunnel as Sintol made it seem, but to a grove in the nearby forest where a crude stone altar existed. This was clearly once a sacred place to the native population. Not just sacred, but feared. I could tell immediately there were unseelie spirits here, and blood sacrifices had been made.


    "Everyone who tries to clear this wood has accidents," Sintol told me as we stood on the edge of the clearing. As I said, I could not see spirits, but I could hear them. I could sense them. And at times, I could see through their tricks. I went to the altar and knelt down, focusing. He asked me why I knelt there. It was then that I discovered he could not see the altar. It just appeared as a random boulder to him.


    "There are jealous spirits, the Eshyhon here." I reported. Eshyhon could be benevolent when treated well, but are very territorial. There are many different kinds, and I was not as well versed in them as I could have been. Benold was a modern man and discouraged me from seeking out what he called superstitious nonsense. He did not realise how real the spirits were to me. Not until much later.


    "Well how do I get rid of them?" Sintol asked me.


    "You do not remove Eshyhon. You only appease them," I told Sintol. He was not pleased with this, but he did not get angry. He waved his hand and walked over to me, letting out a low whistle. He went on to tell me that being returned to Benold hinged on how well I resolved this matter for him. As he neared the altar, I could hear a buzzing sound, like an angry hornet. I warned him to back away. He stepped closer and I rose, flinging myself at him to push him before he could pass the threshold. I remember he stumbled back and was very surprised. I think he may have been angry at first, but when a tree came tumbling down and landed where he had been, his demeanour shifted.


    "Are there spirits here now?" I remember him whispering in my ear as we both lay in the grass. I confirmed that they were, and they were not happy with his presence. I warned him to leave. This time, he heeded me.


    We stood a ways off and he said he wasn''t sure until then if I had the gift - if finding the ore was luck. He told me he wanted to develop that land, and would not let man or spirit stand in his way. I told him I could only listen to the spirits, I did not have the power to bend them to my will. Although if what Benold said was true, Sintol knew people who could. And that worried me. And if he turned to them, things could get messy.


    I told him I could try to reason with them. I do not blame his hesitation or skepticism. But I told him that spirits and people had a long history of entering negotiations, and was that not his forte? I could act as a translator of sorts for him to try and work something out with them, but warned him that he''d be starting off with an already hostile entity, and to conduct himself with the same level of caution he would when entering deals with other dangerous syndicates.


    We agreed we would come back and try things my way the next day at twilight. I told him to be prepared to make a blood sacrifice and to bring some live birds. I recalled having seen some feathers in the mud near there and it was my best guess. But there was no telling what the Eshyhon would demand, or if they would even speak with me.


    The next day we had our preparations made. I approached the altar and told him to keep back so many paces. There I listened. They did not speak, not with words, but I could sense hostility but also curiosity. I had with me a cage of two pigeons. I took one out, feeling and sensing as best I could, until I was certain I was not creating offence. I wrung the bird''s neck and spilled its blood on the altar. I could feel a shift in the air. Things grew quiet; peaceful. My offering was accepted. But they were still present, and they were still claiming that territory. I explored the area to get an idea of their boundaries, marking it with sticks with colourful feathers attached. Once I had the area cordoned, I spoke again with Sintol.


    I told Sintol that the trees in that area must not be disturbed, and that the boulder he saw must be bathed in blood. However, if he forged an alliance with the Eshyhon there, the land would provide him with something greater than whatever he had planned to cultivate there. He did not seem convinced. While doing the perimeter I discovered something, to which I showed him. A rare fungus with that could bring on heightened awareness and visions. I warned him that they would not grow where there were not these trees.


    I could see him trying to do the figures in his head. He approached the altar to get a better look, and I felt the buzzing again. Although I had ameliorated them to my presence, it seems they were still hostile towards him. I warned him back. He did not listen. From the trees a swarm of vicious, stinging insects came, moving with one accord. We both ran as fast as he could, but did not outpace them without taking a few hits. We jumped on our horses and fled, leaving some of our things behind in our haste.


    Once we were far enough away, he demanded to know why I said it was safe when it was not. I said the spirits could be fickle, but he was not happy with that answer. I tried to convince him to give it time and to make a blood offering himself next time. He told me there wouldn''t be a next time. If the spirits were not willing to deal, they''d be dealt with. I had a bad feeling in my gut about this as we rode back to his abode, aching and itching from the welts left by the attack.


    The next day Sintol was in better spirits. He informed me that though my negotiation with the spirit did not succeed, I still was able to provide him with valuable insight which increased the value of his land. He told me he delayed my departure for the time being, but to keep myself from being poked, prodded, and bred like a prized mare I would need to fulfil additional favours for him. Grimly, I accepted his terms. However, I was not necessarily sure I wanted to be in his pocket. But it gave me time to try and find some other recourse. I just needed to figure out a way to avoid that fate. I was determined to find a solution that extricated me from his grasp or any other underhanded dealings.


    "Baldovo? Did you fall asleep?" Volente asked. He had taken a moment to pause and stretch from his notes, and noticed Baldovo lying on the cot, eyes closed.


    "No... but I may soon..." Baldovo responded, eyes still closed and voice quiet and slurred.


    "That is enough anyhow. My throat is feeling a bit rough from all this talking," Trosyn said, rising to her feet. Volente blew on the sheet he''d been scribbling on, encouraging the ink to dry.


    "Don''t stop... on my account..." Baldovo murmured, turning to face the wall.


    "I''m not, I''m stopping on my account," Trosyn said firmly. Colto got up and stretched, walking over to Baldovo.


    "Come. I''ll help you to your room," Colto said, holding his large hand to Baldovo. Baldovo belligerently refused, but Colto remained where he was, hand outstretched.


    "I''ll leave you gentlemen to sort out your sleeping arrangements," Trosyn said with a smile, and a hand on her stomach.


    "Rest well, Red," Volente said as he continued to clean up his cluttered corner.

 Chapter 9: Seamans Brawl

    "Where ye off to, Red?" one of the sailors asked as he saw Trosyn carrying an empty bucket through a narrow passage in the berth deck. Trosyn gave him a passing glance as she walked around him.


    "Top deck," she answered quickly. His hand went out, barring her from moving past him.


    "I''m sure it can wait. Been seein'' ye leavin'' the gents'' rooms a''night." the sailor remarked. Trosyn looked up at him with an arched eyebrow.


    "And?" Trosyn asked, setting down the pail and crossing her arms.


    "We''re told ta leave you ''lone. S''fair, don''t want men fightin'' over a scrap o'' meat," the scarred sailor remarked, keeping his hairy, tanned arm in her path. "But what they don''t know..." The sailor teetered and Trosyn could smell the rum on his breath.


    "Well, I wouldn''t want to be the one to disobey Captain Galli," Trosyn said firmly, keeping eye contact with the man. She picked up her pail and ducked under his arm. He laughed, and at first Trosyn thought his bark was worse than his bite. That was until a firm hand gripped her shoulder, a thumb digging into the muscle before spinning her around to face him. Trosyn didn''t wait to see what his next action would be, and she instinctively swung the pail to clout his face. This broke his hold on her and he staggered back in surprise, cussing vibrantly.


    Trosyn began rushing away when she heard hands clapping. Baldovo had entered onto the scene, stating his approval. The sailor who had accosted her had recovered his senses, and gave a murderous gaze towards Trosyn, and then Baldovo.


    "We''d better go," Trosyn said quietly, tugging on Baldovo''s loose fit top.


    "Right with you," Baldovo agreed hastily. Both turned to leave, but three sailors barred their path.


    "We''ve had enough o'' yer high''n''mighties. No one takes a shot like that at me mate ''n gets away with it," said a lean, dog-faced sailor. Baldovo lifted his chin and stuck out his chest. It was not an impressive display and Trosyn tugged again at his shirt, shaking her head. Baldovo breathed in deeply, but that only caused his lungs to rattle and he broke into a coughing fit. Trosyn put a hand on his shoulder, and the other sailors laughed at his frailty.


    "Come now, we can be civil about this!" Baldovo said when he was able to speak again. "It''s just a misunderstanding. You wouldn''t want an incident, especially with some of you still recovering," Baldovo said, his voice occasionally croaking from his own weakened state. "And you wouldn''t strike a sickly old man and a lady."


    "Oh yeah? You think that?" The sailor who took the hit to the face had come up behind Trosyn and Baldovo, wiping blood from under his nose. "Rule of the sea, blood means blood."


    Trosyn was scrappy for a woman in her thirties, but she and a barely recovered man past his prime were no match for the four sailors. It wasn''t a fair fight by any stretch of the imagination, and Trosyn only got in a few solid hits before she was on the ground, covering her head as a boot kicked her square in the back. She could hear Baldovo cry out and grunt in pain, another hit met her on her shoulder. Trosyn''s eyes shot open when her hair was yanked. While the sailor wound up to backhand her, he was abruptly pulled off of her.


    Colto had entered the brawl. Although Colto was also outmatched, he managed to stay standing long enough for the chief mate to intervene. From chaos to order, Mici quickly had the sailors and Colto lined up against the wall, while Trosyn and Baldovo were helped up by a shaken Volente, who presumably had ran and got the chief mate.


    "Who started this?" Mr. Mici demanded. No one responded. They just looked down, eyes averted. Mr. Mici slowly walked up and down the row of battered crew. "Well?"


    "If I may..." Baldovo tried to speak, but was overcome with a coughing fit. He moved his hand from his lips, seeing the bright red fluid on his fingers.


    "Take him to Hern. Take both of them to Hern," Mici said sternly. Trosyn did not need to be told twice. Reflexively, her hand went to her abdomen, where it stayed, cradling her gut the whole walk to the stretch of canvas which constituted as the surgeon''s quarters. Baldovo and Trosyn exchanged glances before pulling open the flap.


    <hr>


    Later that evening Baldovo was having a laugh; even Colto was grinning as the three of the men passed a flask between them. When it reached Trosyn, she put up her hand, passing up on the offered brandy. "I''m sure those sailors are hurting more in their pride than anything, having been knocked about by a learn-ed gent!" Baldovo prattled before taking a swig. He began coughing wretchedly and Trosyn looked up guardedly, watching him carefully.


    "I guess Red is going to have a new meaning," Volente chimed in, seeming timidly proud of Trosyn having held her own. At least, she reportedly did with Baldovo''s version of events. Trosyn just remembered lying on the ground, being kicked, and hearing Baldovo whimpering beside her. But she did not care to correct him. She just watched to make sure he did not relapse after his ordeal.


    "That she did! Smacked Gold-tooth Jimmi in the face, bloodying his nose. I told you, Trosyn can fight her own battles." Trosyn gripped her hands into fists. She took in a deep breath and forced on a smile, but her hand was again cradling her abdomen.


    "Not when it''s four on one," came Colto''s brassy voice.


    Baldovo looked up at him, passing the flask to him. He took a hearty swig, well aware he earned the indulgence. "Four against two!"


    "You dropped before Red," Colto reminded him, putting Baldovo in his place, taking another drink.


    "It''s good I got Mr. Mici. Colto might have crippled someone," Volente remarked, admiring his fellow scientist''s prowess, albeit with a taint of envy.


    "Or killed. Then we''d have a real problem on our hands! Ha... ho... oh..." Baldovo said lightly as he leaned against Volente, who he was sitting next to. Volente''s eyebrows went high and pushed together, seeming a bit unsure what to do. After his hands fluttered in confusion, he tentatively placed an arm around Baldovo, looking at Colto and Trosyn pleadingly.


    Trosyn rose and walked over, sitting on the cot on the other side of Baldovo. She then gently pulled him to her side so he laid his head in her lap. Volente seemed relieved to be from under Baldovo''s weight, but consternation worked its way into his features as he stared at Baldovo''s coveted pillow. Baldovo, his eyes closed, reached out, grabbing to try and take hold of the flask. Trosyn gingerly snatched it away from him. "I think that''s enough."


    Baldovo grumbled a mild protest, but Trosyn just ran her hand through his tight, salt and pepper curls. Volente watched this with a frown that made his chin look even more pointed. He had the flask shoved at his chest, and he took it from Trosyn. "But are you really alright?" Volente asked.


    "Just bruised," Trosyn responded. "I''ve been through much worse."


    "Ah... yes... you mentioned Vormind did... horrible things to you," Volente muttered. Trosyn looked over at him and sighed, then nodded.


    "Of which we will not speak. I have a feeling the Captain is going to have words with me tomorrow," Trosyn predicted to change the topic.


    "Why you?"


    "For all intents and purposes, I started that fight," Trosyn said.


    "Nonsense..." Baldovo said tiredly. "I saw... it all... he grabbed you first."


    Colto''s face grew very grave at the mention of the sailor touching Trosyn. Trosyn watched this, tilting her head. Colto could be cold and sometimes seemed to disapprove of her. But he was also very protective. Was it just that he was that way towards all women, whether he cared for them as individuals or not?


    "In light of what happened... if you''d rather not tell stories tonight and go to bed, we''d understand," Volente said, placing his hands on his lap, rubbing his sweaty palms along his thighs.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Ah, I had not thought of telling stories tonight. But now, I think I will. I was tired, but all this merriment has given me a second wind," Trosyn said with a faint smile.


    "Oh, well, then, let me get my writing supplies!" Volente said, springing to his feet and shuffling around the desk.


    I was in Sintol''s care for a day or two longer, I think. Then Sir Benold came, and he was in high dudgeon. Sintol had taken to dining with me, which Sir Benold never did. And when Sintol''s housekeeper announced Benold had arrived, there wasn''t any time before his shouting could be heard and he stormed into the dining room. He stared, shocked at seeing me there. His eyes narrowed and he looked very suspicious once his surprise had faded.


    "Karm Sintol! Return her immediately!" I remember him saying, lacking all refinement he had cultivated. He sounded like a petulant child whose toy had been taken away. Sintol just smiled at his antics, and I just stood up and excused myself. After all, I was property, and did not have a say in the debate over my ownership.


    Although I left the dining room, I sat myself in the adjoining parlour, and their voices were raised enough that I heard Sir Benold berate Sintol for forging his signature. I was able to gather that Sir Benold had not alerted the authorities after all, nor did he send word for me to be collected. That was all Sintol''s doing. I should have known, and reprimanded myself for thinking that Benold lacked the honour to tell me to my face if he would send me away.


    It sounded as though this sort of breach of trust was not common between the two. I know Sintol was not to be trusted, but Benold always held firm that they could trust one another. It did not seem to be the case anymore. And somehow I felt as though I were at the source of some of the discord between them. But that may have been my own vanity. I did have some, though I did my best to suppress it.


    The two men bickered for some considerable time. But Sintol eventually wore my master down into believing he had done him a favour, by getting my wildflower status on the books, and as reported, but then created necessary delays. This way if I was ever discovered later, no one could accuse him of having kept me a secret. Sintol''s flagrant abuse of bureaucracy was to my advantage, and vastly to my preference to directly illegal and underhanded dealings. But I knew the results would not be benign. Sir Benold now owed him, and Sintol still was trying to push him to support entering negotiations with the Eye. Sir Benold was cornered into agreeing to inviting a representative of them to his estate for a meeting, but he refused to agree to more.


    I had a bad feeling about it, and being the bargaining chip used against my Master. Once they had a few drinks to make up, Sir Benold stormed into where I was calmly waiting in the parlour, and with very little delicacy grabbed me by the wrist and led me out to his carriage. I remember the way he gave one last look at his associate, no, friend''s townhouse before climbing into the carriage beside me.


    Benold waited until we were on the road before he quietly murmured an apology. He then looked me in the eye, anxiety etched on his brow. "Did he treat you well?" I assured him I was fine, and there was nothing lacking in his care of me. That seemed to satisfy Benold, although he seemed still apprehensive. The rest of the ride home was silent. We had not spoken since he kissed me. We had not even laid eyes upon each other. The silence was well deserved.


    As soon as I was home I was put back to work as if nothing had happened. I wanted to talk to Sir Benold, but he preferred to just slip into denial. My frustrations grew daily. I put it into my work and became an unholy force to dust and grime. Mrs. Gray was at her wits end finding work for me. But I could not keep up the fervor, as I had been sacrificing sleep and eating little during this time. Nothing was said about this either.


    With the fear of Sintol knowing too much about me, with the fear of the homeland collecting me for tests, I could not remain idle any longer. I had never approached my master when I was not explicitly summoned. But I''d had enough.


    I rapped sharply on his door. I received no answer. I tried the handle. It was locked. I knocked louder and called his name. Eventually, his door came open, and he stared down at me, in his dressing gown, and hair, which was usually tied back, unbound. "Did Mrs. Gray not tell you I don''t want to be disturbed?" he chided.


    "She did. But I want to disturb you." I remember saying, causing his brow to wrinkle. I remember his hands were on either side of his doorframe and they gripped a bit tighter before relaxing and he looked away. I could tell he was on the verge of telling me to leave, but I spoke hastily. "We need to talk."


    Benold looked over his shoulder into his bedchamber, and then he shook his head. "Into my study," he said. He was much too proper, even as a man who kissed his vulnerable slave, to ever let me into his room. Even though there was no one in the hall to observe such goings on.


    So there we were, in his private study again. It seemed a fitting place to discuss the unmentionable. But before I could even speak, he raised his hand to silence me.


    "I should apologise for my behaviour. It was inappropriate and ungentlemanly," he began. And I knew I was in for a long lecture on the virtues of a man of his standing, and even as he intended to apologise and point out his flaw, it would be quickly covered by how he envisioned himself. And that was the pinnacle of right and proper. Nevermind he stole, razed, and killed during the war. Nevermind some of the people he killed were civilians and innocents. Nevermind he kept company with a swindler, an instigator, and a sadist. He was a perfect gentleman.


    I listened for a while as he laid it on thick, but then I interrupted him, which startled him. I almost never interrupted him. I told him that he didn''t need to say more. I then told him it was unbecoming for him to even apologise to me, as much as I appreciated it. This caused him to pause and puzzle for a while, trying to find a way to salvage his position as my master, my position as slave, but also treat me with the respect he felt I, as an individual, was owed. It wasn''t easy for him to reconcile all the roles we had played in each other''s lives.


    "I can''t be a house slave and a lady. You can''t respect me with one hand, and put me in my place with the other," I told him. "Choose what I am, and stick with it."


    This left him silent for a while. He paced. He muttered. He gave me all sorts of irritated and fretful glances. He had said he missed my frankness. Well I was giving it back, and I was beginning to believe he didn''t miss it quite so much as he thought. "Well then, you need another promotion, from house slave to... to..." I remember him floundering. I don''t know why I said what I did. When it first came out of my mouth, it really was meant as a joke. But after it had, well, I began to think about it carefully. The idea would have upset me just days prior. But my drive to survive and stop playing a passive role in my fate was rearing its head.


    So I helpfully suggested, "Concubine."


    He snapped his fingers and started to repeat the word, then stopped before the last syllable, staring at me, absolutely mortified. He uttered that he did not need a concubine, he did not need his associates KNOWING he had a concubine, or the prattling of the household staff about having a concubine. Concubines were for nobility, and at the moment, he was just a Governor. He had lost his claim to nobility after the royals, and thus the noble classes, were smashed by the revolution.


    I asked him if there were any laws forbidding concubines. He sheepishly admitted there were some men who had forced their slaves to do fertility rituals and treated them like lesser wives, since the war had taken such a toll, but most of them already had wives. Having a concubine and no wife was simply absurd. How could one take a secondary wife without a primary wife? He then quietly added that he did not want anyone to see me in that way.


    I told him to look around. Everyone already saw me in that way. Gossip kept circulating from the moment I was taken off the fields about what sort of relationship we had. And it was rarely seen as purely professional. He demanded to know who spread those rumours, and I told him who was not the point. I also told him that Vormind had encouraged and expected this sort of behaviour on my part. Sintol was even hinting at it.


    He was not pleased when I pointed all of this out. He''d been blithely unaware, though I think through some concerted effort on his part to not see what everyone else was seeing. I told him that taking me as a concubine wouldn''t create scandal, it would normalise the concept and soon the gossip would dry up. What we did, or didn''t do, was no one''s business and left to their imaginations.


    That was when he stared at me long and hard. The haughtiness left his tone and he asked me, "So you just want the appearance of the position, not the actual duties..."


    He was clearly disappointed, despite the fact he was resisting the notion. Then I pushed matters a little too far, reminding him that he was the one who kissed me. He was irritated, since he''d just made a spectacular apology for doing so. I told him the truth was out, and he needed to face it.


    That was when, in a quiet, sullen voice, he told me to leave immediately. I did not protest. I did not apologise. I simply obeyed and left his study. You may all be thinking I handled that very clumsily, especially as someone who claimed to be trained in the art of seduction. I said I was trained, I never said I was good at it. Well, I was adequate at it. But it was easier to seduce strangers. And my few missions which relied on it never lasted long before the primary objective was secured. And I, myself, was still unsure what I wanted.


    Trosyn looked down at Baldovo, who had fallen asleep in her lap. Volente had been frequently looking over his shoulder at them sharply, only to turn and write furiously to keep up his shorthand notes of Trosyn''s story. "I''m losing feeling in my legs... so I think that''s a good place to stop."


    "Oh... I''ll help get him up," Volente said, nearly upsetting his inkpot with the speed at which he stood. His hand went out, steadying the wobbling jar, fingers again stained with ink.


    Trosyn gently patted Baldovo''s cheeks until he blinked. "Huh...? Oh... ow..." his hands went to his ribs, which had been bruised badly in the fight. But like so many injuries, they took their time to be felt.


    Colto stood up while Volente was still trying to stop from making a mess. He walked over, taking Baldovo''s arm, and steadied the weakened scientist until he was up on his feet. Volente saw this and frowned slightly, but then shrugged as he slowed down in clearing his things.


    Colto paused in the doorway and looked back at Trosyn, who staggered to her feet, legs wobbly and prickly. Volente quickly put out a hand to steady her. "Red," Colto said. She looked up at him curiously. "Be more careful."


    "Psssssssshhhhhhh she''s got us..." Baldovo slurred. Colto shook his head and helped Baldovo back to his room.


    "Will you need help? You are looking unsteady, uh... is it alright if I call you Trosyn?" Volente asked.


    "Call me whatever you prefer, Volente," Trosyn responded, slinging her arm about Volente''s shoulders. He smiled gently and walked with her out of the room.


    "It sounds like Benold really didn''t know how to talk about his feelings," Volente remarked. Trosyn nodded to this observation. "But I hope you realise, I think, in just about any culture, men just aren''t as open with them as women. We prefer to just show people how we feel."


    "I know, Volente, I know," Trosyn said. "But actions can mean so many different things to so many different people."


    "So can words," Volente observed. Trosyn was silent for a moment as they walked. After thinking that over, she nodded again.


    "Maybe, then, it''s best to rely on both. And make sure our words and actions match," Trosyn said after some deliberation.


    "Maybe."

 Chapter 10: Do You Love Me?

    Trosyn stood at attention in the Captain''s quarters as he paced in front of her, his gloved hands folded neatly behind his back. After a moment he pivoted on his heel, facing her. She lifted her chin, but kept her eyes averted.


    "I brought you on board knowing you might cause discord in my ranks," Captain Galli opened with. Trosyn nodded, lifting her eyebrows but still casting her gaze downwards. "I''ll be speaking with Baldovo as well. Tension between my crew and him is nothing new, but this is the first time it''s come to blows." The Captain crossed his arms, his finger tapping his upper arm as he regarded Trosyn sternly. "Four of my men all claim you struck Nuggi with a metal pail for being in your way, and Baldovo encouraged and incited more violence. But as your behaviour has been spotless to this point, I want to hear your side of the story."


    Trosyn''s eyebrows sunk low. "I was in a hurry, and Nuggi barred my path. I asked him to let me pass. He refused. So I ducked past him, and he grabbed me and pulled me back. That was when I hit him with the pail, as he made me afraid. Baldovo must have seen what happened and applauded, which was inappropriate. We both tried to leave, when the other sailors stopped us. Seeing that Nuggi was bleeding, they decided to punish Baldovo and I. I did my best to defend myself, but was overpowered. Colto and Volente came across the scene, Volente ran to get chief mate Mici and Colto intervened." Trosyn finally lifted her eyes and nodded to the captain to indicate she was done giving her statement.


    Captain Galli considered her account as he stroked his beard. "I do not abide fighting and it is my policy to punish all participants. It is how I keep order. You may not be part of the crew, but you are on my ship, and that means you are under my law." Captain Galli placed his hand behind his back again. "I sympathise with being afraid, as a woman surrounded by sailors, for all the reputation they have as a profession. But there will still be consequences for you, Baldovo, and Colto."


    Trosyn nodded her head, her gaze shifting from the Captain to straight ahead, chin lifted. "Understood, sir."


    "But do know, this incident hasn''t changed my opinion of you, nor do I retract my offer. Have you given it much thought?" the captain asked, tilting his head. Trosyn did not move, though her eye darted to him then away again.


    "I have. I''m still deliberating. I''ve entered into hasty arrangements before, so wish to give this full thought, sir," Trosyn responded.


    The Captain picked up a letter opener, poking his gloved finger with it a moment. "Well then add this to your consideration. If you were my wife, no one on this ship would dare lay a finger on you." The Captain leaned forward, whispering in Trosyn''s ear, "Because I would be well within my rights to shoot them." He then straightened up and faced the door. Trosyn swallowed the lump forming in her throat, but kept her expression carefully neutral. "When I''ve decided on your exact punishment, you will be notified. You may leave."


    "Sir," Trosyn said coolly, hairs still standing on the back of her neck as she turned to leave.


    <hr>


    The punishments doled out on Trosyn, Colto, and Baldovo were humane, as to be expected by a fair Master of the vessel. All were confined to quarters and reduced to bread and water for their sustenance for three days. Baldovo and Colto were placed in the same quarters, and Volente was shifted to share his cabin with one of the midshipmen. Trosyn continued to have her own cabin for the sake of propriety. The four sailors who had been in the fight were flogged publicly, but not confined or reduced in their rations, as they were needed to do their duties.


    Volente volunteered to bring the scant meals to his friends, and was given permission. He used this excuse to bring his journal to Trosyn''s cabin, and to sit on the empty cot across from hers.


    "It will be a long three days. Tell me more of your story, and I can share it with them during our evening meal," Volente said as Trosyn pulled apart pieces of her crusty heel of bread.


    "If you insist. It will pass the time. Doctor Hern offered to bring me some clean bandages to roll to at least keep my hands busy."


    "Oh! Oh my, how... thoughtful?" Volente''s eyebrows raised and lowered in perplexity as he prepared his writing utensils. It was a bit cumbersome as there was no desk in Trosyn''s cabin. He found himself fretting over keeping all of his supplies in orderly fashion, and with the looks he was giving Trosyn, it was clear he wondered how she coped without a writing desk.


    "Well, whenever you are ready," Trosyn said, watching Volente struggle to juggle his papers, ink, and pens. Once he managed to lay everything out so that it wasn''t constantly rolling off the cot, he looked up at Trosyn expectantly.


    I kept busy to ward off the frostiness by which Sir Benold was treating me. Some of the staff had picked up on it as well, and gave me such looks. Some of pity, some smug. Some were just curious. But none ever dared ask. They were mostly content with their own, or each other''s, theories. Some even tried to make my job more difficult, but with very little impact on me. Which I am sure frustrated them, but I was beyond concerning myself with them. I was constantly worried what either Sintol or Benold might do at this point. In all of my predictions, I had not even considered one of the more alarming outcomes.


    While I was airing linens outside, I saw a silhouette through the sheet I had just hung up. Moments later, the sheet I had carefully draped and straightened for most efficient drying was whipped away, and I was face to face with Vormind. I looked around in vain for the other maid I had been working with, but she was across the yard, busy with sweet talk from one of the coachmen. I looked back at Vormind who stepped closer every time I stepped back.


    "You''ve caused quite a little tangle between Sintol and my dear cousin, haven''t you?" Vormind asked, his voice bringing bile up my throat. He made a grab for me and I quickly ducked behind another sheet. Down came that one as well, tossed to the grass and mud.


    "Please, I need to get to my duties," I said, looking for someone who might help me. Why was it when I actually needed the other staff, they were nowhere to be found? And when I made mistakes, they were present in spades? I looked again to where the maid and the coachmen were, but they had walked out of sight.


    "I thought we had an understanding, you and I," Vormind said, blocking my retreat when I made for the nearby servant''s entrance. He grabbed a nearby washing paddle, smacking it into the palm of his hand as he continued to herd me away from refuge. He went on to add, "Not only were you supposed to not cause trouble, you were supposed to keep my dear cousin happy. And he does not seem happy."


    I was terrified. Vormind always prided himself on being persuasive. But his methods of persuasion were usually brutal extractions. I turned to run, but felt him yank me by my plaited hair and pull me back. If I could have, I would have cut all of my hair then and there to get away. I remember him spinning me around and taking my hands, squeezing them and looking at my fingers, remarking how nice my hands were. My hands began to sting, not because of anything he was doing at that moment, but memory of what he had done to them before. One might think a tiny sliver of dried reed would be harmless, but when placed beneath the fingernails, it can be very painful.


    I insisted that he let me go, that Sir Benold said he was NOT to harm me. I remember the feeling of his breath on my ear as he told me what Sir Benold didn''t know wouldn''t hurt him. But what I didn''t know would certainly hurt me, and clearly, I did not know my place. I will not burden you with details. He knew how to harm a person without leaving a mark. Compared to what I knew he was capable of, he was just giving me a warning, but it hurt all the same. And it put in perspective the folly of my getting too complacent.


    He left after reminding me that next time he would not be so civil. I then picked up the sheets he''d tossed around and set to washing them, knowing I''d get in trouble for the mess he made. I just had to push through my pain until my chores were done, then I could cry in my room and try to soothe myself.


    Afterwards I fell into brooding over my situation. I was not one prone to stewing, but I was afraid and distraught. My sense of security had been undermined. I began to question whether I was just imagining that Sir Benold still cared for me, and that he instead had some twisted fixation in his head. This just distressed me more.


    A few days later when I was told to bring him his supper, I nearly refused. But I thought better of it. With an enforcer like Vormind, disobeying Sir Benold wasn''t easy for me at that time. And I also did not wish to cause Mrs. Gray any grief. While she had been strict with me before, and at times seemed unreasonable, I was growing oddly fond of her no-nonsense ways. I observed how she handled everyone and knew it was nothing personal against me. There was that time when she - ah but I am getting off topic. Right. Sir Benold.


    He decided to dine in his quarters, so I took him his tray. I was not too thrilled with the goblet of wine included, as I was afraid of the effect it had on him. When he saw it was I who brought him his supper, I noticed a tick at his frosted temple and he looked away. Just as I was about to leave he told me to wait. I was tempted to march straight out, but again, remembered the lashing I took from Vormind. So I stayed.


    "Have the staff had their dinner yet?" he asked me. It seemed an odd question. I told him ''no''. And clearly, I would miss it if he detained me further. Instead of taking the hint and releasing me, he beckoned me over to the small table in his room, and gestured to the chair across from him. I crossed my arms and sat down. I watched as he tore open a fluffy, flaky white roll and smeared some fat on it.


    "I wanted to talk to you about that conversation we had," he began. I didn''t say anything, I just waited for him to get to the point. He offered half of his roll to me. I refused. He arched his eyebrow at me and left the offered half on the edge of his plate. He started to speak, but I interrupted him.


    "Before you begin there''s something I need to tell you!" I don''t know what possessed me to speak up. I''d told him about Vormind before, and he often took his side. He looked at me, astonished with my interruption, but gestured for me to continue while he ate. "Vormind approached me while I was out with the laundry."


    "When was this?" my Master asked, and I could see him growing tense. He was preparing for the accusations, I was sure.


    "I believe it was... one gong past luncheon."


    "Impossible. He had left by then," Sir Benold said, waving his hand. I knew it. But he seemed disquieted and he looked up at me again. "...You said you were out doing the laundry?"


    "Yes, hanging it to dry," I answered truthfully.


    "Could another maid verify that?" Sir Benold asked. I hesitated. I didn''t want him to know about the affair between the maid and the coachman. The Coachman was married, after all. And he was of the view that infidelity in marriage increased the likelihood of infidelity in the workplace. In short, he would have fired them both. But if he asked Mrs. Gray, she would report that I was not working alone.


    "Yes, Weneth was working the laundry with me, but she wasn''t there at the moment Vormind made his appearance," I explained. He didn''t look entirely convinced but continued eating in silence, making an encouraging gesture for me to continue. I told him that Vormind had threatened me, grabbed me, and hurt me. He did not look up once from his meal, often sipping his wine as he listened. But his brow was heavily lined, and his breathing had become shallow.


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    "Convenient no one else saw this," Sir Benold said in a dead calm.


    "He wouldn''t have acted if it wasn''t convenient for him," I challenged. He looked up at me with a baleful expression. I quickly looked down as a tense silence fell between us. Eventually I looked up again, and he was staring off to the side, dabbing his chin with a napkin.


    "Why did he hurt you? Did he say?" Sir Benold asked.


    "Yes but..."


    "Tell me."


    I squirmed. "He said it was because you were in a foul temper."


    It was then Sir Benold committed a most ungracious sin, one which would have had me out on the streets if I were to be so bold. He put his elbows on the table. I jest. Not about his elbows, but about the gravity of the situation. But if you''d known how often he''d scolded me for it when I was young, you would smile. I know the situation is serious, but I find sometimes a bit of levity helps me go forward.


    I could see Benold did look mortified, as the wheels were beginning to turn. He stammered a few quiet syllables, trying to extricate himself from an unpleasant situation. But then he finally said, "Surely you do not believe I instructed or ever even suggested he do any such thing? I would never! You know that, don''t you?"


    "You wouldn''t do these things yourself. But you do stand by and let them happen," I chided. He looked away, snatching up his wine and taking a large gulp. He continued to glare off at some distant mote across the room.


    "He should know better than to... than to..." Sir Benold grappled again with trying to salvage the situation. But the truth was not something he could reconcile and make himself look good. "Well what would you have me do? He''s my cousin. I can''t ban him from my house!"


    "But you could!" I insisted. He stood up suddenly.


    "I... you are not in a position to tell me what I should and should not do!" He said, wagging his imperious finger at me, like he did when he was my mentor.


    "He is hurting me! Are you fine with that?" I asked. I usually did not resort to displays of emotion, but there were tears in my eyes and I thumped my chest with my fist. "He is hurting me."


    Sir Benold sat back down, staring at me. He hung his head and placed his face in his hands. We did not speak for some time. I was considering getting up and leaving when he broke the silence.


    "I never was able to keep you safe, was I? That''s why... we drifted apart..." he said, disrobing this realisation of his. Perhaps he''d realised it long ago, but this was the first time he put it in words.


    "I couldn''t rely on you. You hurt me almost as much as he did, when you didn''t believe me, and took his side," I told him. And with every word I could see him sinking further, becoming paler. But it was gratifying to see his remorse. Not from any vindictiveness on my part, but rather just from him finally recognising that he wasn''t the only injured party in our previous falling out.


    "You never did tell us what happened between you and Benold in the past," Volente mentioned as he jotted something down.


    "No, I suppose I did not. It was so convoluted, it would be hard to put in order." Trosyn admitted, removing her cap and running a hand through her hair, which clumped in frizzy waves due to the sea air.


    "Everything you have told me... it''s clear you have suffered deeply. I am sorry to hear it," Volente said softly, looking over the notes.


    "It''s alright Volente. It''s all behind me now," Trosyn muttered the latter statement.


    "Is it? Goodness but it all seems so dreadful, and I worry that telling it is just reliving it. I am too much of a gentleman to want to see a woman raked over the coals of her past. Still, I... well I don''t mind hearing what you are comfortable telling," Volente admitted. He took a break from writing to wipe off his spectacles.


    "I bring it forward, to put it to rest," Trosyn explained. "Although, I realise, you do not speak of your own past much. Here am I, laying my history out night by night, but I''ve never asked about any of you. It would do me well to learn about where I am going to, as much as you are learning where I am coming from."


    Volente laughed, exposing his crooked teeth, but he at least had a full set of them. Which was more than could be said for some of the sailors much younger than he. He tucked his silver hair out of his eyes and perched his spectacles back on his narrow nose. "I don''t have much of a story to tell."


    "Everyone has a story," Trosyn insisted.


    "Well, I''m sure it will come out in spots. But let''s return to you and Benold. I feel like this is building up to something significant." Volente said, picking up his pen and giving her a pleasant smile.


    "You could say that..."


    Well, we were finally talking about the things that needed talking about. I''ve lost my train of thought and the memory is fading. I don''t remember everything we said. But I do remember he gave me a truly, genuine apology. Not the sort he used to puff himself up and extol his own virtues, but truly was showing remorse. In this regard, he surpassed my expectations. I even felt a little guilty for lacking the faith in him. But I think, even though I went into telling him about Vormind with low expectations, there was hope that it would make a difference.


    I remember how I responded, once I had let his apology soak in. "I forgive you, Sir Benold, for what it is worth." What I didn''t say was that if he made the same mistakes, I already knew it would hurt me even deeper, and take more than an apology for me to let go. I don''t hold grudges. But I feel deeply, and remember much. The pain I''d endured as a result of his actions were what I was made of. Although, I was as much to blame for some of my suffering as he was. As anyone was.


    He seemed surprised that I forgave him so easily. He hadn''t even asked for forgiveness yet. It took him a while to figure out what to say or do next. He had run out of wine, and his hands did not seem to know where to be. On the table. On his lap. On his arm rests. And then, all pretence and preamble seemed pointless, and rather unlike himself, he blurted out, "I wish you could be my wife."


    Now it was my turn to feel awkward and not know where to look. I fidgeted, which he had outlawed in my youth. He didn''t seem to notice at that moment though. It wasn''t a surprise after he''d kissed me that he had such thoughts about me. The awkwardness was more that I didn''t know what was appropriate. "And why can''t I be?" I know it was a na?ve question. But I wanted to know for certain. There were nuances to slavery I still hadn''t learned. I didn''t know what was the culture that had developed after the war, and what were the actual laws.


    He studied me for a moment or two, looking confused. Which confused me even more. It seemed the more confused each of us got, the other met a whole new level of bewilderment. I decided to take that half of a roll he''d left aside after all, as eating gave me something to do while I sorted this out. "After what you said, and when you ran off, I just assume that you don''t want to be," my Master finally said.


    Lucky for me, I had a mouthful of food to clear before I could respond. It gave me time to think. To feel. To focus. "What I want is to feel safe."


    "And you''ve made it very clear that you do not feel safe with me," Sir Benold said with an air of bitterness. He eyed his wine glass as if it were betraying him by being empty.


    "No, I do not," I responded plainly. He seemed put out by this for a while. But I think he was as upset with himself as he was with me.


    After struggling some more with whatever demons he had, he looked me in the eye and asked, "But do you love me? At all?"


    It was a very forward question, and one I could tell it was not easy for him to ask. Harder for him to wait for a response. He was already grimacing, and I could see he regretted asking before I could even speak. I wanted to tell him that I did, but not for my own comfort and safety. The trouble was, I definitely felt something for him, but could not be sure it was love. Or what he understood love to be. It was hard to see him as a whole. I kept seeing parts of him, parts of him that I adored. But then I saw sides of him that terrified me or triggered my contempt. When I tried to average it out, I really wasn''t sure. I did not want to say yes or no or even that I didn''t know. I tried to tell him that I felt affection or cared for him, I don''t remember the exact words I used. Probably several, but he kept shaking his head.


    "But do you love me?" he pressed on, not seeming satisfied with my other qualifiers. I was vastly uncomfortable, and resented being cornered into giving a yes or no answer to something that might affect my life significantly. I could never for a moment forget that he held my fate in his hands.


    "How can I answer that?" I asked, not hiding the exasperation in my voice. "I do not see how any answer won''t end badly for both of us. Either you get upset from my rejection and my security is in jeopardy, in addition to seeing you hurt which is not what I want, or we are stuck in a situation, teased with a relationship we can''t have because of our stations in life!" I let all these words out at him, and I think a few times he tried to interrupt me, but I just spoke over him until I''d said my piece. When I was done I was feeling quite tired, and he was staring at me with an expression I could not read. And I had considered myself quite good at reading faces.


    Eventually he muttered something about what I said making sense, but I could tell he was disappointed. To my relief, he did not seem angry with me. But, however, he did seem to mope. And I do not enjoy watching people mope. Especially him. But after a while he sobered up and looked at me.


    "I''m not just your master. I am the Governor here. My only equal is Chief Commander Slacht," he began to say. I was getting goosebumps when he started using his authority tone. I had a sinking feeling that despite the remorse he displayed, he was going to throw me over into the fire again for his pride. "I''ve thought about what you said. And you''re right. Hiding won''t do any good. Acknowledgement and legitimacy is what you deserve." His voice hitched and he lost some of the poise and confidence he was speaking with. "From now on you will be my... consort."


    "Consort? For a governor?" Volente asked, staring at Trosyn before narrowing his eyes at his notes, hand hesitating to write.


    "Yes. Is that unusual?" Trosyn asked.


    "A consort is usually the title given to people who marry royalty, but were not of royal heritage themselves," Volente explained, licking his lips.


    "Oh." Trosyn placed her hands on her lap, ordering her thoughts before launching into an explanation. "In Siperon, consort meant any legally bonded partner. It could include a wife or a concubine, although concubines had all but vanished from Ayokonia before the civil war. But they were still common in the neighbouring Kingdom of Tessra among the wealthy." Trosyn watched Volente closely as he listened, head cocked to the side. He seemed somewhat perplexed at first, but then seemed to shrug with his eyebrows as he wrote something down.


    "That''s a... very different take. Polygamy was outlawed about two hundred years ago in Lomany," Volente said, raising his eyebrows. "Wait... so are you... a married woman?"


    Trosyn looked at Volente a long time, watching his raised eyebrows slowly sink in the silence that followed. She cleared her throat and finally spoke up, "That depends on your definition of marriage," Trosyn finally responded, laying her hands primly in her lap.


    "Ah. Hmmm... I guess... maybe I am asking if you would be able to marry once you get to Lomany," Volente asked, quickly looking down at his notes to correct some imagined error.


    "That would depend on Lomany''s definition of marriage," Trosyn said with a smile. Volente peered up at Trosyn over his spectacles, then muttered something inaudible as he looked back down at his notes.


    "I am feeling a little light headed. So I think I will go fix myself a tonic and get on with the rest of today''s tasks," Volente said as he began gathering up his things. Trosyn nibbled on her bread.


    "Take care of yourself, Volente.'' Trosyn said once she had swallowed the small morsel. Volente paused and looked at her, then quietly gathered his things with as little fuss as possible. However, Volente rarely did anything without a little fuss. Trosyn bent down to pick up a piece of parchment which fluttered away, handing it to Volente with a gentle smile. He looked at her a moment, before taking the offered sheet.


    "Yes, um, take care." Volente repeated, bowing his head and quickly shuffling out of her room, looking out into the corridor to make sure his departure was not noticed.

 Chapter 11: Peer Pressure

    Trosyn sat across from Captain Galli in his quarters. He sipped his tea speculatively as he stared across the small round table at her. Trosyn looked down at the tray she''d brought, trying to summon up the courage to speak.


    "About the offer you made me..." Trosyn began.


    "Yes?"


    "You should know something first," Trosyn clasped her hands together and set them atop the table, finally lifting her gaze to meet his brown eyes. They glittered with interest and he inclined his head for her to continue. "You might be getting more than you bargained for. A child is growing inside of me."


    Clink. Down went the Captain''s teacup into its matching saucer as he stared at her. His full beard and bushy eyebrows made reading him a struggle. However she could detect a deep crease between his eyebrows. She wished he would say something, and after searching his face for clues her gaze dropped.


    "Well... I wasn''t looking to add any more children to my life," the Captain said in a grumbling voice. The Captain looked away, tapping his finger on the table. He cleared his throat and scratched his neck, the grating sound of fingernails against weathered skin and stubble pronounced in the silence that hung about them. "But... I respect you for telling me rather than hiding it. Maybe I mistook your age, thinking you were past that."


    A few measly syllables of a chuckle escaped Trosyn. "You wouldn''t be the first." Trosyn responded. "I never kept a record of my age." Trosyn rubbed her freckled face. "Does this mean you are withdrawing your proposal?"


    The Captain looked back at Trosyn, nodding his head. "I am." No apology was issued. No need to cut her deeper with any additional words. He lifted up his teacup and took a sip. Trosyn nodded her head, unsure whether she was relieved or disappointed.


    "Shall I go, then?" Trosyn asked.


    The Captain finished his tea and set down the cup, pushing the tray away from himself. "Dismissed," the Captain said, his tone distant and professional. Trosyn took the hint. She picked up the tray and left the captain''s quarters.


    <hr>


    The mess had become bustling again. Most of the ill crew had either died and been tossed overboard with a few words, or recovered enough to be back to their duties. Their progress had been slowed due to the sickness and shot hand to man the sails, for fuel was running low and the steam engine could not be relied upon.


    Trosyn''s work had become harder. What were once friendly jibes and harmless hazing took a mean turn, as she endured scathing glares, lobbed saliva, and jeering remarks. Trosyn had been jostled and tripped a few times. She heard the threats of what would happen to her if they caught her at the harbour once they docked. Trosyn wondered if she had kept quiet about her pregnancy and accepted the Captain''s proposal, would the crew dare to treat her in this way?


    Trosyn sighed heavily as she cleaned up the table next to the scientists'' usual spot, a sticky mess from upset ale and gruel. Volente looked over at her, but at a snap of Baldovo''s fingers he redirected his attention to the figures they were going over. Trosyn knelt down, cleaning up a disgusting sludge off the ground that bore no further description. She listened to the trio bicker over their work as Trosyn quietly set about her own.


    Eventually some order was invented out of the surrounding chaos and Trosyn sat down at the paper-cluttered table. She leaned forward, placing a hand on her back, rubbing the soreness out of it. Volente looked over at her with some concern, but then looked down at his task.


    "Ho, slut! Ye missed a spot!" called one of the sailors as he deliberately dumped his watered-down ale onto the ground. He and two others laughed. Tiredly, Trosyn got up to her feet to go and clean up. Baldovo, meanwhile, was doing everything he could to keep the other two scientists from getting involved. Colto and Baldovo both had learned their lessons. Volente, however, kept popping up his head and checking on her, to be sure she was safe.


    "Oh that''s it... that''s it!" Volente said, standing up as he watched as the continued mistreatment. While Trosyn was down on all fours to clean up a spill, a sailor had placed his filthy feet upon her back, using her as a footrest. Another leaned down and whispered something into her ear, which Volente was glad he couldn''t hear. "Now see here!"


    "Down you fool!" Baldovo said, grabbing Volente''s arm. The sailor''s did not even look up. Volente puffed out his chest, which only served to make him more comical, and he tried to strut over to them. Alas, Baldovo had a firm grip on his wrist and yanked the delicate scientist back. Volente jerked then realised what he was about to do with horror. Those were three very burly sailors over there. And Volente, well, he was a slip of a man who wouldn''t even know how to throw a proper punch. Volente quickly sat back down at Baldovo''s bidding, thankful for the intervention, but still distressed by the circumstances.


    "She shouldn''t be treated that way. No one should be treated that way," Volente opined in his plaintive, nasal voice.


    "True," Colto responded. He''d kept his eyes on the work, but stole a glance over at Trosyn, who was pushing the sailor''s feet off so she could stand. He kept putting them back on, seeming to think it was a game. Colto''s already monkey-ish nasolabial crease deepened as his nose wrinkled, his deep set eyes bearing down on the display. Colto craned his neck, and a series of cracks could be heard.


    "Don''t be baited. You got off easy last time," Baldovo cautioned. "But the captain warned us any further fighting between us and his crew would not be tolerated."


    Colto cracked his knuckles. "Not going to fight," he said, placing his hands on the table, about to push himself to his feet. Suddenly, a shoe went sailing over their heads, causing Colto to duck. It clattered as it hit the opposite wall, and all eyes went to the direction it came from. Trosyn stood with her hands on her hips, fixing a bewildered sailor with a stern stare. He was missing a shoe.


    "Brimstone and fire, woman! That was me best clog!" the sailor seethed, his holy stocking exposed to the world - as was a wretched smell of foot-dwelling fungus. The other two sailors laughed at this odd form of retribution, patting the angered sailor on the shoulder. Trosyn stocked off towards the galley, ignoring the demand from the sailor that she go fetch his shoe.


    Colto relaxed, and the other two scientists burst out into laughter once they got over their initial confusion. Muttering curses under his breath, the sailor half walked, half hopped across the mess to retrieve his far flung footwear.


    When things quieted down again, Trosyn made her reappearance, taking a cautious glance around before sitting down beside Volente. The three scientists all nodded to her, but avoided saying anything about the incident that had previously transpired; Their impish smiles and nods of approbation communicated just enough. Even Colto gave Trosyn a half smile before lighting up his pipe.


    "I do believe you still need to tell us about your clandestine meeting with the natives of the island," Baldovo prompted before even a mote of small talk could begin. The scientists looked around, and that was the signal for them to roll up their parchments and set aside their work.


    "Although you also did say you''d explain how you and Benold ended up on opposite sides of the war," Volente reminded.


    "And what was that other guy Benold was bitter over, baron something or other," Baldovo chimed in.


    "Best stay on the main story. What did the natives want?" Colto suggested, trying to rein in the other two''s attempts to spiral the story out into tangents. Trosyn looked at the three of them, all with their own requests.


    "Goodness, one doesn''t know where to start if you can''t all agree," Trosyn teased lightly, looking between them. They had been arguing over interpretation of the data for most of the afternoon. Trosyn heard snippets of it, although she didn''t understand most of it, she did understand some of the colourful language Baldovo slung at his peers.


    "No, Colto is probably right, we should just get on with it," Volente said with a long-suffering sigh, his tone suggesting he didn''t entirely agree but was too tired to argue.


    Baldovo was not quite so fatigued. "The story probably isn''t having the intended impact if we don''t know what all you and Benold have been through."


    "Doesn''t need impact, just need to know how she got from there to here," Colto asserted as he tapped the side of his pipe.


    "You take the fun out of everything, Colto," Baldovo griped, but he relented. Trosyn had been patiently waiting for them to come to an accord, and with the raise of her eyebrows showed a little surprise at the speed of which they did so.


    "Well then, I guess I''ll continue," Trosyn said.


    "Yes. Please."


    Benold and I arrived at a grove. He wasn''t going to go unprepared, and had brought a revolver, hunting knife, and his rifle. He gave me a knife as well, telling me he''d be wanting it back before we got back home. I kept it in my belt, making no efforts to hide it.


    The grove was a spiritual place, I could feel it. But this grove had a very different energy from the one Sintol had taken me to. I detected a hint of sadness and longing around me, and it put me on edge. Sorrow is one of the more unpredictable emotions in my experience. It can quickly go from despondance to anguish, from sedate to aggressive. A person in the depths of despair who believes they have nothing to lose is truly formidable. A spirit, well, that is a nightmare unto itself.


    Benold was very quiet as we waited, but I could tell he was growing impatient. He huffed, and crossed and uncrossed his arms several times. I remember this because I was vaguely aware we were being watched, and worried that his body language would be misinterpreted. When we were approached, it was by the two natives I met at the falls. Asion, that was the woman wearing the wolf head, greeted us. Benold looked confused and asked what she said. Again, I could understand her, but Benold could not. I greeted her back, mimicking the gesture she made to me.


    Benold demanded they get to the point of the meeting. Asion wasted no time in saying that Commander Slacht had taken one of their women prisoner, and they wanted to negotiate her release. This was the first I''d heard of any prisoners being taken. From Benold''s response, or lack of response, I gathered this was not news to him. From the way he coughed under his breath and cast me an uneasy side glance before trying to look firm and unflappable, I even surmised that he may have been involved. And I had a sinking feeling in my gut. I was once again reminded that, as much as Sir Benold conveyed himself as a gentleman, he did the bidding of blackguards.


    "She was trespassing. You''re lucky we didn''t kill her," Benold said, his eyes going cold. I''d seen that look on the battlefield, and it chilled me to the core. This was a side to him I didn''t want to see again. I was beginning to rethink my role and attachment to him. A look at my bracelet reminded me that I really had no choice.


    Asion looked at us gravely and said, "No. You trespass on OUR sacred places. Creena was paying homage to the spirits, nothing more."


    Benold crossed his arms and responded with, "If you can''t defend it, then you don''t have a right to it." I wanted to melt into the ground. This was not going to go well with that attitude, but I was there as an interpreter.


    "Careful," I remember Asion''s tone as she said this. She said it slowly and with weight, and it just gave me chills. It didn''t have the same effect on Benold who looked bored. "You owe us. We expect to have Creena returned."


    I could tell Benold was not pleased by this. He gave me a scathing look, since this was my fault. "I can''t just release her. She''s not in my custody!"


    "Find a way. It is the only way to avoid needless bloodshed." And that was that. Asion did not stick around to discuss matters further.


    Benold was left seething, fists clenched. He was silent on our way back, and I finally broke in with an apology. This caught him off guard, and his features softened a little. Instead he just looked tired.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    "Although this is your fault, I''m not mad with you," he told me. "It''s an impossible situation. Commander Slacht is not going to just give up a prisoner with nothing in return."


    "Oh. Well I know a thing or two about impossible situations," I piped in. This gave him pause, and he looked at me, and then at my bracelet. There were times he forgot I was his slave, and then seemed chagrined when he was reminded.


    "Well, what would you do?" he asked me dryly.


    "Well I would be honest and tell Commander Slacht that my dimwit slave got you into a mess which ended in you owing them a favour, and this was how to clear your debt, and once that is discharged you can continue murdering each other with delight."


    I don''t think he quite appreciated my glibness. And maybe the wording wasn''t exactly that. But it was enough that he stared at me, shook his head in disapproval, and kept walking. After a while he did add, "I don''t enjoy murdering anyone. That''s uncouth. It is just a necessary evil in a brutal world."


    I reflected how I grew up on the streets, which was brutal. I never needed to murder anyone. However, I felt I was treading on thin ice, and kept my remarks to myself. I wish I hadn''t. I really wish I had tried harder to convince him to do everything he could to set Creena free. Instead I just thought about my own potential loss if I pushed him too hard at that junction. I said something along the lines of, "do what you think is best," and dropped it.


    "Did that decision result in bloodshed?" Baldovo asked, lifting an eyebrow. Colto blew out a puff of smoke as he looked over at Baldovo.


    "Much," Trosyn responded with a sigh. Colto nodded his head, as if it confirmed his firmly held conviction that bloodshed was the only logical conclusion.


    "Chances are you wouldn''t have changed his mind," Volente suggested in an attempt to comfort.


    "I didn''t even try, that''s what I regret the most," Trosyn frowned, her tone drawn out and tired. "But the blood shed was a consequence in the long term. However, I foolishly had focused on the short term consequence if I had chosen to push Benold."


    "And that would have been?" Baldovo inquired, playing with a pen. Volente squinted at Baldovo, making a grab for the pen, only for Baldovo to hold it out of his reach.


    Trosyn shrugged, thinking back on her various reasons in those days. "Benold might change his mind, and go back on some of our negotiations." Trosyn plucked the pen out of Baldovo''s hand while he was distracted at keeping it away from Volente. She gave him a firm reprimand with eyes alone, and then handed the pen back to a grateful Volente before she continued speaking. "My whole reason for doing anything was just trying to find security or stability. And concubine to a Governor sounded like that. Pushing him might have jeopardised everything."


    "Like being a Captain''s wife?" The question was slid in and Baldovo caught Trosyn''s eye, wagging his eyebrows. Volente looked at him uncomfortably then glanced away. Colto snorted and rolled his eyes.


    "Ah... yes, like being a captain''s wife. But... that is no longer on the table," Trosyn admitted.


    "What?" Volente lifted his head, wide eyes blinking in rapid succession.


    "Oh ho ho. You told him the truth, didn''t you?" Baldovo shook his head and clucked his tongue. "I warned you not to."


    "Indeed. I did not take your advice," Trosyn acknowledged. "Sometimes I think no matter what we do, we''ll have regrets."


    "That''s bleak," Colto observed as he emptied his spent pipe. A few flecks of ash found their way onto some of the nearby papers, causing Volente to quickly try to blow them off. This resulted in a flutter of pages.


    "Maybe, but it gives me more confidence. If I know I''ll regret either choice, then I won''t dwell on the regrets and can move forward," Trosyn explained as she helped retrieve some of the sheets that had strayed over to her. Volente gave a brief smile as she passed them back to him. Colto brushed some ash off of his shirt, earning a warning expression from Volente. Colto grunted and turned slightly away from the paper stack as he shook out his loose fitting top.


    "So..." Volente said as he neatly lined up all the errant sheets, "...you won''t be the captain''s wife after all?"


    "No. He doesn''t want the responsibility of any more children," Trosyn answered. "And that is fine. It was a marriage of convenience on both sides, so neither of us are hurt. Maybe a little disappointed, but that will soon fade."


    "Oh. Well. I''m not really sure what to say," Volente squeaked, wringing his handkerchief.


    "No need to say anything. Where was I?" Trosyn asked.


    "Benold failed to honour his debt," Colto prompted as he looked up from putting his pipe away.


    Yes. We got back to the estate and Benold was agitated. He was a man of honour, or so he believed, but felt that what the natives were asking was too steep. The next day when I saw him next he was still pacing and muttering and trying to find his way out of the situation. I suggested that he go see Commander Slacht and at least get an idea as to the prisoner''s current state. Perhaps he could not free her, but perhaps he could at least provide them with hope that she was even still alive.


    "Are you mad? That would just encourage them to attack. Although I say let them try. They will fail!" Benold said arrogantly.


    "I don''t think so. Because then they know you have a hostage and an attack would be reason enough to kill her. It''s clear that she''s important to them, though I was unable to discern why," I said. I recall the way Benold stared at me, it was as if he forgot that I had fought in a war as well, and could provide any meaningful input on the situation.


    "Well be that as it may, I don''t think the information will do enough. They did... spare my life." Benold then began looking at me as if a thought had occurred to him. "But only because you convinced them to. Why didn''t you say anything to them? They may have listened to you."


    "Because I am your slave and you care about appearances, and having me speak would have undermined your authority," I reminded him. He snapped his fingers and looked crossly out the window of his study.


    "I do not like having this hanging over my head. A man of worth always discharges his debts, but this is a steep one. Off with you, I need to think this through," he said, waving me off. So I left.


    I kept close to Benold as much as I could, trying to learn what he might decide to do. When he mentioned going to visit Commander Slacht at the fort, I was bold enough to ask if I could accompany him. He was astonished I would want to go, as I''d been avoiding any and all of his associates as much as possible. He reminded me that Vormind might be there, which nearly made me back out. But after meandering I redoubled my resolve and reissued the request. He reluctantly relented.


    So to the fortress we went. It was built in the modern, flankless style having five walls, with thick, low, sloped walls. I could see the barrels of heavy artillery poking out of the embrasures... actually these details aren''t so very relevant. Just know that it was impressive, and not made by someone who had peaceful intentions.


    My presence did cause a bit of a stir. People who knew Benold looked at me curiously, and Sintol even seemed a bit intrigued by my presence. I kept well behind Benold, quick to anticipate any need he might have to ensure his comfort. Perhaps it was a bit of my pride, wanting to show them that he had not wasted his time or money on me. But I was foolish to think I''d impress anyone. I quickly became part of the background, and Commander Slacht himself, a grim-faced man with a fringe of silvering hair and a scar on his cheek, was indifferent to my existence. I barely even registered.


    This was a blessing in disguise. After I was shooed out of the meeting room so the men could discuss private matters, I decided to do a little sneaking. It was risky; I knew if I was caught wandering somewhere I shouldn''t be, I could not only put myself in trouble, but Benold as well. But I was determined to discover the fate of Creena.


    Fort Slacht wasn''t hard to navigate itself. The challenge came in hiding from the guards that walked the halls. Thankfully, I had learned how to be silent. The guards had not. I usually could hear them and identify them by their footsteps, distinguishing them from other staff who worked there. Not that there were a lot of staff there, mind you.


    I made it as far as the kitchen without detection. There I ran into a bit of a snag. If you wonder why I went into the kitchen, I had ducked in to avoid guards which were coming from both directions in the corridor I was in. I''m not sure why they had that cook, well, cooking. I was unable to sneak past that gnarly old man despite removing my shoes and tip-toeing past him while he was attending a noisy, sizzling pan over the cast iron stove. Without even looking behind him, he called out to me.


    "Mangy slut! I told you to bring me the parsley an hour ago!" On second thought, maybe it wasn''t parsley. Ah. Nevermind that. I continued to try and move past him, hoping maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe if he didn''t get a response he''d shrug and keep working. No. He turned around, a grabbing a two pronged implement and waved it at me. He froze when he realised I was not one of the staff, and his face went redder. "Who''re you? What''re you doing in my kitchen! Out! OUT!"


    There were guards outside and I feared his ruckus would draw their attention. I tried to placate the man, insisting I was lost, holding out my empty hands to show I was harmless. He saw my slave bracelet and the disdain on his face was clear as day. He marched over to me, seizing me by my ear. "I won''t have no Loyalists in my kitchen!"


    "The sausage is burning!" I yelped as he began to drag me out. This caused him to let go and quickly rush back to the stove. I ran in the opposite direction, down into the cellar. I don''t know why I did that, but I wanted to be away from him, and I wanted to be away from the guards.


    There I found a girl, maybe twelve, crouched in a corner sobbing quietly. When she saw me, she was afraid and begged me not to hurt her. By the bruises all over her, someone already had. I crouched down beside her and told her I wasn''t there to hurt her. She was wary of me, but I did not blame her. I moved away to give her space, but kept myself at her level. I saw a basket nearby, with spilled herbs, and a smashed bottle of wine. I quietly began cleaning it up, glancing at the girl as she rocked and soothed herself.


    She finally spoke to me. "You''re new?" she asked. I shook my head.


    "Just visiting," I told her.


    "Why here?" she asked, puzzled and wary.


    "I got lost and then scared by the cook." The girl gave a half-hearted attempt at a smile, but she was quickly frowning again.


    "He is scary. If he ain''t beating me with whatever he gots in his hand... he''s threatening to send me to the bad man. And I''m scared, breaking that bottle, the bad man will get me. He''ll cut off me fingernails and hang me by me toes." The girl told me.


    "Vormind?"


    "Shh! Don''t speak his name!" the girl whispered, terrified. If I hadn''t already been feeling sorry for the girl, I certainly empathised with her at that point. I would have gathered her up in a hug, but I could tell she would fight me if I did, so I left her be.


    "How do you know he''d do those things? Is that what the cook says?" I asked. She had kept her hands tucked in her apron, but I had a feeling she was in full possession of all her nails.


    "No. But they make me bring food to the dungeons, and I see the things he done," she told me. I should not have been excited by this, but I was.


    Perhaps she could help me, but would it be worth risking getting her in trouble? I had Benold''s protection, what little it was worth, and Benold could take care of himself. But this girl probably didn''t have anyone to look out for her. Asking her a question wouldn''t hurt, though. "Is one of them a native girl named Creena?"


    The girl told me she did not know their names, but described one of them as a savage who growled and spoke words she didn''t understand. I asked her if she could direct me to the dungeon. She was amazed and a little disturbed that I''d want to know and it took some coaxing to get it from her. I asked her a few other questions about the fort. She was quite obliging, though she didn''t always have useful answers.


    Finally I stood up and told her to drag me upstairs by the arm and say I broke the wine. I was willing to take the fall for her. I was confident that the worst that would happen would be a few smacks and a report to Benold. And Benold never laid an untoward hand on me.


    "Just untoward lips," Baldovo joked. Volente made a strangled noise in his throat, eyes bugging out behind his thick lenses.


    Yes, Thank you, Baldovo. The girl thought I was crazy, but she also really didn''t want to get in trouble. She executed the plan, then gave the ingredients over to the cook. He scolded her, but kept himself from whacking her with the meat cleaver in his hand. I can''t say the same for me, as I got hit with the butt of it. I was told to be returned to whoever my master was. As I was escorted by guards through the corridors, I kept my eyes open, and identified the door that the girl had described to me as the way down to the dungeon. I made note of it for later.


    Benold was naturally mortified when I was dragged in by a guard and reported to have been causing trouble in the kitchen. He apologised profusely, saying he did not know what had come over his slave and promised he would discipline me thoroughly once they were done with their meeting. I was yelled at to wait outside and not move a muscle. I did so.


    When Benold came out, he looked very grave. I could hear the cackling of Vormind and the oily laughter of Sintol. Benold was about to say something to me when Vormind came up behind him, placing a hand on Benold''s shoulder.


    "You know, if she were mine, she would never have stepped out of line. I could show you a thing or two..." he said, leering at me. I said nothing. I did not look him in the face and just stared at the opposing wall.


    "I know how to keep order, thank you very much! I''d like my slave to be able to do her work, not lie in a broken heap," Benold said, sniffing haughtily.


    "Hmph. Clearly you are too soft. Maybe I can''t trust you to carry out your part of the mission after all," came the guttural voice of Commander Slacht as he stepped out. This had an immediate impact on Benold. His eyes went wide, and I saw fear in them. He then screwed up his face in one of indignation and he stuck his hand into his pocket, grabbing hold of something. He said a word - a power word - and in a moment my whole body wretched in pain. I stumbled forward, barely keeping myself standing. I wanted to just lie on the floor and curl up as it felt as though thousands of needles had sprung out from my heart, and were being pushed through my body. Benold had never activated the slave bracelet before. Not once. Vormind laughed cruelly and Commander Slacht nodded his head approvingly. I could see Benold lift his chin, smiling until Commander Slacht left, Sintol close on his heel yapping at him. I leaned against the stone wall, doing everything to keep myself upright as the pain slowly subsided.


    "Works every time..." Vormind crooned playfully. Benold frowned, and Vormind let go of his shoulder, walking off, humming merrily. Benold finally looked at me. I was breathing heavily, and I did not want to look at him. I felt angry, afraid, and betrayed. All it took was their approbation for him to turn to cruelty. I hated how they always managed to bring out the worst in him.


    "Come," Benold said in a clipped voice, although his tone was higher than usual, and strained. As angry as I was, I didn''t argue. I silently, and resentfully, followed.


    "Any time I start actually liking Benold, he goes and does a thing like that," Baldovo remarks, shaking his head. "That''s the trouble with worrying about what other people think."


    "I guess you were rethinking becoming his concubine," Volente said quietly.


    "I was... yes beginning to dread it a little at that point," Trosyn admitted. Her hand went to her chest, appearing a bit paler than usual, bringing her freckles out in contrast.


    "You look tired. Rest," Colto suggested.


    "That might be best..." Trosyn said, her hand travelling from her chest to her midriff. The men looked at each other and then nodded their heads, gathering up the figures they had been pouring over.


    "Don''t push yourself," Volente warned, his eyebrows drawing close together.


    "I''ll do my best..." Trosyn sighed as she left to seek out her cabin.

 Chapter 12: Where Theres Smoke...

    The contention with the sailors continued.  For how dare a woman defend herself?  She ought to know not to be rescued from the deep by a ship full of men if she didn''t want that sort of attention.  That was the feeling Trosyn was getting from a lot of the crew.  She was not alone in this subtle, or not-so-subtle persecution, as Volente was getting the rough end as well.


    A shrill scream could be heard from the midshipmen''s quarters, which was followed by raucous laughter of the sailors.  Trosyn had been walking and talking with Doctor Hern when the ungodly sound rang out.  Both of them hurried to the source, which ended up being Volente and Baldovo''s quarters.  Standing in the door, trembling like an overexcited pug, was Volente.  Doctor Hern and Trosyn both peered over his shoulder.


    Atop his cot was a severed pig''s head, with the word ''Squealer'' written in pitch on the wall.  Assumedly, the scream came from Volente, as it was doubtful that a pig head could squeal once relieved of its body.  The Doctor placed a hand on Volente''s shoulder and Trosyn shook her head.  "Don''t worry, Volente, grab your salts and I will clean this up."


    "What?  No... no you needn''t clean up after them!" Volente said, his voice a mixture of fear and contempt as he stepped back, drawing a gaze towards where the laughter was coming from.


    "Someone needs to clean it, and I doubt any of them will step forward.  Don''t worry, I''ve become proficient at removing blood stains." Trosyn responded.  The Doctor lifted an eyebrow at this boast but said nothing.


    "I''m going to have a word with the ship''s butcher.  They had to have gotten the pig''s head from somewhere," Doctor Hern said firmly.  He turned and stalked off, in an ill humour.  Volente stepped in lightly, giving the bloodied cot a wide berth, almost as if the pig''s head would reanimate and bite him.  He tried not to look as he gingerly snatched up his bag of wonder cures and then quickly skittered out of his room.  As he stepped out, releasing a long held breath, Baldovo arrived.


    "What''s all the fuss?" he asked, and then peered into his room.  His eyes widened for a moment, but any impact the grizzly scene had was brief before his eyes relaxed into half-lidded drollness.  "Oh, looks like we''ll be having pork tonight."


    Volente made a whimpering sound as his shoulders convulsed, his handkerchief going quickly to his mouth, lest his gagging actually produce something untoward.  "Baldovo, take Volente to get some air."  Trosyn said, rolling up her sleeves.


    "Yes ma''am," Baldovo responded with an exaggerated salute, before slinging an arm about Volente''s shoulders and leading him away. "Boys will be boys." As they crossed the deck, a series of snorts, squeals, and other porcine onomatopoeia followed them.  Trosyn scowled in their direction, but then quickly set to work.


    <hr>


    "Trosyn, you look exhausted!" Volente fussed.  He grabbed a nearby stool and set it beside one of the chairs at their table, turning the chair to face it.  He gestured to her.  "Please, put your feet up!"


    Trosyn, indeed, had a haggard appearance that day.  Even her freckles seemed to have grown pale, and the few wisps of red hair which escaped the hat she''d tucked it under were clinging to her cheeks.  Purple and red hues darkened the skin just under her eyes, and she stood at an angle as if she might teeter over.  Trosyn did not object to the chair offered, putting up her feet as instructed.  The jeering from a couple sailors across the room had little effect on her as she laced her fingers together and set them on her stomach.


    "We were just putting our brains together on how to effectively get some revenge," Baldovo conspired.


    "No.  We weren''t," Colto refuted.  Baldovo chuckled.


    "This can''t go unanswered, and running to the captain or his mate will make things worse," Baldovo insisted.  Trosyn craned her neck to look over at the impish man.


    "Oh?  Was one beating not enough for you?" Trosyn asked, eyebrow arched.  Baldovo laughed, holding up his hands with the palms out.


    "Alright, alright.  Play with fire and I''ll burn down the ship.  I get it," Baldovo responded.  He coughed lightly, thumping his chest with his fist.


    "Do you want to head back to your quarters early, Trosyn?" Volente asked fretfully, as if he dreaded she would answer ''yes''.


    "I''m down now and won''t be standing anytime soon.  So I might as well resume my story."


    "Oh!  Splendid!  Erm.  Benold just, uh, did something with the bracelet that hurt you somehow?  I''m not sure..."


    The slave bracelets.  Each one was connected to a matching key.  Anyone who held that key and said the power word could cause pain to the wearer.  The key was also required to remove the bracelet.  I''m not sure how they got any spirits to enchant these bracelets, as spirits had become increasingly wary or hostile towards humans, with a few exceptions such as the Coblynau.


    Benold and I left the fort.  He told me he''d be returning the next day.  There was a silence between us as we both stared out the window of his carriage.


    "I am sorry.  It didn''t hurt too bad, did it?" Benold asked, not daring to look at me.  I had nothing to say to him.


    I''m not sure how much longer we travelled before he looked at me and spoke again. "I didn''t want to hurt you.  But I didn''t want to be esteemed any less of a man in their eyes."


    I kept my eyes on the window as I listened.  Even though the physical pain had subsided, I was still feeling a heaviness in my chest which made it hard to speak.  I worried if I did, I might scream.  And I didn''t want the coachman to hear that.  What if he used the key again?  So I kept silent.  But this just upset him more.


    "What would you have me do?" he asked me.  I bit my tongue.  He went on to remind me that I was the one who asked to come, knowing that they were far less gentle and refined than he.  I bit my lip.  He then ordered me to look at him.  So I did.  But I don''t think he liked what he saw.  I''m not sure what my face was doing, but it must have been something because he suddenly looked stricken and he looked away. "...I am sorry." he repeated.


    Nothing more was said on the rest of the trip, or the rest of the evening.  I still carried out my duties, which included bringing him his dinner.  And although he tried to engage me in conversation, pretending nothing was wrong, I did not play along as I had in the past.  This disquieted him. I could tell by the two empty wine bottles I found when I went into his study early the next morning.  He hadn''t risen yet.


    To his surprise, when he did finally stir, I had a honey brew, toast and eggs ready for him.


    "Honey Brew?" Volente asked.


    "Warm drink infused with rose hips and honey.  It''s good for mornings after," Trosyn explained.


    "Mornings after... oh you mean crapulence?" Volente asked.  This earned Volente an empty stare from Trosyn.  Baldovo and Colto joined in, all three turned to Volente who shrank at the sudden attention.  Volente cleared his throat.  "C-continue."


    I had some time to think over what had happened.  I was still vexed, but I knew I could not carry on like that.  So a remedy for a sour stomach and an aching head seemed a goodwill gesture.  He accepted the tray, mumbled a thank-you and then closed the door.  But my efforts weren''t wasted, as when he had time to freshen up he did summon me.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    He asked if I was done sulking, which wasn''t the best foot for him to start on.  I just told him that, yes, as a matter of fact, I had finished sulking.  This may have seemed glib, but I needed to test him.  I needed to know what he said about never hurting me while in his own home was true.  He wasn''t impressed, but let it pass and asked me in a distant, overly polite tone if there was anything else I needed to say before he got ready to leave.


    "Take me with you," I said.  He was bemused by my request, and he didn''t have a chance to ask.  I told him that I took the fall for the servant girl because I felt bad for her.  He seemed somewhat relieved, admitting that sounded more like something I would do.  It confused him when I was reported as breaking a bottle of spirits while pilfering from the cellar.


    But then he finally asked, "After what happened, why would you want to go back there?"


    "I don''t want to go back.  But to satisfy my honour, I need to go back."  Benold squinted at me, and he was right to be wary.  I wasn''t speaking a lie, but I was using the truth to try and deceive him.  Honour was often his horse, I seldom rode it.  But his vanity, I suppose, won him over.


    "I must be rubbing off on you after all," he said, lifting his nose.  "If I have to discipline you again, you aren''t allowed to sulk."


    I accepted those terms.  I was still bothered by the situation, but I had my debt to the Asion to discharge.  I was determined to try and get word of Creena back to her people.  Perhaps it was foolhardy of me.  But I had my own code of honour, I just didn''t call it that.


    So back into that detestable fortress we went.  When Benold arrived with me in tow, I could see some surprise from Sintol, intrigue in Vormind, and irritation from Commander Slacht.  But these were brief, passing impressions.  No one paid me much mind afterwards.  As before, I waited on Benold hand and foot and offered to help in the kitchen, as I knew they would lunch together.


    The cook wasn''t pleased to see me, but I kept my head down and did everything asked of me, shrugging off the constant verbal abuse and occasional rough handling.  I also took whatever opportunity I could to keep my ear to the ground and see if I could hear anything useful.  Unfortunately, there wasn''t much.


    When lunch was finished, and we ate, I tucked everything except the small cup of soup we were served into my pouch.  Once again I sneaked off, this time scouting out the entrance to the dungeon for my chance to slip in.  Eventually the guard posted there grumbled and went to go find his replacement who was late.  There may have been something in the soup that would encourage his replacement to be late.


    I went down into the dungeon.  I won''t offend your sensitivities by describing it.  Nothing down there astonished me; it was nothing I hadn''t experienced before.  Creena was not the only prisoner.  But she was the only woman.  Still, I asked if she was Creena.  She said nothing.  I offered her the food I had saved and she didn''t move.  I asked her if there was anything she wished to tell Asion.  Finally, she turned her head, her pale eyes focusing on me.


    "How do you know Asion?" she asked.


    "I am in debt to her," I answered.


    "Then free me," Creena said, her stare intense.  Under such a gaze I wanted to. But...


    "I cannot.  I am just a slave.  I have no power.  Tell me what I can tell them.  But quickly, I don''t have much time." I urged her.


    "The Kombani are courting the Defilers.  I am to be a host to the horned one.  And if I am rejected, a sacrifice.  I will kill myself first, if I must."


    This information left me feeling an odd sort of tingle in my chest; more was going on here than land disputes.  I began to question having advised Sintol.  Then I remembered Benold telling me of dealings with the Unseelie Eye.  Things were coming together and I had a bad feeling.  I offered her the bread and fruit I had saved once again but she refused.  I didn''t push the matter.  I got out of there as quickly as possible.


    The guard had returned to his post by then.  I walked out calmly, as if I was supposed to be there.  When the guard grabbed me, I feigned surprise and then fear, saying I wasn''t aware I''d done anything wrong, and that I was on an errand for my master and was given bad directions.  I simpered and cried and begged for clemency. Eventually the guard let me go.


    It was a gambit.  There was always the chance he''d report it to someone who would know better.  But all that mattered to me was to get back to Benold''s estate.  I suppose at that point, I thought of it as home.  Yes.  I just needed to get back home.


    The rest of my stay there was without incident.  I was right where I was told to wait, and this time Benold had no cause to discipline me in front of the others.  I heard Vormind remark something about me being a quick learner.  I was grateful when I was back in the carriage.  But I had to figure out how to contact Asion.  I also pondered on whether or not I should be asking Benold about it.  But that would mean admitting to sneaking around places I knew I was forbidden to go.  It was a tough decision.  How much could I really trust Benold?


    This thought weighed heavy on my mind.  So later that evening when Benold asked to speak with me after dinner, I was unsettled when he brought up the matter of my concubinage. What had seemed like a promising situation before was now looking like a dismal fate.


    "I almost have all the new family laws in place.  And then we can finally be together." Benold said to me.  He''d seemed grim earlier, so to have him shift to excitement, or as much excitement as he''d let himself express, was disconcerting. The words, ''finally be together'' rang in my ears.  It sounded like a happy couple dreaming of upcoming nuptials.  That was not the reality.  I must not have hidden my dismay, because his excitement quickly melted.  "Ah.  Right.  You... are probably still upset about the bracelet."


    I was, but it wasn''t my main concern by that point.  I shook my head.  But he interrupted me before I could speak.  "No, I understand.  But I promise you once you are my... my... consort, that won''t happen again.  I''ll remove your bracelet." That was not one of the things we agreed upon, and so I was genuinely surprised, and must have expressed as much.  He seemed to take it as a slight that I was surprised but continued to explain.  "I''ve commissioned earrings for you instead that will be a sign of your, uh, of you belonging to me.  I don''t want people seeing your bracelet and mistaking you for a common slave."


    I won''t deny that this alleviated some of my apprehension.  But the bracelet wasn''t the only means he could use to hurt or control me.  It was more that he was willing to use it that upset me.  Still, this did seem a gesture of goodwill.  He had an intention to try and treat me better than he had.  I clung on to that. I said something along the lines of, "thank you for your consideration, Sir Benold."


    "Please, when there''s no one around, call me just Benold.  With where things are headed, there''s no need to continue these formalities behind closed doors," Benold insisted.


    "Alright, Benold.  Can I ask you a question?" I decided to just ask.  The truth would come out, it always does.  The important thing about damning truths is how to be their steward, bringing them out at the right time. "What are they going to do with Creena?"


    This soured his mood quickly.  It was rather impressive how he''d gone from grim, to excited, to apologetic, to... is that smoke?


    Everyone first looked at Colto, but his pipe had long gone out and had been laying on the table in front of him.  Quickly, the three scientists stood up in alarm, and Trosyn used her hands to lift her leg, manually bending her knee which had stiffened from a lack of mobility. A subtle haze wafted in from the galley, visually imperceptible in its diffusiveness, but the smell was telling another story.  Colto was the first to rush over, and the other two trailed behind.  They stood at the narrow opening which led into the kitchen, while Colto shimmied into the confined space.


    Trosyn was about to approach, but a pain in her abdomen caused her to stop. She immediately sat back down, wincing.  There was the sound of a clatter and Volente gasped.  Unfortunately, gasping in smoke has an unfortunate side effect.  That smoke wants to come right back out, with reinforcements.  Volente was soon coughing and sputtering, while Baldovo went in to assist Colto.


    Between the two of them they managed to bring out the Cook, who was unconscious, and presumably put out the fire. Volente just continued to cough.  Baldovo waved impatiently at Volente, and then it dawned on him that perhaps, despite his coughing, he ought to go alert someone.  For by then, no one else was in the mess but their small group.


    Volente sprang off, still coughing as he went.  Trosyn tried again to stand, this time walking carefully over to the cook so that she could kneel down and inspect him.  He didn''t appear to have any noticeable burns, though his face was looking a bit ruddy and sooty.  With the help of Baldovo to roll him over, she could not find any visible wounds.  She shook her head.  "He''s alive but I don''t know what''s wrong." She said.  "What was on fire?"


    "Food left cooking.  I''m guessing Cook fainted, then the food continued to burn." Colto surmised, wiping sweat off of his brow.


    "What was he cooking at this time of night?"


    "Soup.  All the water must have boiled off," Colto reported.


    "Pity.  I was looking forward to ham soup..." Baldovo said petulantly.


    Trosyn frowned as she looked down at the cook, clearly troubled.  It''s possible he had been sick and didn''t show or report his symptoms.  But she also considered there may be something else at work here.  Or was that just the effect of trudging up the past?  When there were malevolent forces guiding her along that dreadful path?


    "You alright?" Colto asked, placing a warm hand on her shoulder.  She tilted her head towards the strong hand that rest there.


    "I will be, I hope." Trosyn murmured.  He didn''t say anything more.  He didn''t ask more.  But his hand remained there until the doctor arrived.  Then he rose to assist the doctor if needed, and Trosyn excused herself to go to her room and get some desperately needed rest.  She was going to leave the solving of this mystery in the hands of Doctor Hern.

 Chapter 13: Come Together

    "He still hasn''t regained consciousness, but I can''t see anything wrong with him," Doctor Hern said, shaking his head. Trosyn stood beside the doctor, having come to check on the cook early the next morning. Trosyn placed a hand on the Doctor''s shoulder as he stared bitterly at his patient. He then grabbed a medical reference book he had, flipping to a dog-eared page. He read a few lines, then flicked it with the back of his hand. "There''s nothing!"


    "Just do your best for him. No one expects you to work miracles crammed in a dank corner of a ship," Trosyn said as reassuringly as she could, squeezing his shoulder. He sighed in defeat, and then brushed her hand off of his shoulder.


    "Tell that to the sailors stuck on salted pork and hardtack," Doctor Hern grumbled. Trosyn withdrew her hand and shook her head. She looked at the Cook, who was lying there, barely breathing. "Sorry. You probably don''t want to be the one giving bad news to that lot," Doctor Hern said, remembering who he was speaking to.


    "It''s just so strange... should we be worried?" Trosyn asked, her face pinched and apprehensive.


    "I... don''t know..." Hern said, lowering his hands.


    "I... see..." Trosyn said. Frown still in place, she looked down, her hand rubbing her stomach in slow, circular motions.


    "Red. Red? Where did you go?" Trosyn blinked and then set down the tray of tea things she was carrying with a clatter. She slowly set out the steaming teacups to each of the three scientists who were all crowded around a small circular table in Baldovo and Volente''s cabin.


    "You were staring out into space, nearly tipped the tray over. And while I am sure it would be amusing to see the unflappable Colto yip and dance from hot tea-lap, I wouldn''t envy you having to explain why all the tea things are broken," Baldovo said as he sniffed the tea and then gave a small shrug. "No sugar?"


    "Only the Captain gets sugar," Trosyn responded, not responding to her lapse in focus.


    "It''s still lovely. I haven''t had a cup for a while. And how did you come by this treat?" Volente asked, lifting the teacup daintily with his pinky extended. This brought a smile to Trosyn''s face, but again she seemed to fade to a distant time and place. "Miss? Trosyn?"


    "Oh?" Trosyn gave a small jerk of her head as her dream bubble burst. "Ah, I simply asked the Captain." Trosyn shrugged her shoulders.


    "Lovely," Volente said, sampling the tea.


    "It''s alright," Baldovo offered magnanimously.


    "I prefer my wife''s," Colto said. Volente straightened up, doubling his chins as he pulled his head back in vicarious indignation. Baldovo snickered and Trosyn didn''t even seem to notice she''d been slighted.


    "Your wife probably uses sugar," Baldovo groused, but he continued to drink the warm beverage despite his complaints. Only Volente seemed to enjoy it, exhaling noisily as a show of gratitude after every sip. From Colto''s dark looks, one could tell it was starting to grate on the larger man''s nerves.


    "You seem distracted, m''dear. Something on your mind?" Baldovo observed as Trosyn again fell quiet, both of her hands locked together and placed over her midriff.


    "Just concerned about the Cook. He gave me a hiding earlier that day... but I never meant him any harm." Trosyn muttered.


    "Well, of course not," Volente said, not seeing how the two were connected.


    "You didn''t hit him with a pail, did you?" Although the teacup blocked the view of Baldovo''s mouth, his eyes were pushed into amused sickles suggestive of a grin.


    Trosyn was silent for a moment, but she shook her head. "No, I just meant... I don''t think he deserved whatever happened, even if he was giving me a hard time."


    "Of course you didn''t," Volente said, waving his hand in the air. "You''re a kind soul."


    Trosyn looked up at Volente, her lips pressed together. She then smiled and laughed. "That''s sweet of you to say, Volente."


    "Well," Volente said, a light dusting of pink on his normally sallow cheeks, "I believe, before the unfortunate incident in the galley, we were going to learn Creena''s fate? Or what Benold knew about her?" Volente set his cup on the tray, gently pushing it away to make room for his paper and ink, trying hard not to accidentally elbow Baldovo to his right.


    That''s right. I had asked Benold what he knew about Creena. He indicated that she was to be used for bargaining, but was carefully vague about with whom. I think he wanted me to assume that meant she would be used in negotiations with her people. But I knew that tactic all too well. The art of misdirection was not foreign to me. Instead of throwing me off track, he just confirmed what Creena told me. She was to be some sort of sacrifice to the Unseelie Eye.


    Getting that much information was difficult enough. But I had a new objective. To get the information to Asion. I was unsure if they could read our script, so a written note left in the clearing where we''d met to discuss Creena was no guarantee to work. Furthermore, I''d need to get out there, and the guards would stop me if I tried to leave the estate. As the locals seemed attuned to spirits, my other thought was to try a spirit summoning ritual that someone had once taught me. But I had no idea if it worked, and if it would attract a spirit that could convey a message. It might even provoke a malevolent spirit, which I did not wish to do. My last option was to wait for them to make contact again. But even that was risky, as they may not make any further attempts to communicate, other than launching an attack.


    I became skittish and distracted as I had to think of how to get around the restrictions placed on me as a slave, as well as keeping Benold unaware of what I was up to. And I did not feel good about keeping secrets from him. He would surely put an end to my meddling. But I wanted to not only restore my own honour, but his as well by trying to give Asion something. Perhaps if I pulled it off then I could tell him everything. Fortunate for me, he attributed my odd show of nerves to my delicate, female sensibilities with our upcoming, ah, union. I won''t deny that I encouraged him to believe that.


    I was spending more time in his study, and he told me I was allowed to read his collection. So I did. I was looking for inspiration for my current predicament. Most of it was philosophical treatises, which were in excellent condition I might add, history, and poetry. The poetry books had discoloration and dog ears, indicating more time spent reading. He seemed particularly fond of the epics. Sorry, I am getting off topic. Anyway, among the epics was mention of a minstrel who sang songs that all the clans could understand. The Lienog people...


    "Lienog? That''s a new term..." Baldover remarked as he lounged on his cot, having been jostled one too many times by Volente''s eager writing.


    "Oh? I suppose I hadn''t called them that before. That was the name of their tribe. And they called their island Liechlan." Trosyn explained.


    "Ah... continue."


    The Lienog clearly kept their language because they had been isolated when Siperian become the dominant language on the mainland. Yet I could understand them. This minstrel unified them through their songs. Sadly, the epic never goes into where this minstrel gained this power. But it said the minstrel had red hair. And I wondered, was this person real or a legend? Was it all a coincidence that I had red hair and could understand anyone?


    "Hmm..." Baldovo tilted his head. He then said a phrase in another language, one which clearly neither Colto nor Volente knew, for they both tilted their heads quizzically. Trosyn looked at Baldovo, squinting her eyes. "Well? What did I say?" Baldovo asked smugly.


    Trosyn was silent for a moment or two, gently tugging her left ear lobe. She shook her head. "...Was it... something about... falsehoods? No someone who speaks them... did you call me a liar?"


    Baldovo furrowed his eyebrows as his experiment did not have the results he had anticipated. "Oh? Well you are probably guessing. Alright. Try this one," Baldovo spoke another phrase. Calto sighed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and leaving Baldovo to his tricks. Volente clasped his hands together and set them on his lap, eyes darting between Trosyn and Baldovo.


    "Something about head and shoes," Trosyn finally answered after concentrating. Her hands went to her stomach and Volente reached his hand out, then pulled it away.


    "Are you alright?" Volente asked. Trosyn nodded. Baldovo picked up a small metal rod, and rolled it between his fingers.


    "Interesting. I was banking on you not being to understand me at all, but considered you''d toss my words right back at me. But I didn''t expect partial understanding. But what does that mean?" Baldovo pointed the wand at Trosyn. "What aren''t you telling us?"


    Trosyn''s eyebrows furrowed, her hand pressing into her stomach and she shook her head. "I don''t-"


    Baldovo spat out another abrupt phrase in the other language, which caused Trosyn''s eyebrows to rise. Colto coughed.


    "I know what that means, and Baldovo, FOR SHAME! We have a lady present!" Volente scolded, placing a hand over his heart. "And I''m sure if Trosyn has any secrets, it''s her right to keep them." Volente then gestured at the metal rod in Bladovo''s hand. "And put that down, we need to to calibrate-"


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "I know what it''s for!" Baldovo interrupted. He set it down anyhow, and then stretched out on his cot, placing his hands under his head. "Fine, tell us more of your story... maybe it will all become clear."


    "I hope so..." Trosyn said quietly, her face pale. She cleared her throat and tried to collect her thoughts, avoiding looking at Baldovo who yawned loudly and stared up at the ceiling.


    It got me thinking. I searched my mind for the right songs. And every time I was outside, I would sing while I was working. One song was about the Great Hunt, a procession of dark spirits. I would then sing a song about a princess in a tower who yearned to be free like a bird and leapt to her freedom, and died, but her soul was carried away by the birds to fly forever. The choices of these songs was to convey the threat to Creena. It was as unlikely to work as my other plans, but had the least amount of risk.


    The reason I considered this might work was because I believe they were often watching the Ovollar Estate and that I would be heard. No telling if they''d understand me. However, I... was not a very talented singer, so I could sense that it caused some irritation from the guards. And I may have been told a few times to pipe down. Meanwhile, some of the maids started picking up the songs and singing along, such as when we were doing laundry.


    I don''t remember how long I kept that up, but it wasn''t producing any results. I was beginning to consider other options. While I was in the study trying to seek out more inspiration, Benold came to me. "It is done."


    I must have worn a surprised and concerned expression, because he stuttered something and looked rather displeased. I was worrying that ''it'' was something to do with Creena, because she''d been on my mind. "So that''s it then," I think I said.


    Benold was stricken with consternation. "Yes." His word had such a sense of finality to it. "I thought you''d be relieved."


    "Why would I-" And then I realised my error. He had crossed his arms and began picking at his clothing. This wasn''t about Creena. "Oh... wait, what are we talking about? What is done?"


    "The concubinage laws!" he said, exasperated. "What did you think I was talking about?"


    I didn''t want to confess the truth. I made some excuse but I don''t remember what it was. He only half bought it, but he seemed relieved that my reaction was due to a misunderstanding, and that I was not upset about being his consort. I tried on a smile which I think convinced him. "Well that is a relief."


    This ameliorated him just enough. And it wasn''t a lie. Perhaps without this bracelet, I might have a little more freedom to roam. But there were more questions that needed to be asked and answered. "So... what happens now?"


    "No sense drawing this out longer than it needs to be. And this isn''t a... a proper marriage, so I don''t think it needs all the..." he waved his hand in the air, "foofaraw."


    "No, I suppose not," I responded, wishing he''d just get to the point.


    "Well, I think within the week I will have someone in who can witness and the paperwork can be done. And though there won''t be a large to-do, I still expect you to look your best." He went on about how I''d be immediately moved into new quarters close to his, how he expected me to take greater care with my appearance, and I was to dine with him except when he had guests, in which case I was to wait for him to instruct me on whether he wanted me present or not. The list went on of last minute expectations that weren''t really discussed before. Nothing was said about the most obvious and central duties of a concubine. I think he was making a point not to discuss it. He was a frustrating and particular man, I will freely admit.


    Now then, as I was focusing more on my upcoming promotion, as that is how I thought of it, I had begun to think of Creena less. But it seemed my singing may have had an effect after all. One evening as I was spending my free time taking in air, I detected a sudden surge of spiritual energy. I looked to the source and saw one of the natives standing at the edge of the fields, just beyond the fence. Looking around for guards on patrol, I approached.


    "You can see me?" he said, seeming surprised. I nodded, but then turned around so I could watch for guards. "That doesn''t bode well..."


    "I have a message for Asion," I said as quietly as possible.


    "Speak."


    "Eight days ago I spoke with Creena. She said the Kombani are dealing with the Defilers, and she is to be a host or a sacrifice. I don''t know what any of that means, but I was told to convey it." When I heard nothing but silence, I continued, "She said she''d sooner die than be a host." I waited for a response and received none. When I turned around, the messenger looked troubled.


    "I will be sure Asion hears of this. You have made the meaning of your songs clear." Then he said to me, "You will please stop singing them. They agitate the local spirits."


    I surmised that it wasn''t just the spirits that my singing distressed. I agreed not to sing anymore but asked what sort of sign I ought to send instead if I needed to speak with them. He asked me which window was my room. I pointed it out to him, now that I had proper quarters. He told me to place a candle on the right side of my windowsill at midnight, and someone would try to contact me the following evening. After that he left.


    I felt a great relief that I had at least attempted to mend my reputation with Asion. I know it may seem odd that it mattered to me, but it did. I would soon be part of house Ovollar, and I wanted to try and find a peaceful solution to the conflict. However, I feared that may not be possible if Sintol had his way. And I was sure Sintol was behind this.


    But at least I could give more domestic matters my full attention. The time came for Benold and I to be joined. There was a very small ceremony; he pulled in a notary and a witness, and that was that. I see you looking nervous there, Volente, and YOU trying not to look too interested, Baldovo. I still won''t share anything vulgar with you fine gentlemen. Besides, although I was on record as his consort, he said he was going to give me some time to adjust before putting me on full duty.


    For the week after I was just a social companion. I dined with him, I read to him, I played music for him, I even sometimes assisted with his personal grooming. He had an important dinner with a foreign dignitary and some local merchants, looking to expand some import and export deals. I dressed my finest to be displayed, I played the harp, and gave recitations. I was mistaken for his wife, which was a little awkward at first, but Benold managed to smoothly explain the distinction without belittling me or creating scandal. He seemed a lot more suave when everyone was equally preoccupied with keeping up appearances.


    After that period of grace, a sort of trial I suppose, Benold did summon me to his bed chambers. Was I nervous? Well I did feel a fluttering in my stomach and a concern that I may do something wrong. Sir Benold could be very particular and exacting, and held lofty expectations for everyone that were sometimes impossible to meet. And I felt as thought I had been set up for failure with all of this delaying and building up. I would have preferred to get things over with to be honest. But, well, Sir Benold''s will was my command.


    What happened here is of some importance as it explains my headspace for what I did afterwards. Benold was there, with two goblets of wine. I rarely imbibed, but was grateful for the libations that evening. After some small talk and drinking he put his arms about me, looked me in the eye and asked me. "Does this life suit you?"


    I wasn''t sure how to respond. The luxuries were nice, but they weren''t as important to me as they were to him. All I cared about was feeling protected. I wasn''t protected from him, but felt I at least was not free game for anyone else. Anyone who harmed me, impugned his honour. There was security in that. I told him that it suited me fine.


    "Do you feel safe here, with me?" he asked me. That was a trickier question to answer. And I stalled and the longer I left him in suspense, the darker his visage became. And the less safe I began to feel. I finally shook my head and braced myself. He looked at me with incredulity.


    "Why are you wincing? I would never strike you. I''ve told you that, I''ve shown you that," he insisted.


    "What if I don''t do my duties? What if I had refused to come tonight?" I had to ask. He looked irritated but tried to remain calm.


    "I''d be disappointed, but I wouldn''t hurt you, even then," he swore in a solemn voice.


    And this is where perhaps I was a little foolish, but I wanted to test him. "What if I told you that..." I paused, halfway to changing my mind. But I bit down on my resolve to keep it in place and continued, "...I snuck a message from Creena to Asion?"


    This took him completely by surprise and he let go of me, stepping back as if I had struck him a physical blow. He then smiled, giving this little shake of my head as if he expected me to tell him it was a joke, preparing himself to laugh it off. But as no such explanation was forthcoming, he frowned. I expected anger, but instead saw fear.


    "You did what?" he whispered. I realised now I really had done it. While I did not expect he would physically hurt me, I could see him lock me up and deny me food. "What have you done, Trosyn?"


    "I am trying to help you. You owed them a debt, and if you could not free Creena, I at least wanted them to know she was still alive. We owed them that much for sparing you," I insisted. I thought he was going to lose it and yell at me, but he remained very quiet. "I have my own honour too," I added.


    It took him a while to speak. After several heavy sighs, as I am sure he was battling things out in his own mind, he just poured himself more wine and took a gulp. "What''s done is done." He told me. This was so very unlike him, I almost wished he would stomp and bluster and throw a tantrum. "But if your debt is discharged, promise me that you won''t continue to communicate with them behind my back."


    "I can''t make that promise." This got a rise out of him and he drained the rest of his cup in one large gulp before slamming down the metal goblet. It was almost as if he expected I would upset him again, and avoided glass this time.


    "Pray tell, why not?" he questioned.


    "Because I think I can help you find a peaceful solution," I told him.


    "I think we''re beyond peaceful solutions at this point, Trosyn. You are putting yourself in danger and I... I don''t want anything to happen to you. I love you!" He said it quickly, as if he said it fast, it would somehow hurt less. But he looked pained by the confession anyway, perhaps because he felt it was preparing him for another rejection. I was his consort, what more did he want? Of course, I knew what he wanted. He wanted to be loved in return. Not just physically. I was touched that he could say it. He had already, by asking if I loved him. Still, it was warming to my heart, because such tender expression was hard for him. And that night, I let myself forget his deeper defects and injuries towards me.


    I wish I could say that this led into a beautiful and transformative experience, but it did not.  Despite affection on both sides... Benold... ah bless him.  He managed to reach his mature years with his mind filled with vast misinformation, no doubt fuelled by Vormind. I''ll just say our first time together was awkward, and his pride was a bit bruised, but I will leave it at that.


    Volente had his handkerchief over his face to hide the blush and Baldovo was coughing noisily, a result of his prior sickness and the failure to hold back a laugh.  Colto remained placid as ever, hands on his stomach, leaned back in his chair.  Trosyn was surprised Colto didn''t get up and leave, though he did weigh one of his heavy brows down with vast disapproval of her even sharing that much.  Trosyn smiled.


    "You know now I''ll HAVE to ask for details," Baldovo said once he had sufficiently recovered.  The handkerchief fell from Volente''s face, who had gone from bright red to pale as his kerchief.


    "I say!  Do not!" Volente squawked.  Baldovo laughed again, which brought on more coughing.  Colto rose to his feet.


    "I''m going."  There was no dissuading him, so Trosyn didn''t even try.  Baldovo was too busy coughing to try, and Volente was trying to clean up an ink spill caused by his nervous flailing.


    "I should probably go as well," Trosyn said.  Baldovo sat up, still coughing but held up his hand as if to request that she wait.  Trosyn did not comply, acting as if she hadn''t seen it.


    Volente frowned as story time was concluded for the time being.  Trosyn picked up the tray of teacups and headed out the door, hearing the end of Baldovo''s coughing as it swung shut behind her.

 Chapter 14: The Baying of the Hounds

    The SS Serendipity was abuzz with fervour when land came into view. Trosyn spent more time out on the deck, staring at the distant strip of green in the blue expanse. The sailors passed around the spyglass, calling out landmarks, but to Trosyn it was all foreign and meaningless.


    "Guess we''ll be rid of you soon," came a voice. Trosyn did not look, but was aware of movement in her peripheral view. Hands, cloth, a grease smudged face. It was all she needed to know that the engineer spoke to her.


    "Will the Serendipity be going in for drydock, Filmon?" Trosyn asked, ignoring his remark.


    "Not this time, no. She''s got a few more voyages in her." Filmon said, leaning on the taffrail, the soiled rag in his hand fluttering in the wind. "T''aint your fault you are what you are, but you''ve been unlucky. Storms, sicknesses, mysterious deaths."


    This time Trosyn looked over at the engineer, an arched eyebrow worn and weary from its over employment. This time the engineer stared straight ahead, not looking at the redhead beside him. Trosyn narrowed her eyes and tried to focus on the land in the distance. "The cook?"


    "Died early this morning. He was a friend. I''m not nearly as superstitious as the sailors, but they got it right. You''re a hex." Trosyn could not help but smile, wondering how the engineer would respond if he knew she had the opportunity to stay on as the Captain''s wife. But there was no sense to rake up that pile of dead leaves.


    "I''m sorry for your loss," Trosyn said, quickly sobering up as she clasped her hands together. The engineer remained silent for a moment or two, his face grim. Finally he straightened up, shaking out his rag before tucking it into his belt and walking away. Trosyn watched him go, the few wisps of her red hair that fell out from her cap blowing in the sea breeze.


    <hr>


    "We will be arriving in Floratti soon. I suppose you won''t consider just telling us how you ended up in the sea, will you Red?" Baldovo asked when the three of them gathered on the bow, the setting sun slightly to their right. It cast a brilliant golden glow on the rolling waves, its presence causing the scudding clouds to slow and blush.


    "I could, but it won''t make much sense," Trosyn responded, squatting down to sit on a low lying crate.


    "Eh, excuses, excuses," Baldovo dismissed. He took off his coat, despite the encroaching cool air, and laid it over a coil of rope upon which he sat, crossing his legs. Volente watched this and reflexively turned up his collar, drawing his coat tighter about himself. His nose was already turning red.


    "We don''t have much time left," Colto observed, the loose fitting sleeves of his shirt billowing in the wind. Even in the cold he seemed unflappable.


    "Yes, tell us what happened with Creena," Volente inquired with enthusiasm that bespoke his eagerness to move the narrative away from Benold and Trosyn as a couple. Certainly not because he was jealous. Baldovo let out a mocking snort but said nothing to Volente, his lifted eyebrows and knowing smile communicating enough.


    Alright. I won''t bore you with more of my domestic bliss.


    I realised that I''d always loved Benold, but the nature of that love just shifted over time. But then I learned that he had finally caved to Sintol''s plans to deal with the Unseelie Eye, despite my advice against it, I was hurt.


    The Lienog had became a lot more hostile. I felt somewhat responsible. Frequent reports of skirmishes, with damages to life and livelihoods, reached me. But I was kept far away from most of it, in my gilded cage.


    The clever Lienog feinted an attack on the town. When Benold went to assist in its defence, a larger force swarmed his estate. Benold''s guards were overwhelmed, his fields raided, and his estate plundered. I stood in my room and watched the chaos going on about me, knowing eventually they would reach where I was. I was oddly calm. I loved Benold, but I knew he deserved this. His staff didn''t, and I felt for them. I heard the maids scream. I heard the servants shout at each other, trying to barricade what they could. When the fighting reached outside my door, I just waited for my fate. I''d made my bed, I needed to lie in it.


    I was surprised when it was Kerran who busted the door open. Our eyes met, and for a moment his cruel smirk convinced me that he was going to kill me. He could see I was not the lowly slave I had been before, clad in fine silks and jewellery. I was ''one of them''. I held my hands up in surrender, but then said I was worth more alive than dead. He was wary of me, but I convinced him that I may be worth ransoming.


    I was bound and brought back to the leader of the raiding party. I had hoped it would be Asion, but it was not. It was a tall man who also wore a wolf mask. Where Asion''s wolf furs were gray, his was black. He knew me by reputation and praised Kerran for securing me.


    I was asked many questions. There were some I answered. But then there were some I did not, and I was beaten. I don''t remember everything they asked, but I was careful to keep certain truths about myself secret, as well as not to expose too many of Benold''s weaknesses. I wanted him humbled, not broken. This may seem cruel coming from someone who loved him, but I kept my emotions and sense of justice entirely separate. I gave them as much information as I could, however, to help them recover Creena. I even suggested using me as a trade for her.


    Sadly, this plan was initially rejected. I was stuck on the sidelines of another bloody conflict. And in some ways, I felt I had been a catalyst. But maybe these events would have turned out this way whether I was there or not. I''m not sure which thought distresses me more. The responsibility for the horrors, or the idea that I made no difference at all.


    I learned from listening to talk in the camp that Creena was their wisewoman''s granddaughter, and particularly gifted in sensing and communicating with spirits. She was being trained up to take her grandmother''s place as the spiritual guide of their tribe. This was a very important role, and it made sense why they were willing to die for her. But I soon realised that Creena and I were more intertwined than I could have imagined.


    A woman with red hair much like my own came to the tent I was kept in. She introduced herself as Creena''s mother, saying she had to see me for herself. And when she did, she began to weep. I thought, perhaps, it was because I had brought them news of Creena, but it went deeper than that. She began asking me about my heritage, and I told her I knew none of it. I was an orphan. The woman wrapped her arms about me and continued to sob.


    "The remorseful spirits led you here," she told me. I told her that, no, slavers brought me there. She smiled and shook her head. "They can''t see it, but I see it. You are my firstborn! Not that other child who grew sicker and sicker. I always knew she was a changeling! When Creena was born, I made sure to never leave her side!"


    I didn'' know what to think. If I had been taken by the spirits, how did I end up in Ayokonia, where the spirits had been smothered by iron? Though if I had been spirited away it might explain some of my unusual gifts. But I was not entirely convinced, and I don''t think the rest of her tribe were either, as someone soon came in and gently, but firmly, led her out. I was given a scathing look as if I had encouraged her to believe that.


    It did make me wonder if we were related, but perhaps more distantly. I tried asking about that family line, if they''d had anyone disappear or go to the mainland, but none would give me a straight answer. Were these my people? Had I finally found a home? Other than Creena''s mother, no one else thought so.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    They failed to recover Creena and they decided to try negotiation instead. At this point I was doubtful that Commander Slacht would even consider a trade. Not after the blood toll that had been accrued. To my surprise, I was informed that I was to be traded back, but I did not get my hopes up. Instead, I was filled with a sense of dread.


    We came to the meeting place, the same clearing in the forest where Benold and I had spoken with Asion. Dubura, that''s the black wolf warrior, conducted the exchange. I was expecting to see Benold there, but instead Sintol led a contingent. The Lienog demanded proof of Creena. They brought a small litter closer, and pulled a body out of it. It was Creena, but she was not alive. Howling in outrage, the Lienog attacked. The guard holding me pressed a knife to my throat to slit it, but suddenly fell. There was an ambush from behind. Again I had hoped to see Benold. But he was not leading the second party either.


    The fight was bloody. Dubura fought with the brutality and tenacity of a wounded beast, and the other warriors gave him a wide berth as he was as likely to strike ally as foe in his frenzied state. But he wasn''t the only unruly force in those woods. I could feel the spirits'' anguish turning to rage. I tried to warn everyone to withdraw, but I was not heeded. Death was feeding some dark force, allowing it to grow in strength. By the time I heard the howling, I knew it was too late. Shadows appeared between the trees, taking form of shaggy black dogs with burning embers for eyes, and teeth so long they could not fully close their mouths.


    Sintol''s men were slaughtered. Every attempt to strike the monsters that beset them ended in the creatures blinking out and reappearing somewhere else in a puff of inky smoke. Sintol fled, leaving the rest of his men to die. Then to my astonishment, the largest of these beings pounced upon Dubara, tearing out his throat. The rest all howled and piled upon his remains, devouring him.


    The warriors stood by and let this happen to their leader, but were unafraid for themselves. What happened there remains a mystery to this day. To me, at least. The two warriors left standing reverently collected Creena''s body, but left me behind, still bound. I begged them to release me and take me back with them, but I was ignored.


    I was in a field of blood. The dogs devoured every last body, lapped up every last drop of blood. They moved about me as if I were invisible to them. I was shaking and terrified. I wanted to beg for their help, but I did not want to pay the price they would likely exact. The black dogs dissipated into a mist as the spirits no longer had the power to maintain their physical forms. And I was truly alone.


    It took me a while to free myself from the ropes binding my wrists and ankles. By then all I had on was the slip I''d been wearing under my dress when I was taken, soiled with sweat, dirt, and blood. And it was getting late, I was getting cold, and my feet were bare. Wandering through a forest full of unsettled spirits was a horrifying experience. I could feel them stalking me, toying with me. Sensed their mocking, their curiosity, their hostility. All of it. What kept them at bay, I do not know. And when I felt something grab me from behind, I shrieked.


    While I had expected some ghostly hand to be on my shoulder, it was quite human. I turned and saw Sintol, who was injured but somehow had outran the hounds. "Help me... I know I''ve been going in circles... it''s them isn''t it?" he entreated.


    Disorienting people was a common practice of spirits who wish to draw out the torment of their victims. I was tempted to pull away and leave Sintol to his fate, but then I noticed the gun he had in his hand. Using my ability to see past illusions, and his knowledge of the terrain, we made our way out and into the farms at the outskirts of town.


    "Where is Benold?" I finally asked.


    "Moping at the fort. I''ll bring you to him," Sintol said. I''d never seen him look so serious. But after what he''d seen, perhaps he was realising that he was playing with a fire whose burns could not be healed. There was something grave that almost changed his entire demeanour as he went to the first farm house, and demanded use of their horse and cart.


    Soon we were back at the fort. I should have known better than to trust Sintol. No, I didn''t trust him, but I let hope that he saw the error of his ways cloud my judgement. I was not brought to Benold. I was instead restrained once again and taken to the dungeon. "You can finally repay your debt..." was all he said, though I did catch just the slightest hesitation. Maybe even regret, before he left.


    I was too exhausted to dwell on my situation for much longer and slept. In the morning my cell was opened, and I kept hoping it would be Benold, come to set me free. It was not. Instead a guard and a man in robes I had never seen before took me out. I was brought into a room with a large altar in the centre, and lit candles all around.


    "This is the replacement?" a deep voice asked.


    "Yes."


    "We must hurry. The Wild One is close to breaking free."


    I was stripped down and then placed in robes with a very rough texture. I asked them what they were planning, but was ignored. Anything I said was ignored. And my attempts to fight them were easily quashed. I felt something present, something that gave me a sense of foreboding. I could feel a caged animal, waiting to be released. And I had a strong suspicion that this host or sacrifice Creena spoke of was what was about to happen to me.


    I was stretched out on the stone altar. They chanted and waved various props over me, such as stag''s horns or feathered wands. It is very surreal to think back, and the recollection is becoming fuzzy. It really feels as if it happened to someone else. I can almost see myself, staring at the ceiling trying not to cry, as these men surrounded me, performing their ritual. They gave me cuts on each of my arms, my blood filling the channels and dripping into vessels. But death was not the aim, for they staunched the wounds after enough had bled. I was feeling dizzy and was on the verge of passing out when I felt that presence getting nearer and nearer. I heard it shrieking in anger. It was being brought to me against its will.


    Then there was a crash and the door came open. A loud bang rang in my ears and one of the robed men sank to his knees. Another boom and a second fell. I could not see what was happening, and I was struggling to maintain consciousness. The spirit raged and I felt a searing pain in my abdomen. A mark was burnt just below my navel. Then there was a sudden, I don''t know what you''d call it, a sort of release of power that overwhelmed me and knocked me out.


    "I know it''s cold, but you are vibrating like a tuning fork, Volente," Baldovo remarked, reached over to place a steadying hand on his fellow researcher, as if by doing so he could still him. Volente crossed his arms, his cheeks and nose quite red from the chill, and the handkerchief had been liberally employed to catch the offending nasal drip.


    "I''m fine," Volente weakly insisted, fooling no one.


    "Well I am feeling quite worn out. Keeping myself from feeling the emotions of these memories is exhausting. Perhaps we ought to stop there." Trosyn admitted, her shoulders sagging and elbows resting upon her knees.


    "Oh my, you needn''t hold back. You''ve been through some harrowing things I could only dream of," Volente said, placing a cold hand on her shoulder. She did not respond, staring at the deck in silence.


    "Yes, it is like a dream, and I wonder how much of it is true. Were you ever going to tell us how you wound up on our side of the Blazing Crescent?" Baldovo asked. This caused Trosyn to look up, her gray eyes reflecting the nascent moonlight.


    "Tomorrow morning. We''ll still have time before we disembark."


    "Oh, will you? Because you''ve really been stringing us along this whole voyage," Baldovo said, getting to his feet. He whipped his coat off the rope pile.


    "Surely she couldn''t have made all of that up," Volente challenged. He looked at Trosyn, waiting for her to nod and agree with him. She said nothing and instead went back to staring straight ahead of her, as if in a daze. "Trosyn? Trosyn, tell us it''s all been true."


    Trosyn lifted her chin, looking at Volente as he crouched in front of her, shivering. A small smile touched Trosyn''s lips. "It''s all been true."


    "Well she could tell me she was a goddess and I wouldn''t care so long as I learn how she got here," Baldovo said as he shrugged on his waist coat. "And we never did hear about Baron Thing or how she ended up in the Loyalist army. I don''t suppose there will be time to explain that."


    Trosyn shook her head, grunting as she pushed herself to her feet, legs shaking a moment until she steadied herself. "No. But then, there will always be things left unknown."


    "That''s not an acceptable answer to a scientist," Baldovo retorted. "Ah, we''ll see what offering you have for us tomorrow morning. Come on Volente, let''s get you in and warmed up. It''s painful to look at you." Baldovo gave Volente a hand up, and slung a good natured arm about the shivering man''s slender shoulders. Baldovo began guinding Volente away, who looked over his shoulder at Trosyn as he walked away, then looked ahead so as not to trip.


    "You think it''s in you, don''t you?" Colto asked, causing Trosyn to jump. She''d nearly forgotten he was there, as he was even quieter than usual. He had been standing against the railing, staring out at the silvery reflection of the moon on the water.


    "What?"


    "The spirit. Your womb. That''s what Creena meant by host," Colto said without turning around, Trosyn''s eyes went wide as she fixated on Colto''s back. She walked over to an empty spot beside him, gripping the railing with her chilled fingers.


    "Do you believe in spirits, then?" Trosyn asked by way of avoiding the question.


    "Maybe. But not in Lomany," Colto''s deep voice seemed at home in the darkness with its richness and weight. The two stood in silence, letting the night wash over them. Without answering Colto''s question, Trosyn turned and walked away, cradling her stomach.

 Chapter 15: Journeys End

    "Steady does it! Not too much power! Coals! Lay off! Do something about that rigging!"


    "You didn''t say it right!"


    "DAMN YOU!"


    Laughter erupted on the SS Serendipity as the crew prepared for docking. The Engineer had been running up and down from the deck to the boiler, shouting orders, while the Captain just stood aside with amused crinkles on his face. When the crew had finished their ritual of making the engineer consider another line of work, he stepped in, calling out his own orders to make sure everything ran smoothly that morning.


    Trosyn was peeking from just below deck, listening to the tramping feet and hubbub. "Ah, there you are, Red." Volente''s high voice barely managed to rise above the noise, taking Trosyn a moment to tear herself away.


    "I don''t want to be underfoot, but I enjoy watching the crew work," Trosyn relayed. Volente pursed his lips and then raised an eyebrow, as if he could not see the appeal of a bunch of burly men playing with ropes and swearing at each other.


    Volente leaned in close to Torsyn, causing her to eye him guardedly. He whispered, his breath tickling her ear. "Why don''t you join us for breakfast? I''ve been saving a jar of mixed pickles that should make the hardtack edible." He straightened up, glancing to make sure none of the sailors learned of his forbidden pickles.


    "That''s kind of you." Torsyn smiled, rubbing the condensation on her ear away. Volente beckoned her with some urgency, as if the pickles which had lasted that long voyage would spoil in the next few moments.


    "Ah, so Red is gracing us with her presence," Baldovo said, looking up from beating his hardtack into smaller chunks with some heavy instrument. Seeing this, Volente''s eyes bulged.


    "Be careful with that!" Volente said, his voice a new pitch as he grabbed it from Boldovo, cradling it like an ailing babe. Unrepentantly, Baldovo just stared Volente in the eyes as he crunched on a fragment of the wheaty brick. The sourer Volente''s face grew, the wider Baldovo''s grin spread.


    "Pickle?" Colto asked, holding up the opened jar.


    "You opened them without me?" Volente asked, grabbing the jar. He stared at Colto, aghast that the usually professional man would stoop to such levels. After hazarding a reproachful stare at the much larger man, Volente sighed and held the jar out to Trosyn. "Pickle?"


    "You said we could have some before you disappeared," Baldovo reminded Volente. Colto nodded to this and Volente''s face drooped.


    "Oh yes, I did, didn''t I?"


    Trosyn''s slender fingers reached into the jar of brine, fishing out some sort of fruit or vegetable she was unfamiliar with. It was a putrid green and shaped like a wedge, but round on one edge. The round side had a darker, pitted, rough texture, while the rest seemed to be a collection of sacs in a delicate membrane. She popped it in her mouth, and braced as a very sour flavour flooded her mouth. The three men laughed at her scrunched up face. After she''d chewed it a bit, she began to taste a subtle spice and sweetness which helped mitigate the initial shock of flavour.


    The three men passed around the jar, dipping chunks of their hard tack into the jar, using its brine to soften the unpalatable ration.


    "Alright, Red, you have until we disembark to finish your story." Baldovo reminded her, once she had a few more briny nibbles. She nodded, taking a drink of water from her own canteen, and then cleared her throat.


    When I awoke, it was to the rocking motion of a boat. Benold was beside me, manning a one-person sailboat. This surprised me to no extent. He looked rough, unshaven, tattered, and altogether unkempt. When he saw that I was awake he sighed with relief.


    "I was worried you''d never wake up," he muttered.


    "Where are we going?" I asked once my disorientation wore off.


    "Back to Ayokonia."


    "Why?"


    "Because the colony has been destroyed." I was shocked by this revelation.


    "What happened?" I finally asked. It probably should have been my first question, but I got there eventually.


    Benold told me that Sintol had betrayed him. Creena was supposed to be part of some sort of ritual conducted by the Unseelie Eye. They said once it was done, they would impart them with the power to wipe out the Lienog for good. He expressed his remorse at being part of that plan, and he never wanted complete genocide. He just wanted them to see reason and understand that their colony was an opportunity for civilisation and to improve lives!


    "Wasn''t the trade off with the Unseelie Eye supposed to be immortality?" I asked.


    "That was. They had bound some powerful spirit that could grant immortality, but only if it was sacrificed. But it had to have a physical form to be sacrificed."


    "They were going to let Creena be possessed, and then kill her?" I asked. Benold winced. I could see the lump in his throat move as he swallowed a few times.


    "Creena killed herself before the ritual could be done. The kitchen maid accidentally gave her a knife with her meal. Stupid, stupid girl." Benold pressed his lips in a thin line, and despite the scathing tone of his remarks, the frown and pushed up eyebrows made me really see he felt badly for her.


    Benold went on to tell me, I will paraphrase here, that he''d become preoccupied with salvaging what he could from his estate and searching for me, as he didn''t know what had become of me. He had no idea that they had somehow faked proof of life and were going to exchange Creena for me. He swore if he had known he would have done something. When he learned that Sintol had brought me back to be used instead of Creena, he did the only sensible thing. He charged into the ritual with guns blazing.


    When he interrupted the ritual that was in progress, something was released. He said he thought he saw something over me, like a thin mote of light descending onto my stomach. But it was only a glimpse before he saw it no more. And then there was a force that knocked most of the ritualists back, and he felt something push against him, like a strong wind. All of the candle flames grew brighter, and a shadow extended along the wall behind me. He said it looked like a man with antlers and a cloak. But it was only a silhouette, no such man existed. Then it faded away.


    Afterwards the ground shook. He grabbed me and carried me out. Sintol and Vormind both screamed at him - what did he do? He said at that point he didn''t care about appeasing them anymore, but he still didn''t want harm to come to them. They all worked together to get out safely, but the fort and the buildings were beginning to crumble as the ground continued to shake. And then they witnessed a curious thing. The tide began to rapidly recede. Benold had never seen the likes of it, but he said something, almost like a voice, told him to seek high ground. He didn''t question it. He watched as a large portion of the colony was swept away into the ocean.


    Once they had recovered from the awe of nature working against them, his comrades all blamed him for the destruction, claiming that he''d let loose the spirit that the Unseelie Eye had been keeping at bay. Unable to bear it, he took me and fled. Luckily, a smaller dock for fishing on another side of the island still had a few small ships. He stole one, and left.


    He expressed a deep sense of regret in turning against his old allies, oftentimes sounding as though he were thinking of going back to face them. I kept insisting that he try to stand on his own. And I began to realise, that like myself, he had never really been free either. His controlling parents, the pressures of society as a gentleman, and the familial obligations were just a few. These were compounded by his vices and the debts he owed, including his very life, to Command Ondel Slacht, which bound him to a life he would not have otherwise chosen.


    I tried to convince him to, instead, go back to Ayokonia and reveal the plottings of Commander Slacht. Although Commander Slacht fought on the side of the common folk, he never had an interest in equality. None of them did. Only in power and profit. And Benold was no different, I am sad to say.


    Out there on that boat, though, he stared out at the sea, his loose curls blown about in the wind, and I saw a level of depth I''d never seen on him. He was far away, transfixed by thoughts. "Ondel, Carm, and my cousin... we''d been through so much together. We never turned on each other, no matter how grim things got," he told me. "But now... why had we fallen apart when we finally had something to hold on to? Land? Power?" I don''t think he meant for me to answer. I did anyway.


    "Desperation makes strange bedfellows. And once you were no longer desperate, you no longer needed one another." He made no response, focusing on adjusting sails and rudder. So I continued talking. "They never valued you as a person, just what you could provide them with."


    "You''re wrong. They respected me! They... they... we were all like brothers," Benold insisted.


    "Even brothers drift when their values no longer match," I said.


    "I''ve ruined everything. But how? I did everything they wanted me to, other than... other than... saving you."


    "That''s the trouble. When we give people what they want, rather than what they need, it doesn''t end well," I reflected. He stewed on that for a while. Then I asked him a question. "Do you regret saving me? Would you cast me off to get back into their good graces?"


    He turned to look at me, eyes aflame. "NO!" He then turned away, offended I would ask him that. We remained in silence for a while.


    Wordlessness could not last, not on that small vessel. We had to discuss what we would do. I reminded him that our civil union was gone with the colony; Ayokonia likely would not honour it. I also reminded him that once we reached Ayokonia, he would be obligated to send me for fertility research. It seemed as though there wasn''t much of a future left for us. So I told him to let me guide the vessel. We would go off somewhere, just the two of us, and start over. It took some coaxing but he eventually agreed.


    I navigated us to the island where I had originally been found by the slavers, enduring his whinging the whole trip about his loss of luxury and riches. When we arrived, it took a while for me to find any sign of the group I''d left behind. Or rather, for them to find us. We were surrounded and it took them a while to recognise me. I was questioned as to how I could reveal their location to a known enemy. I said we were both running away from Ayokonia. Eventually, I convinced them to take us both back to their humble village.


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    There we were treated to hospitality, although he was treated with mistrust and disdain. When I proposed we run away together, Benold was under the illusion that meant I would carry on with him as I had. But I felt the need to assert my independence for a change, and we slept in separate huts. He felt as though I was punishing him, and I admit I was.


    Several days after we arrived I had a dream, no, a vision. A woman with antlers and long flowing hair came to me. She called me by a name I was unfamiliar with, but I knew it was mine. She conjured an image of herself and a man with bull''s horns being pulled apart and broken into pieces like glass. Dark hands kept grasping and gathering them, and using them for their own gain. Then I saw the vision of myself on the altar. Then my body was replaced by that of the horned man, held down with glowing chains and set ablaze. I felt a great sorrow but also a great malevolence. Then the woman reached out and touched the brand on my stomach, and it faded. She looked at me with sadness and longing, but then shook her head. As she did so, flowers grew from her hair and petals fell about her hooven feet. The only words she spoke was "A seed is growing in you."


    Then I awoke in a cold sweat. For a couple months I monitored my health and conferred with one of the other women in the refugee village, who had been trained in medicine. We were soon able to determine that I was likely pregnant. This troubled me, as before the colony was destroyed, I had insisted that Benold do the fertility ritual. This was so that I could secure my eventual independence through the next generation. I was unsure if this child was his, or if I had a faerie growing in me. Faeries are partially spirit, partially mortal, and very rare. They used to be more common, but fewer and fewer mortals became suitable vessels.


    I had a difficult choice. I sensed such great danger from that dream, but wasn''t sure if that was the danger of bearing this child, or finding some way not to. I... attempted to... force the child to abort. But my attempts failed. I made myself unwell, and when Benold realised it was self inflicted he chastised me horribly. I never told him I was in the family way.


    Later, I had a dream where the mountain spirit on the island had become angry and exploded, sending liquid fire down on us, wiping everyone out. I was not the only one to receive this vision, and it was declared an omen. Although many in the Loyalist army had gone away from spirit worship, the stragglers that had hidden on this island had to reconnect with nature, and thus form an understanding with the local spirits for survival.


    When I learned several had this dream, I could do nothing no longer. I''d spent my life waiting and watching, and it was in shambles. It was time to take action. I originally was going to sneak away without saying goodbye. But leaving Benold among those who did not trust him was too cruel. So in the middle of the night I woke him, and we went somewhere to talk in private.


    "I must go," I remember telling him. And seeing the look of relief on his face, he clearly misunderstood my intentions. "Alone." That caused him to boggle.


    "Why?" he demanded. "I can''t let you go! After everything... you can''t go!"


    I told him about my dreams and he refused to believe they had any meaning at all. Not even when others shared the dream, since he did not have that dream. I told him that the spirits demanded that I leave. I also told him that he should return to Ayokonia and try to rebuild his life. Better yet, that the colony could be rebuilt in mutual trust with the Lienog, respecting their sacred spaces. He was wary of this idea and told me they would not trust him without my assistance. I told him I was afraid they may not welcome me back after I was used in a ritual by the Unseelie Eye.


    We argued long into the night, some of it getting quite heated. I kept repeating that I could not go back to Ayakonia since I was a wildflower, and I could not go back to New Karebryn, the colony, until I was sure it wasn''t crawling with members of the Eye. It would be his mission to make a world safe for my return. With this goal in mind, he reluctantly relented. Though I fear if I had not left hastily at that point, he would have reneged.


    I got into a fishing boat and set out. I had no destination. I just had a mind to return this thing growing inside of me back to nature. It was clear whatever it was, the mountain spirit did not want it in his domain. A vicious storm flanked me and I thought for sure I would be lost. A great wave rose up beneath my boat, carrying it in a huge swell over some rocks out to the larger sea. Behind me I saw plumes of smoke and mountain fire erupt, filling the gap I had been carried through. I know not if the people I left behind are safe. But there is no going back. Eventually the storm dashed my boat to pieces and I lost consciousness. Next thing I knew, I was on your ship.


    At first I was angry. Why was I saved? But then I realised as a technologically advanced people, the power of spirits would weaken. If this thing in me is a spirit, it will fade the further I get away from its domain. Spirits are bound to places, you see. And iron chokes them. My spiritual senses have been vanishing the further we''ve sailed. And... if this child is not a faerie, if it is Benold''s, then I have misinterpreted the spirits'' will and made a terrible mistake. But there''s no going back, and I will just have to make a new life with this child.


    For the first time since Trosyn had begun her tale, her eyes did not just water, but tears rolled down her round cheeks. Volente was quick to offer her one of his spare handkerchiefs, and she quietly thanked him, wiping her eyes. The three men all looked at each other, Even the irreverent Baldovo looks uncomfortable with this latest revelation.


    "So you have been trying to kill your child?" Colto was the first to put the question to words. They all watched Trosyn as she continued to dab at her eyes.


    "No... merely render it powerless," Trosyn said in a quivering voice. "But if it is a faerie, it will be incomplete and likely won''t thrive. I will still do my best for it. But... the spirits used me as a vessel, and then... threw me away." Trorsyn squinted, turning her head away. "I had thought, maybe I would have drifted back to Leichlan, the island where everything happened. But... the spirits had other plans for me it seems. I don''t pretend to understand them. I just know that I am here."


    The three researchers fell into a stunned silence as the weight of the story could truly be felt. There were still so many questions. But it seemed as though a moment of reverence for the woman''s losses and impending struggles were warranted.


    It was Baldovo who broke the silence first. "I don''t suppose you could show me, where, on a map, the wave pushed you through?"


    "Baldovo Danaudi!" Volente squawked indignantly. "Have you no shame?"


    "What? It was the reason we listened to her story, isn''t it? For information on the Blazing Crescent?" Baldovo countered defensively.


    "Has her story taught you nothing? Maybe it is better we stay on this side of the Blaze," Volente said, narrowing his eyes to awkward slits, making his high, slightly concave forehead seem all the more stretched out.


    "It was the deal for you listening. Alright, show me your maps," Trosyn said tiredly, handing the handkerchief back to Volente. He held up his hands.


    "Keep it," he muttered, still fixing a look of disapproval at Baldovo. He then appealed silently to Colto for support, but Colto remained unreadable and neutral as ever. Instead, Colto began packing up in preparation for landfall.


    Baldovo unrolled their map of the Crescent''s coast line, indicating where they found her. Trosyn looked at it for a long while, before pointing out her best guess. She paused, thought about it, then tapped it with more confidence. "There is a tiny cove here..."


    Baldovo smiled, and grabbed a charcoal stick, marking the location on the map, blowing away excess sediment before rolling it back up. "Pleasure doing business, Red." He then looked down at the rolled paper in his hand before stuffing it back into a leather tube. "And for what it is worth, I do hope you finally find happiness in Lomany, or wherever you end up."


    "Same," Colto said, not looking up from gathering up the last few things that hadn''t been properly packed and stowed the night before.


    Volente watched the others, shaking his head and frowning. But after a pointed look from Colto, he made a small squeak and began scrambling to ready his last few things into his travel trunk. Trosyn didn''t have more than the clothes on her back, and thus was left with little to do but ponder on her next move once she had set foot in Floratti.


    Once everything was squared away, Volente tilted his head to Trosyn, "How about we get some fresh air?"


    "Alright."


    The two walked up to the top deck, taking care to not get in the way of the sailors who were ever busy. They found a safe piece of railing to press up against, watching the docks as they came closer and closer, speed and angle closely monitored by the helmsman and captain.


    "Trosyn... I... know you''ve been through a lot. So if there is anything that I can do, let me know," Volente said. Trosyn was quiet as she stared at the dock dotted with workers anticipating their ship''s arrival.


    "Do you live in Floratti?" Trosyn asked.


    "Oh, no. No, I''m from Beste which is a bit further inland. But I''ll be staying in Floratti with the others for a few days for last minute touch ups on our report," Volente explained. "Anyway, I don''t have much, but it''s far more than you have."


    "Oh? I thought as a gentleman of education you would be comfortably situated," Trosyn remarked, tilting her head. Volente scratched his neck and stared back at the docks.


    "Ah. Yes. Well, Miss Trosyn, as a fourth son, I wasn''t given more than my education. I live on very little, and this expedition may make or break me." Volente sniffed, speaking a little stiffly of his circumstances.


    "I''m sorry for prying," Trosyn muttered.


    "Hm? Oh, no, I''m not..." Volente giggled sheepishly, "If I sounded vexed, it''s not with you. After everything you shared, saying that much about myself is hardly a concession." Volente blinked his watery eyes, taking off his specs and rubbing them with the tail of his waist coat.


    "As you know I don''t have money. Would they hire a woman to work the docks? I gather women often are only employed in education, medicine, and hospitality. At least that is what I gathered from the bits of chatter I''ve picked up," Trosyn asked. Volente made a small noise in his throat at the question, eyes bulging as he stared at the docks they were approaching.


    "Uh... no. No, I don''t believe they''d hire a woman to work the docks. And in your condition, it would be hard work," Volente said.


    "The work on the ship has been hard, and it hasn''t stopped me," Trosyn responded.


    "Oh? You were getting tired, I could see you struggling. It might be better for you to maybe look for a job cleaning or nursing. It might be safer too. The docks are crawling with unsavoury types," Volente said, shuddering as he eyed the dots, which were taking the form of people by now, with disdain.


    "Maybe you are right. I shouldn''t be pushing myself. Especially with the limited food I''ve had... I do feel worn out," Trosyn said with a frown.


    "Ah yes... well.. Trosyn... I know I said earlier that I wasn''t going to ask for your hand..." Volente began to say, lacing his fingers together and twiddling his thumb, as if the motion was necessary to keep his words moving and not stick in his throat.


    "...Volente... don''t," Trosyn said, shaking her head. At this early rejection, Volente''s hands flew out in a placating manner.


    "Oh goodness, no, I wasn''t going to go back on that and make a proposal! Not that sort. But... perhaps... you might permit me to..." his hands were back to fidgeting and his eyes rolled off to the side. "...pay you court?"


    Trosyn was silent for a moment or two."I may have an angry faerie growing inside of me," Trosyn reminded him.


    "I know. And you''ve told me so much of your past. But I''m interested to know how your future turns out, too. And if you can find any peace, I''d like to be a part of it," Volente said with a shy smile. "And... you don''t seem to have any bad habits that would grate on my fragile nerves."


    At this Trosyn laughed, and he joined in with her. "I don''t even know where I am going to end up. And I don''t want to feel obligated to anyone for a while. I just want the freedom to fail or succeed on my own merits." Trosyn gripped the railing and sighed, hearing some shouting behind her. "If you had actually asked me earlier in the voyage, I would have said yes, just because I''m so afraid of not belonging to someone. I don''t know how to make my own decisions. I know how to be defiant, but not to... how do I put it... figure out what my options even are."


    Volente tilted his head as he listened to Trosyn''s concerns with her impending independence. "Hmmm... I never thought anyone would be afraid of freedom. WE''ve fought so hard for it in Lomany," Volente remarked, not sure if he could wrap his mind around it. "Aren''t you relieved to be free at last?"


    "I just feel overwhelmed." Trosyn dipped her chin. "But both Benold and I made a series of mistakes because we could not walk on our own paths." Again, Trosyn''s eyes welled up. She brought out the handkerchief, ready for when the tears fell.


    "Well then, let me at least help you find lodging and work for as long as I''m in Floratti. No obligation to me, of course, other than maybe write to me when we go our separate ways?" Volente smiled entreatingly.


    "I think that sounds fair. I accept," Trosyn said, a full smile, showing all of her teeth. She then went on her tippy toes, giving Volente a peck on the cheek before turning around to face the deck. "We''d better get away from the edges."


    "Oh... yes of course." Volente stuttered, his face bright red. He took out his spare handkerchief and took a deep breath of the cologne, feeling a bit of a swoon coming on.


    "As I said, I was afraid. But now that I''ve purged my past, I think I can finally feel excited about this new adventure. Now my life can truly begin. It just proves that you''re never too old to truly start living." Trosyn took off her cap, and untied her red hair, letting it tumble over her shoulders and whip free in the wind. She still felt pain over leaving Benold behind, but there was the possibility that she had carried a part of him with her into this strange new future. For once, she wasn''t running away. For once she was not waiting for the next crisis to happen to her. The moment she would step onto the Floratti dock, she would be a new woman. She would embrace the illusion of freedom.

 Chapter 1: Benold - Language Barriers

    Lazy tendrils of smoke wafted in the air, filling the room with a woody aroma. The bundled herbs with their charred ends were devoured by the worming embers. Benold was not entirely convinced that this was not all mumbo jumbo. The man across from him sat cross legged on a bear pelt, hands out as if entreating some unseen entity. Benold sought answers, but had he really sunk to this?


    Benold coughed into his hand politely as a prompt for the wise man to say something. When silence followed, Benold tried again, wondering if his socially acceptable urging was simply not heard. The wise man opened his eyes and tilted his head. Benold smiled hopefully, but the wise man just closed his eyes with renewed resolve, taking in a deep breath and tilting his head back.


    Benold twiddled his thumbs until he became aware of his own indiscretion. Fidgeting was unbecoming! He quickly placed his hands flat on his thighs. "Well?"


    "Wisdom comes to those who ask. You said you sought guidance, but you have not asked me the question that burns upon your heart," the man said in a droning yet high voice.


    Muscles by Benold''s eye twitched. He huffed lightly as he fought to maintain composure. "Alright. Fine. Then I will ask. Can you help me locate Trosyn Nytt?"


    Again the wise man drew in a deep breath, holding the incense filled air in his chest before expelling it with a slight whistle. Benold''s hands dug into his breeches, concerned over the filth accruing on his stately attire. Why couldn''t the seer live in a nice wood panelled house instead of this ramshackle hut with its dirt floor?


    "She is beyond your reach."


    "She''s not... dead?" The word fell from his lips with hesitance.


    "No." The wise man''s face became more wrinkled, as if that were humanly possible, as his eyebrows drew together. "I see a purification of water and fire. The skies wept, the sea roiled, and the flames danced down the mountain paths. The Horned One was tainted by the evil eye - and should he be freed he would spread like a disease. The one you seek, is not one but two - and together they have been pushed past the boundaries, beyond the Cradle of Fire. Beyond where the spirits can see." The seer took in another deep breath and let it out. "I can divine no more on this matter. The spirits are unsettled and have ended their communication."


    Benold''s frown deepened, scowling as if he could nag the spirits to toughen up and tell him more. The wise man remained placid and silent, observing Benold with his sunken eyes. "I do not suppose the spirits would draw me a map."


    "No," was the man''s dry response.


    "Ah." Benold waved a hand in front of his face, coughing genuinely this time from too much smoke. "Well, here''s the payment you requested." Benold held out a small sachet. "Apparently, they prefer partial shade."


    <hr>


    "It was a waste of time." Benold sipped his mulled wine with a frown. The dainty silver vessel he drank out of had such a small handle, his pinky could find no purchase and thus stuck out. "Wisdom shouldn''t always be hidden behind cryptic gobbledegook. But that''s all I received. At least he spoke Siperian."


    These remarks were addressed to Mrs. Gray, whose hair matched her name. As far as Benold was concerned, she was probably born old. But it didn''t slow her down as she went about the room, smartly tidying. She paused in her efforts to turn and bow to Benold. "Will you soon be leaving us again, sir?"


    "Hm? No. Perhaps." Benold set down his refreshment and waved his hand. Mrs. Gray stood at attention until he made a silent gesture for her to continue her work. Moments after Mrs. Gray resumed dusting, Benold continued. "Obviously I know she isn''t here in these islands. I searched high and low. No sign of her on the mainland, either. At least not in Ayokonia. I don''t have the reach necessary to check the other kingdoms." Once again, Mrs. Gray interrupted her work to turn and face Benold, hands primly against her apron. "So telling me she is beyond my reach is stating the obvious. The cradle of fire... did he mean that metaphorically do you suppose?"


    "I wouldn''t know, sir," Mrs. Gray responded in a carefully crafted tone appropriate to her station.


    "There was a storm and an eruption the last night she was seen. But I refuse to believe she died," Benold slammed his hand down on the table. It shuddered under the force and he quickly straightened up, forgetting that the table, like most of his home, was in dire need of repairs.


    "Right you are, sir," Mrs. Gray said tiredly. He glanced over at her, her matronly figure outlined against the new red drapes. The whole parlour was bedecked in tapestries and drapes, in a vain attempt at hiding the fire damage and ongoing repairs. Benold didn''t want to see it. He didn''t want to think about it. All he wanted was to solve the puzzle which plagued him. "If I may speak plainly, sir?"


    Benold inclined his head to his dutiful housekeeper. "Please, do, Mrs. Gray."


    "With only one maid left in your employ, I have a lot of work to do. You returned early and I still have the carpenters to clean up after. It is not my job to be your sounding board as well."


    Benold dipped his chin in indignation. He was thinking better of granting her permission to speak. Out of the corner of his eyes, scorch marks seemed to be clawing out from behind their fabric shields. The whole room became tiresome to him. "Ahem. Well. Yes," Benold stammered. He cleared his throat and lifted his chin. "I''ll be in my library. If you would, Mrs. Gray, have, ah, Cora meet me there."


    "You mean Caorain, sir?"


    "Yes, that''s what I said," Benold waved his hand as if swatting at a fly.


    "Alright sir, I will tell your wife you request her presence."


    "Don''t call her that," Benold said peevishly.


    "What else am I to call her, sir?"


    "I don''t know." Benold threw up his hands in exasperation. Recalling how a master ought to behave in the presence of the help, he quickly set his hands to his side. "Her name is sufficient. I''m still learning the customs of these people. And when we exchanged gifts at our last diplomatic meeting, I did not anticipate that I''d be given a whole woman."


    "As opposed to half a woman, sir?" Benold stared hard at Mrs. Gray. She cleared her throat as her smile dropped off of her face. His housekeeper bobbed her head and curtsied. "I will go fetch Caorain for you."


    "See that you do."


    What was a library without shelves and shelves of books? Benold asked himself this every time he entered the ruined repertoire of knowledge. New shelves had been hastily built to cover the sooty walls, but the empty slats did little to erase the reminder of the fire. Benold sat at his desk where a map of the island lay open beside plans for rejuvenating the settlement of New Karebryn.


    It wasn''t long before he heard the creak of a door, and Benold looked up to see the dark haired maiden enter and bow to him. Maiden she was, for he had no interest in conjugating his supposed union with a woman who did not even speak the same language as him. "Ah. Ca... came at last." Already he''d forgotten her name again, but didn''t wish to offend her by calling her something else. Benold stood up again, plucking one of the few books that survived the flagration.


    Caorain hitched up her long skirt and approached. The light caught the copper torc on her neck as she looked up at Benold inquisitively. She said something in her native language, but then tagged on, "I am come."


    Benold pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have come." She looked somewhat confused and so Benold repeated himself until she corrected herself. Satisfied with this, Benold pulled a chair out beside him, and gestured for her to sit. He placed the book in front of her once he did so, and launched into another language lesson with very little preamble.


    Memories swelled in Benold''s already crowded thoughts. But instead of bringing him joy, they only reminded him of what he lost. As such, he frequently lost his temper with his charge. He was determined not to make the same mistakes with Caorain that he had with his previous ward.


    "Chay, I do not good?" Caorain tilted her head, stringing the words together with some difficulty.


    "Hm?" Benold realised he''d been scowling at her and his face softened. "You have done well enough. Well. Not good. Well. Although, if you want to say ''not well'' you can say ''poor'' or ''poorly''," Benold did his best to explain. He glanced down at Caorain''s bewildered, blue-green eyes. That was a feature he had noticed prevalence of among the clans of Klogvan island. Plenty of them had red hair and green eyes. Benold was relieved, however, that Caorain was a brunette. He hated to think of her as a substitution.


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    Caorain looked at the book before her, studying the words closely as she sounded out them out. When she read a sentence containing fire, Benold''s thoughts wandered again to the seer''s message. He huffed with discontent, which caused Caorain to stop and look up at him with a frown.


    "Continue. You''re fine," Benold reassured impatiently. Before Caorain could continue the tortuously slow reading, Benold interrupted her. "Actually. Fire." He pointed at the word fire. He then pointed to a nearby lamp. "Fire." He made gestures with his fingers trying to emulate the flickering of the flame. "Fire."


    "Fire?" Caorain repeated, making the same gesture. She then said something in whatever gibberish her people spoke. "Fire." She thought carefully. "Hot?"


    Benold clapped once to show his approval. "Yes! Hot." Benold then squinted. "Cradle of fire... hmm... bed. We learned bed, right?" Benold asked, laying his hands together to form a pillow and tilted his head against it, trying to communicate a sleep.


    Caorain mimicked his gesture. "Bed!" She then tilted her head and looked at the book. There was no mention of beds on this page.


    "Fire bed. Um. Cradle... hmmm..." Benold shook his head. "This is pointless. You can''t help me any more than that spirit speaker!" Benold said with frustration, pounding his fist on the table. Caorain winced, and some soot dropped down from the ceiling onto his maps. Benold hung his head. "Sorry."


    Caorain looked at Benold, eyes wide with alarm. But then she frowned, and put her hand over Benold''s. "Sorry, too."


    "You have nothing to be sorry about. It''s just this whole situation. I need answers, and no one will give them to me straight." Benold sighed and swept the soot away as best he could. "Cradle of fire." He stood up straight and circled his arms close to his chest, as if holding and rocking an infant. Caorain laughed at this gesture, which did little to improve Benold''s mood. He immediately stopped. "Baby b-"


    Caorain immediately stood up and leaned across the desk, laying a kiss on Benold''s lips. Benold backed away, his face flushed. "That''s not what I..." Caorain frowned, eyebrows drawn together with dismay and confusion.


    "Baby? No?"


    Benold shook his head and sighed. "No."


    Caorain grumbled and sat back down. Benold rubbed his face, digging his nails into his skin. With another heavy sigh, he looked at Caorain, then back to the map. "Cradle of fire." Benold decided to try again, this time remaining out of Caorain''s reach, deciding to hold an empty chair in front of him just in case. "Baby bed."


    "Baby bed?" Caorain muttered the words back at him, bemused.


    "Yes. Cradle. Baby bed. Cradle. Cradle of fire. Do you know where the cradle of fire... why am I asking? You don''t understand me!"


    Caorain turned away from him quickly. Silence stretched between them until Caorain faced Benold once again, nostrils flared and lips taught. "I understand well enough." Caorain echoed the phrase he had used earlier. "I speak poorly." Caorain looked back at the map and pointed at an archipelago. "Crethal Thane," she declared. "Fire mountain. Many spirits. Where spirits end," Caorain explained as best she could with her limited vocabulary.


    "Crethal Thane?" Benold looked back at the islands. "I''ve been there! That''s where I last saw Trosyn. Wait. Are you sure?" Caorain nodded, but there was an air of defiance in her he was not keen about. "Well... um... thank you. You''ve been... helpful."


    Without being dismissed, Caorain walked around the table and left, her chin high and her air less than gracious. Benold rubbed his mouth and chin as he watched her go, bewildered as to her sudden change in disposition towards him. Surely she was not angry over a little misunderstanding.


    <hr>


    "It''s hardly worth the risk. There''s nothing to be gained going back there. No, no, you should continue developing the colony. And continue speculating in the locomotive caravan. And silver."


    Benold sat on a three legged stool with his fingers steepled together, a look of deep contemplation on his square face. The advice of his long standing but not-so-trusted friend, Karm Sintol, rattled around in his preoccupied mind. "The natives here will trade plenty for obsidian and livestock."


    Sintol rose and walked over to the bars that divided them, wrapping his hands about the iron cylinders. "But what do they really have to offer? Primitives! They''d offer a pittance in return! The mainland is where the money is, then you can funnel your profits into growing New Karebryn."


    "They offer knowledge, land, and safety. The colony is doing much better when we actually negotiate instead of strong arm the locals," Benold said, waving his hand dismissively.


    "Well I''m glad for you and your colony, governor. So... when will you get me out of this stinking pit?" Sintol asked, looking hopefully up at Benold. Slightly bewildered, Benold glanced around the dungeon. He straightened up and sniffed as a means of expression, but then regretted it as the stagnant air and Sintol''s body odour permeated his sensitive nostrils.


    "You should be more thankful you weren''t extradited to Ayokonia. You have the whole dungeon to yourself, and I make sure it is kept much cleaner than Commander Slacht did."


    "It''s still a dungeon. I could serve you a LOT better back on the streets."


    "I''m still mad that you tried to sacrifice my consort for the empty promise of immortality. So you can stay and stew a while longer."


    "What? I didn''t do it! It was those Unseelie people who tried to do that! They pulled a fast one on me, as I told you over and over!" Sintol''s voice bubbled with exasperation.


    Benold crossed his arms resolutely. "You were complicit. You knew I was against the whole idea of working with them and went behind my back! And we nearly lost everything."


    Sintol sighed, letting go of the bars and walking over to the lumpy bundle of straw that served as a bed. "We could have been set for more than a lifetime if not for your cold feet."


    Benold threw out his arms, incredulous. "Almost the entire colony was wiped out by quakes and tidal waves. Surely you don''t think it was a coincidence that happened just as that barbaric ritual failed?"


    "It failed because you interrupted it! And all for a woman," Sintol accused, his nose wrinkling. He then softened his expression. "So... how goes the hunt for Trosyn? I''d hate to think the reason we gave up immortality also slipped through your fingers."


    Benold welcomed the change of topic, but discussing Trosyn with Sintol chafed at him. Nevertheless, when he recollected how few people he could confide in, he found his resolve crumble. "I''m not sure."


    Benold relayed the puzzling answer he received from the wise man on the far side of the island. The two men sat in silence for a while. After teasing out possible meanings, Sintol shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe you ought to cut your losses and focus on New Karebryn. As he said, she''s beyond the spirits'' reach, so what more can you do?"


    Following a snort, a wry smile twisted up the corner of Benold''s mouth. "She may be out of the reach of the spirits, but not out of mine." Benold straightened up. "Which is why I have a plan. And my next step will be to go back to the Forbidden Isles. I am certain Trosyn somehow made it out beyond them. And I will find her."


    "I hate to bring this up, but who will be governor in your absence?"


    "I''ll deputise someone to act as interim Governor until I return. I have all of my wishes and mandates written out."


    "But who? Commander Slacht was reposted, and your cousin is in jail. There''s no one else you can trust."


    "Who other than the Lienog liaison?"


    <hr>


    "How long will you be gone this time, sir?" Benold sat in his office behind a new desk, with Mrs. Gray, erect and proper as if she was born with a curtain rod up her back, standing before him.


    "About a month, Mrs. Gray," Benold said vaguely. "Don''t worry, I''ve already made sure you will have access to the funds you need to keep my estate running. But I also expect you will help train Caorain to assist in..."


    "Sir. I must object," Mrs. Gray blurted out, her peaked eyebrows rising high upon her head.


    "Object? Object to what?"


    Mrs. Gray stepped forward, curtsying before stating her objection. "I am NOT a governess nor a nanny. It is not my job to teach Caorain anything," Mrs. Gray said with a haughty sniff.


    "Caorain is not a child! She''s my..." Benold fumbled here. He still refused to call her his wife. "She''s your..." Benold also saw the danger in calling her mistress of the estate. The sad truth was, Benold had no idea what to do with the unfortunate girl.


    "She might as well be a child. She speaks like one, and hardly knows anything about running a household. She tries, bless her, but she nearly burnt the house down trying to use the stove. Why, she left it open and tried to cook meat in the fire directly." Mrs. Gray frowned gravely. "And it''s worse when you are away. She follows me everywhere."


    "Well what do you expect me to do? I can''t return her," Benold said, trying to keep hold of his patience. The last thing he needed was Mrs. Gray handing in her notice as well.


    "Then take her with you," Mrs. Gray suggested.


    "Take her with me!?" Benold made a strangled, scandalised sound deep in his throat as he jerked his chin back. He then rose to his full height. "Travel with a woman? Now see here, Mrs. Gray!" Benold objected, lifting a finger in the air. "That would be highly improper."


    "She''s your wife. How is that improper?"


    "She is not. I... at least not in any way that matters." Benold said, glancing off to the side as he flicked some lint from his shoulder.


    "Sir. If I may speak plainly, I feel for the girl. She probably doesn''t know where she fits into this life," Mrs. Gray''s stern affectation was momentarily softened, but it was a short lived disturbance from her stony countenance. "But I don''t have the patience or time to teach her a new language, new customs, and how to manage a household. She needs a role. At least bring her with you and let her feel useful in some way, even if you busy her with simple tasks. Continue her lessons abroad."


    With half lidded eyes and a stiff neck, Benold regarded Mrs. Gray severely. She had been a stalwart ally in helping manage his household, but he reflected since the fire she had been far more outspoken. And it was beginning to grate on his nerves. The worst part was that she had a point, one which he did not wish to face. "I will take your advice under consideration."

 Chapter 2: Epistolary - Missing Person

    Greetings Mr. Fidochi


    I am indebted to you for taking on my case. The disappearance of my dear friend is perturbing, especially considering her most vulnerable situation. Tied up as I am in Beste, it is of great relief to know someone is looking into this.


    As per the details you requested, I will endeavour to give you my best description. Trosyn is short of stature and stout of body. Her hair is a most unusual shade of red, like some of the northerners. She is freckled and has some pock marks on her face. Her eyes are light. Her age is unknown, as I was always too delicate to ask a lady such an impolitic question, but I dare say she is not yet forty springs. Her manners are gentile, although her apparel would likely be humble as she is not a woman of means or property. Last we spoke she was in an interesting state, although by now I imagine she''d be delivered of her burden.


    She was staying at one of the Peregrine lodges in Floratti as a tenant of one Mrs. Dobby. It was Mrs. Dobby who alerted me of her disappearance and I am sure an interview with her would provide you with clearer details than I could. Trosyn had been terminated from her job at a cotton mill a couple months ago and I don''t know where else she found employment. I was sending her a pittance to help pay her way until she could find other means, but I fear it may have been insufficient.


    It is a matter of some urgency that I learn of her whereabouts and can verify that she is, indeed, safe. I entrust my peace of mind to you, Mr. Fidochi.


    Regards,


    V. Gustello


    <hr>


    My dear fellow,


    How have you been? So, Colto turned down a great opportunity due to his wife''s failing health, and they have moved to a climate better for her well being. What a pity. Despite being younger, he was as sharp as the best of us.


    I mostly write to thank you, my dear Baldovo, for recommending to me that inquiry agency. I knew not such places existed. I have enlisted the aid of one Mr. Fidochi, and I am apprehensive for his success. I was a little concerned about how much information to give him regarding Trosyn and her origins. I know you and Colto both are sceptical about large portions of her tale. You in particular still refuse to believe in spirits or that she had any sort of power, even when she was able to speak Flori and Andelese without being taught. I also know that we agreed we would not publish anything from her story and stick strictly to our empirical findings. However, it concerns me with how little I can say to express how imperative it is that she is found. If it is true about her child, then there is no telling what will happen. I wish she had not declined the offer to come stay with my sister and I. What do you think I ought to do?


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    I am also writing to accept your offer of a recommendation for the upcoming marine project with Dr. Lamal. While my studies have not been particularly focused on ichthyology, I do believe this sampling of coastal fish in addition to silt deposits could be fascinating. Especially since the specimens will be brought to me and I won''t have to go on another ghastly voyage. I know they approached you, but you sounded as though you were inclined to pass on this opportunity.


    Is it true that you may be heading back to the Blazing Crescent on an Andellian ship? I know it is all in the service of the Empire, but I find it quite odd they are sending one of their own ships rather than rely on Lomany. Surely they aren''t taking the Separatists too seriously. They''ve been at it for decades. I am often criticised by their lot for being too Andellian and lacking the fire of a true Lomanian. Oh. But I don''t wish to dwell too much on that.


    I look forward to reading your next letter.


    Sincerely,


    Volente


    <hr>


    Mr. Gustello


    This is a confirmation that your letter was received. I have already arrived in Floratti. The investigation will begin immediately. This Trosyn Nytt can''t be hard to find. Your first payment will be expected soon.


    Send me more information; the quicker I resolve this the better. You said that you two corresponded often. Forward some of her letters so that I can piece together a bigger picture. Rest assured, sensitive information will be treated with discretion. A man''s reputation is of greater value than a pile of bank notes.


    A good starting point will be interviewing Mrs. Dobby. Then any leads fom that can be followed up.


    I await your next letter.


    -G.F.


    <hr>


    Ahoy!


    Volente, you soporific caudle-bibber. Writing back this soon may give the impression that you have no life. But yes, I will be returning to the Crescent to pave the way for Andellian glory! That cove Trosyn mentioned must be found before the Kastirads! Fame and fortune is riding on this discovery, and I''ll be buggered if I don''t get a piece of it. Politics are not for the faint of heart.


    Don''t worry, the agency will find Trosyn and you''ll realise you were getting worked up over nothing. You always fancy something terrible is afoot. Pluck up. And don''t worry, I''ll be sure to talk you up to Dr. Lamal. You could use the funding. I bet Trosyn has been milking you like a buffalo. I warned you she would. But then, you seem rather immune to good sense. Ah, but there is nothing to be done for that, is there?


    There''s a lot to be done before the voyage. Try not to worry too much. It can be a real killer, they say.


    Regards,


    Baldovo D.

 Chapter 3: Benold - Pearls Before Swine

    It took less than a week to reach the archipelago, much to Benold''s relief. The greater difficulty was chartering a ship there, as few vessels were built for more than skimming along the coast. Few ventured straight across the large bay, but Benold did not wish to waste time with the safe route. Ships were always so cramped, the food was terrible, and the company lacking.


    Benold stepped off the tender boat, quickly shuffling out of the reach of the lapping waves so as not to waterlog his fine leather boots. Caorain who picked up her skirts and steadied herself as the boat tilted a little, pushed by a larger wave that joined the beach. Benold''s shoulders drooped and he sighed. Then he rolled his shoulders back, lifted his chin and strode over, erect and genial like a proper gentleman as he put his hand out to her. She stared at his hand in confusion at first, but then took it and hopped out. Water splashed onto Benold''s breeches and he sighed again, but held Caorain''s hand as he walked her up the beach.


    Standing side by side, Benold and Caorain watched as more boats rowed up to the beach, carrying camping gear. As the luggage piled up on the beach, he realised he''d brought perhaps more than they could easily transport. Benold cursed himself for not buying a donkey cart.


    Once the handcart had been delivered from the ship, Caorain quickly and efficiently loaded it. Perhaps she did have some use after all. Benold didn''t originally think much of it when Caorain lifted the handle and began the arduous journey up the sloped beach, the wheels not ideal for the sand. He''d almost forgotten, for a moment, she was his wife and not a servant. Nonetheless, the reality set in as he saw her straining, and he quickly rectified his lapse and rushed over to help.


    Between the two of them, they managed to get their things to where the ground was level and the dirt more compacted. Benold dropped the handle and dabbed his forehead. Caorain hardly looked winded. Seeing Caorain''s ponderous eyes on him, he coughed. "Ah... it''s a very warm day. Hot."


    "Hot. Yes," Caorain nodded in agreement. She picked up the handles again, seeming eager to move on. She then looked at Benold and tilted her head away, into the shade of the overgrowth.


    "Ah. I guess we''d better get a move on while we still have daylight," Benold murmured, reluctant to cut his rest short.


    Chirps, chuffs, and clicks pinged all around, a little chatter here, a little chatter there. And no amount of burying his head in would drown it out. Benold sat up in frustration. The last time he''d made the journey to the hidden village it he only had the shirt on his back. When he''d planned this excursion, he failed to factor in the weight of extra gear. Logistics was never his purview and he hadn''t realised how complicated it was.


    Benold''s eyes adjusted to the darkness and he looked across the inside of the tent to Caorain''s bedroll. No matter how he squinted and changed his angle, she did not appear. His stomach lurched in a mild panic. Where could she be? Did she run off? How dare she!?


    Benold donned a dressing gown and stepped out. Caorain huddled by the remains of their campfire, stirring and blowing in an effort to rekindle it. Benold sighed with relief. She looked up at him, giving him only the briefest sign of acknowledgement, then turned her attention to adding more twigs and dried grass to the fire.


    "Difficulty sleeping? Me too," Benold said conversationally as he crouched down across from her. Benold was impressed with how quickly Caorain had managed to get their camp set up, while he slaved ineffectually away at the simplest of tasks. Even during the war, they were seldom far from civilisation. The beauty of a revolution is that most of it was waged in the comfort of one''s own streets.


    "Who Trosyn?"


    Smoke and bewilderment compelled Benold to blink several times. He scooted over so as not to be downwind from the fire that Caorain was nursing. "Well, before you came to me, I had..." Benold looked down. How could he convey who Trosyn was to him? "...a wife." Caorain''s eyes widened, but then she looked down. "But she was taken away from me."


    "Wife gone?" Caorain looked up again, studying Benold closely.


    Benold nodded. "Yes."


    "Chay, I am here. She not," Caorain said, muttering something in her own language.


    Benold sighed. It was easy to forget that she had complex feelings because she could not express them. Benold ran a hand through his dark hair. "But do you want to be?"


    Caorain peered at Benold, momentarily bewildered. She wrapped her arms about herself and brought up her knees, pulling her skirt down over her shins. "I want my happy family." Caorain furrowed her eyebrows and shook her head. "I want... family be happy."


    "You want your family to be happy? Your parents, you mean?"


    "Yes. To be happy. I be your wife, and they be happy." This time it was Caorain''s turn to sigh. "But you not happy."


    It was true. He wasn''t happy. Caorain''s addition to his family complicated matters and inconvenienced him. However, he had to admit that the blame ought not lay with his unsolicited bride. Benold scratched his chin, and then set about patting dirt off of his sleeve. "Coreen-"


    "Caorain."


    "Right. Caorain. I am trying to find Trosyn. That is who I want to be happy with." Benold could not imagine any way to be honest and spare the girl''s feelings.


    "I know." Caorain pushed out her lower lip. "You find Trosyn. What do I do?"


    Benold swallowed hard. He had not thought that far ahead. "Do not worry, Car... Caorain. You will be taken care of." Benold squinted and thought about what Mrs. Gray said about Caorain needing a purpose. But what role could he give her other than wife that wouldn''t be diplomatically damaging? Surely if he put her to work it would look bad on him. She wasn''t a slave after all. At least, he didn''t think she was. "It will be easier to sort all this out once I find Trosyn. She can translate."


    Caorain''s chin quivered at the mention of Trosyn''s name and she remained curled up by the fire, her bare toes wiggling into the warm earth. She said something in her native tongue, which despite not understanding the words, Benold could tell her tone was displeased.


    "Well. We should, ah, try to get some rest. Some of the noisy creatures seem to have piped down. We''ll have another long trek tomorrow." Benold sighed when Caorain didn''t even look up at him. "Sleep, Caorain. Sleep."


    She looked up and then nodded dismally. Benold got to his feet and headed towards the tent, but paused as he held the tent flap open. "Oh. And wipe your feet before you come in," Benold pointed to her dirt crusted toes.


    <hr>


    "You again!"


    The loud hostility from the big-framed man was just another layer of irritation. Benold was sweaty, dishevelled, tired, and his hands, despite the use of gloves, were blistering. Seeing the sentry, who doubled as his own barricade, glare and point a stone spear at him was just the icing on the cake. Oh, how he longed for a nice slice of cake with a drop of mulled wine.


    "Yes, me again," Benold said bitterly. "I have come to make an offer to your people. Take me to Alethe."


    The sentry frowned, then looked at Caorain. "Who is this?"


    "She''s my..." Benold squinted. He was getting tired of having to assign labels to this tricky situation. "...wife."


    "You didn''t waste any time," the man said, his scowl not letting up. Although, this particular fellow whose name he''d forgotten seemed to make sport out of wearing grim expressions.


    "Well, will you let me in or not?"


    The sentry sighed and turned, cupping his hands to his mouth and hollering "OY! POPINJAY HAS RETURNED!" This elicited an audible groan from someone on the other side of the palisades. The sentry turned back to Benold and thrust his thumb towards the gate. "Go on in."


    Benold bore himself up to his full height, about to render unto the sentry a diatribe so cutting his descendants would hear it in their dreams. To his credit, Benold re-measured the difference in mass between himself and the man. Interested in his own well being, the tired governor held his tongue. Instead he lifted his chin as he sauntered through the gates, Caorain pushing the handcart behind him.


    Benold could feel the stares on him, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Still, he did his best to remain cool and composed, as if showing any sign of weakness would incite the rabble to attack. Benold stopped and considered for a moment. To them, he was the rabble. He cleared his throat as the locals hesitantly returned to their tasks.


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    "I need their help, but we''re not friendly," Benold explained, although he was unsure how much Caorain understood. She nodded all the same, muttering something to herself.


    Cutting a clear path through the villagers was a woman of an abnormally tall stature, her black hair cropped close to her head. She looked down at Benold with a frown that appeared permanently carved into her face. "Ovollar. What are you doing back here?"


    "Alethe, I see you are in good health," Benold said, refusing to dispense with formalities. Alethe rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow and eyeing him expectantly. As his social nicety was not returned, Benold decided it best to answer her question. "I have a proposal for you."


    "Don''t you have enough wives?"


    Benold drew in a sharp breath, but did his best to not be baited. He cast a side glance to Caorain, licked his lips, and then looked back up at Alethe. "How would you like amnesty for your whole village?"


    Alethe''s other eyebrow raised, though not as high due to the obstruction of a scar. Then both brows snapped low, making her sunken eyes appear more severe. "We''re doing fine on our own."


    "Really? Because that eruption when I was last here-"


    "We''re doing fine!" Alethe repeated.


    Caorain looked attentively between the two, and despite her poor handle on the language, spoke up. "No children."


    Alethe glowered at the other woman. "What''s that?"


    "No children, village end," Caorain observed.


    "We''re not looking to grow. We''re just here to live out our lives in peace," Alethe said, crossing her arms. "Not that it is any of your affair."


    Caorain furrowed her eyebrows and pushed out her lower lip in pouty bewilderment. Benold was undecided whether Caorain was baffled by words she did not understand, or that anyone would let a village die out.


    "Is that really how the whole village feels? Because I know that I was eager to get back to the finer things in life. And most of you were upper class before the revolution. Don''t you miss it?"


    "Isn''t this what you Kayonn wanted?" Alethe asked, swinging out her hand and gesturing to the village of thatch-roof huts and dugouts. "To see the upper class living in the dirt alongside them?"


    Benold coughed. "No. We fought for the freedom for anyone to rise to the top."


    "And then enslaved the aristocracy," Alethe sneered. "Slaves! You called us tyrannical, greedy, and callous. But when Trosyn told us she had been enslaved, we were all horrified of what Ayokonia had become. Why would we want to go back?"


    This conversation was not going as Benold had hoped. He could not fathom why they would all live and die in their dinky huts when given the opportunity to go back to civilisation. "Yes, well, that was an unfortunate decision. I admit, turning the Loyalists into slaves was taking things a mite too far." Benold put a hand to his chest. "But I was quite opposed to it. But be glad we rejected the other proposal, which was to simply execute you all."


    "When you put it that way, why, I see slavery in such a new light!" Sarcasm dripped off of Alethe''s words. Following such remarks, Alethe''s countenance turned grim again. "There is nothing you could offer that would tempt us." Alethe''s hand dropped at her side, her voice lowering to a mutter, "I don''t understand what Trosyn saw in you."


    "I beg your pardon." Benold cried indignantly. "No reason to get personal."


    Caorain gripped the handcart and shifted her weight, looking between Alethe and Benold as they seemed to be at an impasse. "What do now?"


    Alethe looked at Caorain, shrugging. "Is she some sort of simpleton?"


    "No, she''s from Klogvan island. They don''t speak Siperian."


    "Oh. So you have a wife you can barely speak to. Quaint." Caorain bit her lower lip, giving Alethe a heated glare. Benold held up his hand, shaking his head at her. She snorted softly and looked away. "Well, for Trosyn''s sake, wherever she is, I won''t throw you out of the village."


    "Thank you for your hospitality. Is there some place where we can pitch our tent?" Benold said, trying to remain civil with the belligerent giant.


    "There''s space near the pig pen."


    Benold stared at Alethe for a good long while, expecting her to tell him she was kidding. No such response came. She just lifted her chin, crossed her arms, and stared down her nose at him. It was unnerving to have a woman taller than himself, and soon he was muttering under his breath and gesturing for Caorain to follow.


    Another sleepless night had Benold tossing and turning. Although the smell was the complaint he vocalised most, his wakefulness was spurred by the struggle to wrangle pervasive thoughts. Again he found himself sitting up, covered in sweat. Again he looked to see if Caorain was as perturbed by the circumstances as himself. Again, all he saw was a crumpled bedroll with no occupant. Grumbling, Benold got himself dressed, not wishing to be seen by any nocturnal villagers in just his thermal wear.


    Once appropriately attired, Benold stepped outside into the cool night air. Cool enough that he could see steam rising from dark piles in the corner of the pig pen. And casting a silhouette against the low fence was Caorain.


    "You''ll wear yourself ragged. You worked hard today. Get some rest," Benold scolded, but not without some concern for the young woman''s welfare.


    Caorain shook her head and stroked one of her twin braids. She spoke in a jumbled mess of her own language, but he was able to pick out a few words, like ''wife'' and ''family'' and ''home''.


    "Slow down. What are you trying to say?"


    In the moonlight it wasn''t easy to make out Caorain''s features as she turned to him, but her eyes caught the light more than usual. Then he heard a sniffle. Benold quickly looked away. He was never sure what to do when women cried, so the only option was to pretend it wasn''t happening. Surely, she was just overtired. Yes. "Chay, why here?"


    Benold stared straight ahead. A pig snorted in its sleep, reminding him of his current surroundings and bringing the stench to his attention again. He wrinkled his nose and turned away from the swine. There seemed no good place for him to face. "I want help from these people. And Caorain... why do you call me Chay?"


    "Chay... is... is what I say to you. I am wife. I call you Chay. But other call you Chay not. Only wife call man Chay."


    Benold listened, nodding as she spoke. "So... a wife calls her husband Chay? A term of endearment?"


    "Yes. No." Caorain sucked in some air and let out a long sigh. "...We not..." she held out her hands, holding them level with each other. She then lowered one hand and raised the other. Shaking the lower hand she continued, "This me, wife." She then waved her higher hand. "You. Chay. If..." she brought her hands back to rest side by side. "...we this, then call you Cheli."


    Benold smoothed his hair as he watched her demonstration in the low light. "So... because I am... a Governor? Um, like a chief? Ah... Chanfath?" Caorain raised an eyebrow, staring somewhat bewildered at Benold. Seeing this, he felt some warmth in his ears. "Did I say it wrong? Cha..."


    "Chanfath, yes," Caorain said, although with some hesitation.


    "So, it''s a respectful term. And what do I call you?"


    "Wife."


    "No, I mean... if I were speaking your language. What would Chay call his wife?"


    Caorain looked at Benold as if he had grown a second head, then giggled sheepishly. Benold wasn''t sure whether to join in the laughing or to be affronted. He clearly said something that made her feel awkward, but it was perhaps better than some of the other expressions he had seen her wear. Or perhaps worse. But anything was better than crying. He let out a hesitant, ''heh''.


    "I call you Chay. You call me... Banlar..." Caorain said, and Benold could hear her swallowing noisily. Normally he''d be annoyed by this, but he instead had a rare moment of insight, seeing that she was ashamed of the word Banlar. Once again, Benold was looking away from her, placing his hands at his waist.


    "I shall continue to call you Caorain. Is that well with you?"


    "Yes." The relief in her voice was thinly veiled.


    "Well then, Caorain. Call me Benold." Benold cleared his throat. "When we''re alone, I mean.'''' He was not quite ready to abolish all deference from this woman, who he still knew so little about.


    "But..."


    "No ''but''. When it is just you and I, call me Benold, not Chay."


    "...Benold..." Caorain repeated in a whisper. Another silence enveloped them. Benold wasn''t eager to break it. He longed to sleep, but knew such an attempt would be futile. To his surprise, it was Caorain who broke it.


    "Big woman like Benold not. Why ask her help?"


    Ah yes. This was certainly a valid question. The answer to which Benold tried to recall. The comforts of home were already calling him, urging him to give up this foolish endeavour. After some hesitation, Benold shook his head. "The big woman is named Alethe. A-leth-eh. I need to find a way past Crethal Thane, and I believe these villagers can help. In return, I would offer them a new life in New Karebryn."


    Caorain listened attentively, muttering some of the words she heard under her breath as she processed. "Past... Crethal Thane? But..." Caorain frowned and wrapped her arms around herself, turning away. "Go... Crethal Thane. No."


    "Yes. It''s where Trosyn is, I believe."


    "Then Trosyn come back not. Trosyn gone. Gone," Caorain said, holding out her hands for emphasis.


    "But the shaman I spoke to said she wasn''t dead. Just out of the spirit''s reach. Beyond. But not gone. If she can go, then I can follow." Benold''s voice became sterner as he spoke, unprepared to brook any argument.


    Caorain went silent. She gripped a nearby fence post, staring at the sleeping pigs huddled together, cosy and at peace. "You go there... you never come back." She looked back over at Benold. "Who Gov... Governor of New Karebryn?" Caorain fretted and frowned. "Maybe new Governor be not good. Bad. Hurt us again." Caorain curled in her lips. "Hurt us. You hurt us. You try do good now. But... sorry. Chay. To you, I speak bad words not."


    As the broken words reached Benold, he became progressively more horrified. Somehow, he had allowed himself to disconnect Caorain from the actions he had taken against her people before the attempted reconciliation. It was very possible he had hurt or killed someone she knew. Someone she loved. An uneasy fluttering sensation tickled at him, like the feeling before a fight, or worse, the experience of seeing a comrade go down.


    "Caorain..." The question was on the tip of his tongue, but he decided he could not ask. If he didn''t know, he would not need to apologise and make this situation more awkward. "That is a valid concern." Benold smoothed out those unsightly emotional wrinkles. "It is true, it would be remiss if I left my position as Governor. But I will find Trosyn, and I will come back. In the very small chance that I fail, well, then I shall make sure something is in place." Benold looked directly into Caorain''s eyes. "I said I will make sure you are taken care of, and I am a man of my word."


    Benold tried to ignore where giving his word too lightly placed him in an unpleasant situation. His carefully pruned recollection was all he needed to feel confident.


    "Benold. None come back from Crethal Thane," Caorain repeated, her tone becoming serious.


    "Then you''ll be rid of me. Surely, that is not such a bad thing for you?"


    Caorain''s eyes went wide. In stunned silence she gawked at Benold. The whites of her eyes crescented as her eyelids became heavy and she turned back to the tent. "You will go? My words... not do?"


    "No. My mind is made up."


    "Oh." Caorain turned back to Benold. "Alethe?" Benold nodded uncertainly. "Alethe talk loud, but I see others mad not. Maybe talk to others. Then they talk to Alethe. Maybe they help." Caorain bowed her head and headed towards the tent. "Good night, Benold."

 Chapter 4: Epistolary - X Y Z

    To Mr. Fidochi


    I was scandalised when you suggested I provide you with something as personal as Trosyn''s communications! These are in confidence between her and I. But perhaps it may be in her best interests. I have written out copies of her last three letters and entrust them to you. Understand there will be references to people or places that do not make sense or may seem surprising. Surely, you will be a man of your word and treat these with the delicacy they deserve.


    Have you made the acquaintance of Mrs. Dobby yet? Such an agreeable lady. Make sure she knows who sent you. She looks out for the many foreigners that lodge with her, and may be otherwise suspicious of inquiries without such an introduction.


    I am eager to hear your next update. And do not worry, you will also be sent a bank draft that will direct you to the appropriate branch.


    Regards


    <ol>


    <li> Gustello</li>


    </ol>


    Enclosed(4)


    <hr>


    Dearest Volente,


    Sounds like you and Baldovo had an interesting reunion. I am glad he looped you in and you could collaborate again. I know sometimes his mannerisms are boorish, but he''s not an all bad fellow. I found him quite amusing on the voyage. I appreciated that he challenged me and had some healthy scepticism. Not that I don''t also value your willingness to believe in me. Not many have.


    So Colto has another child on the way? I''m glad you keep me abreast of all the latest news of my favourite researchers. As for my own new arrival, I have finally found a midwife. She''s helping me conceal my situation safely so that I can continue working at the cotton mill. It''s not the best work, but it keeps me fed. The fluff gets in my hair, in my clothes, and up my nose. Recently while speaking with some of the other workers, I found out I was being paid a lower wage than everyone else. I at first thought it was because I was new, but a newer girl is paid more. I didn''t dare question it. Getting that job was hard enough. I just keep reminding myself that at least I am paid, and at the end of the day, I am free to do as I please.


    A couple nights ago I decided to push my new found freedom a little too far. I stayed out past curfew. Mrs. Dobby makes no exceptions, and so I was locked out for the night. I wasn''t very panicked though. It just reminded me of my childhood, when I lived on the streets. It wasn''t until I reminded myself that this was not Roneon that I grew fretful. And being on the streets as an adult was a very different experience from being a homeless child. When I was little people looked at me with mistrust, but also pity. As an adult, there was nothing but contempt and blame. Some people mistook me for a lady of the night. Do not worry yourself. I managed to keep myself safe. There were close calls, but in the end I was able to remember some of my street smarts and find a safe place to shelter for the night, but slept with one eye open.


    I hope we can meet up the next time your work takes you to Floratti. Maybe I''ll finally tell you the tale of Sir Benold and Baron Blair.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Affectionately,


    Trosyn


    <hr>


    My Dear Friend,


    Your letter arrived at just the right moment to cheer me up. Despite my best efforts to conceal my growing belly, there was only so much I could do. Mrs. Spinotti realised my situation and immediately dismissed me for indecency. I was not even given my wages for that week. She had a most frightening countenance, and I believe had there not been an audience, she would have dragged me out by my hair. I have some money set aside, but it won''t take me far. I may have to take to begging if I can''t find another position.


    I''m sorry. You are probably fretting already. Don''t worry. I''m a survivor and will make do, somehow. But it is calming to write out my woes to someone who will listen. Although by the time you read this I will probably have found some sort of solution to my current predicament.


    It is sobering to think about not just myself, but the life I am carrying. What can I really offer? The truth is, I don''t know what will happen when the time comes. I don''t quite understand the local religion, but I''ve come to learn that their holy women will take in orphans. But what of children whose parents aren''t dead? I was in an orphanage but we were not treated well. I don''t think it was the fault of the women who raised us, there just wasn''t enough food or beds. And with so many of us dying, I think they guarded themselves against caring for us because it was too painful.


    Well I am going to spend today feeling sorry for myself, but tomorrow morning I will go out seeking work. Don''t worry, I will take breaks and wear the shawl you sent me. Your sister does magnificent needlework. I should like to meet her, some day.


    Take care, Volente.


    Sincerely,


    Trosyn


    <hr>


    Dear Volente,


    Once again you have brightened up my day. Thank you for your concerns and kind letter. You say that Colto is leaving Lomany? I did not know that his wife was Andellian. It must be nice to be able to travel to different places within this Empire with ease. I''m guessing they won''t be going to Andell itself as I''ve heard it described as cooler than Lomany, and humid too. It sounds much like Siperon. I hope that a drier place will do her some good. He is such a dear, accepting a humble teaching position to take care of his family. I have always had respect for Colto.


    As for me, you needn''t fuss or worry over me. I am still in good health, all things considered. I''m tired more frequently, but the midwife says this is not unusual. I lost my mother so long ago, and have been in the care of men so long that I''ve never had a woman to teach me many things. I am learning a lot and am fearless in asking questions. I laugh when I think of the shocked expression my midwife, Nona, wore when I asked a certain question. Don''t worry, I won''t give you the details. For a man of science you have a stunning lack of curiosity when it comes to certain topics. Don''t frown. I''m just teasing.


    I was surprised when Mrs. Dobby told me I didn''t owe her full rent. You wouldn''t have something to do with that, would you? If not for my coming child I would refuse your help and insist I find my own way, but as it is, I warmly express my gratitude. I know you are not as affluent as your older brothers, so anything you spare for my sake is truly appreciated.


    I also thank you for the offer to come live with you and your sister. I know that with your sister present, she could act as a chaperone and make things proper. But even then, having an unmarried, pregnant woman stay with you would create scandal, would it not? Because you have no inheritance, I understand you need to be more careful. If anything Benold taught me, is that ideals and morals come second to societal mores.


    Well I need to get a move on. I have some heavy decisions to make, and time is running out to make them. I wish you well, Volente.


    Yours truly,


    Trosyn

 Chapter 5: Benold - Benold Versus The Volcano

    The next morning Benold was up earlier than usual. He was eager to get away from the company of swine. Of course, fresh air was secondary to the aim to try and separate and speak with some of the villagers without Alethe towering over him. This was not easily accomplished as her presence was felt throughout the humble settlement. Caorain was surprisingly useful in identifying who was more approachable and made a competent look-out for the overbearing village chief.


    "...while yes the rebuilding is ongoing, but the foundry is up and running. It''d be nice to work with metal tools again, wouldn''t it?" Benold remarked as he eyed the stone axe head a man was affixing to a new handle.


    "Having an auger would be nice," the villager responded as he fought with the hide straps. "Even back in Ayokonia, I enjoyed working with my hands. Ungentlemanly, they said, to pick up a trade."


    Benold crossed his arms and nodded to the craftsman. "We could use skilled tradesmen."


    "But they need me here. The others sacrificed their freedom for us. Going back would be throwing that away," the man said with a heavy sigh. Benold glanced at Caorain, who tilted her head and made a hand gesture to keep pushing.


    "But you would be free. Is hiding in this village until you die true freedom?" Benold gestured to the small enclosed settlement.


    "It''s not just freedom. It''s the idea we''d be helping the enemy. You may have been one of us, but you betrayed your birthright to side with those animals."


    "I beg your pardon!" Benold said, colour rising to his cheeks. Caorain shook her head at him, and he drew in a deep breath, letting the air out with his indignation. "That was not a betrayal. I firmly believed the lower classes needed upward mobility. It was disappointing when the Kayonn became hypocrites. Look, I am trying to reform the proper way. True, it would require changing all of your names, but freedom for you whole village can be arranged if they migrate to New Karebryn."


    "And the catch?" The villager looked up, swinging his newly repaired axe over his shoulder.


    "Of course there''s a catch. I need to get beyond those volcanoes. I understand some of you have made peace with the spirits here?"


    The villager''s face darkened at the mention of the volcanoes. He glanced at the conspicuous peak that dominated the skyline to the west. "The eruption that night nearly wiped us out." He snorted. "Had to throw one of our own into the burning lava to appease the spirit. Honestly, I would be happy to get off this rock. But no one here would dare wander into that spirit''s domain. We''re lucky it has let us stay here this long."


    "Then by what nonsense is Alethe set on keeping you all here? It''s bad enough we need to grovel to the spirits just to have children, but..." Benold shook his head, glowering at the suspect peak. He then caught a distressed expression on Caorain''s face. When he tilted his head to her, she quickly hid her expression and looked at him with interest, silently requesting him to go on. "...While we do contend with spirits in New Karebryn as well... none have demanded human sacrifice."


    "It was Alethe''s friend who volunteered. Now, Alethe is determined to stay here so as not to waste his sacrifice. We''re all indebted to the sacrifices of others." The villager heaved his shoulders, letting out a long sigh. "Living in New Karebryn is a nice thought. But it''s unlikely anyone here will ever leave. It might be Trosyn and the rest who made the better choice."


    "Doubtful. She was fortunate that I found her when I did. The fate of the others is unknown." Benold narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Unfortunately, that meant he was thinking, and thinking too hard was not something Benold preferred. In fact, he rather found it distasteful, as it led him to conclusions that might shake his strongly held convictions. Benold shrugged and dismissed the desire to delve too deep. "Maybe you owe a lot to Alethe. But you also owe it to yourselves to live your best life, right?"


    "I''m doing my best, given the circumstances." The man shook his head. "I''ve got work to do."


    "Well, thank you for taking the time to speak with me," Benold said, nodding his head to the other man. The man returned the nod and walked off.


    "Well, Caorain, there''s now a new angle to work. The people here dread the spirit in that volcano," Benold said, gazing up at the jagged horizon beyond the trees.


    "Spirits... mad. Do not make more mad." Caorain cautioned. "Go home?"


    "If Trosyn passed through here, there must be a way."


    "No." Caorain gestured to the people of the village. "Not know. Only spirit know."


    "Science! Science can match any spirit''s machinition!" Benold crossed his arms. "But... maybe we''re not that advanced yet. But some day!" Caorain looked vastly uncomfortable, but she nodded despite this. Benold ignored her discomfort and instead took her nod as agreement. "The age of man will rise. Now then, care fo a spot of lunch?"


    "Ovollar!" Benold looked up from where he sat upon a blanket, finishing up his meal of bread, cheese, and fruit preserve. He banged his spoon against the lip of the jar, ignoring the mountain of a woman towering over him as he tried to get as much jelly off the utensil as possible. "Ovollar! What have you been telling people?"


    Benold wiped off his spoon, as he was too proper, even in a backwater excuse for a village, to lick his utensils like a starved animal. Caorain took the spoon and jar from him, securely packing them away. "That they could be free of a tyrannical fire spirit if they come live in New Karebryn. Each of these people fled to maintain their freedom, so they have the agency to make their own decision whether to leave or stay, yes?" Benold slowly looked up at Alethe''s furious visage, his own sporting self satisfaction.


    "You had no right!"


    "Maybe, but that didn''t stop me, now did it?" Benold answered as he dabbed at his chin with a napkin.


    "I would have let you walk out of here, but now you leave me no choice." Benold was unceremoniously seized by Alethe''s large, calloused hands. Benold grabbed her wrists and attempted to throw her off. Despite her large stature, he did not expect such resistance. Both his utmost strength and agility were needed to wrestle with her.


    "Unhand me!" Benold demanded. Caorain, to his mortification, remained perfectly calm as she finished tidying up after their picnic. Benold dug his thumbs into the under-side of Alethe''s wrists, which weakened her hold. She slipped one hand out of his hold and grabbed his throat. Panic swelled as blood pooled in Benold''s reddening face, and he continued to fight with the chief.


    Click.


    Caorain held a revolver in her hands, aiming at Alethe. A new wave of panic shot through Benold. He had never taught her how to use a gun. He was as likely to be shot as Alethe.


    "Put that down!" Alethe ordered. Caorain shook her head and spread her legs to brace herself. At least she knew to do that much. Still, her form was lacking, and Benold became increasingly nervous. Alethe''s grip on his throat loosened and Benold took in a deep breath.


    "Do as she says," Benold instructed. Caorain''s eyes widened, and her hands lowered, but she did not let go; her finger remained on the trigger. "That''s it," Benold encouraged. He thought for sure he had left it unloaded. Would she have known how to put the bullets in the chamber, or was she bluffing with an empty gun? Either way, Benold did not fancy his chances.


    When Caorain had taken her finger off of the trigger, one of the villagers grabbed her from behind and efficiently disarmed her. She screamed and fought, thrusting an elbow back into the villager''s solar plexus. The revolver fell to the ground. With the distraction this created, Benold likewise turned and drove his shoulder into Alethe''s ribs, sending her back. He dove for his gun. Rolling out of the way of an oncoming attack, he inspected the chamber. Empty. Useless.


    Benold got to his feet, and Caorain scrambled to his side. To his dismay, he saw villagers surrounding them. If he had been with his old unit, he knew they could take them. But with no ammunition, and a lady to protect, he knew he was beat. His arms lifted in surrender.


    "Tie them both up," Alethe ordered. Some of the villagers that had rushed to her aid hesitated.


    "Shouldn''t we just drag them out of the village?"


    "No. Trosyn''s not here to plead his case, and he''s pushed his luck much too far. Bind them, and put them in the pit."


    <hr>


    "Keep moving!" Alethe shouted. Benold dug in his feet as the two loyal villagers tried to drag him and Caorain along a winding trail through the forest. Coils of sturdy rope bound both Caorain and Benold, keeping their arms pinned to their sides.


    "Where are you taking us?" Benold demanded. He may not know the area intimately, but he knew this was not in the direction of the shore.


    "You seem so eager to explore the volcano. So we''re taking you to get a rather intimate knowledge of its interior," Alethe said, placing a heavy hand on Benold''s shoulder. His eyes widened and he struggled in vain.


    "That''s barbaric!" Benold spat.


    "So is slavery." Alethe gave Benold a forceful shove that forced him to step forward.


    "But I always opposed slavery!" Benold insisted. "Do you not think you are overreacting? All I did was..."


    "All you did? You think this is about poaching my villagers? No! I curse the name Ovollar! Trosyn had to beg me not to run you through. My full name is Alethe VerHeth Barian."


    Benold squinted at Alethe. "Barian?" he repeated. Anyone who was anyone knew the name Barian, as it had been one of the great houses of Ayokonia. But as great as it was, it held many branches, and Benold had to concentrate to sort out which Alethe would belong to. His eyes widened. "Ah... so you''d be the daughter of Heth AbAlark Barian." Benold''s eyebrows furrowed as realization dawned on him. "...Whose estate included a large portion of the Penked river."


    "That''s right. Your Commander Slacht decided it was a strategic location and sent his men to take it by force." Alethe said grimly. "I was told it was the handiwork of you Ovollars, barely scraping at the bottom of the peerage."


    Benold felt a lump in his throat and a shifty discomfort in his gut. He swallowed and bit down on his lip, trying to push the unpleasant sensations aside. "It was war! If your father would have surrendered the land to us..."


    "War? No, it was a massacre! We were landed nobles, but we were not Kingsmen. And what justification is there for killing the servants? Weren''t they also the working class that Kayonn claimed to fight for?"


    "They were trying to escape. We couldn''t lose the element of surprise," Benold explained, his tone going cold. He''d taken more lives than he could count, more than he could be bothered to remember. But now the fleeing men and women he picked off with his rifle danced before his mind''s eye.


    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    "And my family? My father and siblings were all killed. I can''t even repeat what Vormind did to them. If I hadn''t been staying with my aunt..." Alethe balled her hands into fists, disgust written in every wrinkle on her face. "And you have the gall to come here and ask for our help?"


    Aghast, Benold stared at Alethe. He then fretfully looked back at Caorain, hoping she wasn''t understanding much of what was being said. Caorain did not look at him, fixating on the ground instead. "I..." Benold looked back up at Alethe, setting his jaw defiantly. "Vormind is his own person. He made his own choices." Benold then frowned and sighed. "For my part, I am sorry for your losses, madam. But I was following orders."


    "Sorry? Ha! You are only expressing remorse because you don''t want to die," Alethe sputtered.


    "Of course I do not wish to die! If I did, I would have already done it." Benold said dryly. He then straightened up and tried to stand tall, despite still being constricted. "Now see here, killing me will not bring your family back. Nor will killing an innocent woman. Caorain had no part in the war."


    "I was going to throw her in first, so you could feel my pain!"


    The two men helping Alethe transport the prisoners exchanged dubious looks.


    "That won''t have the same impact, I''m afraid. Ours was a diplomatic union. I barely know her."


    "You''re just saying that!" Alethe accused. "I''m done talking. Men. Bring them." Alethe said, thumbing at her two captives. The other two villagers looked at each other, then complied.


    Benold had a long trek ahead of him, and it stirred up his thoughts. As much as he resisted the notion that he deserved to be thrown into a volcano, maybe he could be misconstrued as a villain. It was easy to let the misdeeds of his kin slide off his back, as he never needed to face the consequences before. His money always smoothed the road for him, and when that failed, his team could make any problem disappear. But he, himself, never enjoyed or condoned the lengths they went to. But they kept him safe as much as he offered them succour.


    If only they were there, they would have fought off Alethe. Those who wanted new lives in New Karebryn would be free to leave. Despite a little shed blood, all would be well. Except he had cut ties with most of them for Trosyn''s sake. They had hurt her. And he, seeking their approval, had hurt her too. He could not call himself a true gentleman as long as he carried on with them. Even so, their assistance would be greatly appreciated in his given circumstances.


    As Benold stewed in his tribulations, the guard leading him stopped abruptly. Benold collided with the man and nearly fell back. Standing between two imposing boulders were some of the villagers, forming a line.


    "What is this?" Alethe demanded.


    "Don''t do this, Alethe," said the craftsman Benold had spoken with. Hope sprung up in his chest as that shabby tinkerer suddenly glowed like a saint in his eyes.


    "Have you forgotten what this man did?" Alethe asked, gesturing to Benold.


    "No. But we also haven''t forgotten what we''ve done,. We''ve all killed innocent people. What about the factory we burnt, assuming it was where the ringleaders were meeting? There were innocent workers there. Or the women cut down for defending their husbands? The children taken as hostages?" This impassioned speech was delivered by a grizzled gentleman that Benold was unfamiliar with.


    "That was retribution, Ashfort, as is this!" Alethe insisted.


    "We came here to get away from that cycle. Don''t start it again."


    "It won''t start anything. He''ll be gone and that will be the end of it," Alethe sputtered.


    "And what of New Karebryn? They will notice when their Governor doesn''t return. What of this woman''s family? We don''t know her connections," the eloquent man, Ashfort, continued, gesturing to Caorain.


    "Yes, yes!" Benold spoke up. "She is innocent, and you will have wronged her family dearly."


    "How will they find us?" Alethe challenged.


    "Lady Barian! I chartered a boat to this island. Anyone who questions that crew will know where to start."


    Alethe clocked Benold on the side of the head. He winced and glared at her.


    "Indeed, the reason we''ve gone unfound is because no one was looking. This will prompt a search. Trosyn''s gambit worked for us this long, but it will be undone if Governor Ovollar perishes here." Ashfort took a step forward, lifting his kempt chin. Benold had to admire how he managed to keep his whiskers despite humble lodgings and primitive tools.


    Alethe sputtered a few intelligible syllables as she looked between her captives and her subjects. "You realise," Alethe said slowly with a menacing weight to each word, "...this is treason?"


    "We collectively decided you would lead us. We can collectively decide you have misled us," Ashfort responded, crossing his arms. He eyes the two guards that Alethe had taken with her. "The tides are turning against you Alethe. Surrender your captives peacefully, and let us all return to the village to discuss our next move."


    Alethe made a sound of vast displeasure deep in her throat, akin to a growl. She eyed the two guards as well. One was edging towards the line of villagers opposing her, but stopped upon her gaze laying heavily upon him. The other stood silent and stalwart, holding the rope attached to Benold.


    Caorain''s lead had been dropped, but she either was unaware, or too frightened to take advantage of the situation. Benold raised his eyebrows at her and gave a small jerk of his head, trying to get her attention. It took a while before she lifted her head and paid any heed to his antics. She looked away immediately. Benold frowned and stamped his foot, which drew unwanted attention from his guard, who had been watching Alethe carefully. Benold straightened and looked down, trying to appear inconspicuous.


    "After everything I did for you..." Alethe finally said, her voice shaking with the strong emotions she was trying to corral.


    "It is because of what you''ve done for us we will stop you. This self indulgent revenge is destructive. You will take all of us down with you," Ashfort bid, holding his hand out to her. "Put the hatred aside. Live for something else."


    Again Alethe plunged into tense contemplation. Again, Benold tried to get Caorain to look at him. He edged closer to her, managing to get in range to where he could nudge her with his foot. She looked up, startled and moved away. Benold looked down at the end of the rope. This time she followed his gaze, then looked back at Benold with epiphany eyes. Benold slightly narrowed his eyes, then nodded to her before tilting his head to some nearby cover of low foliage coiled around rocky protrusions.


    "...Fine... we will let Ovollar live..." Alethe said, her arms crossed, hands disappearing into her sleeves. Benold let out a sigh of relief. Alethe, seeing this, sneered. "...but not before ruining him."


    It happened so fast. Alethe''s hand came out of her sleeve with an obsidian hunting knife. Benold braced himself, but he was not her target. Instead she lunged at Caorain. "NO!" Benold shouted. Benold lost track of everyone else, although his peripheral vision did pick up an explosion of movement. Ashfort yelled something inaudible to one of the other men. The craftsman took out a knife and ran towards Benold. Meanwhile, the guard who had been leading Benold dropped his end of the rope and drew his spear.


    Caorain gasped and ran for the bushes. Without use of her hands, her balance was challenged, and the terrain was difficult. Benold yelled at her to be careful, or tried to. He wasn''t sure if what came out were actual words as he was suddenly grabbed. Benold struggled, not even looking to see who had him, as he watched in helpless desperation as Caorain stumbled, and Alethe gained on her.


    In Benolds struggling, he suddenly felt an ease of tension around his arms. The ropes fell off. He was free. He barely spared a glance behind to see the craftsman. He had his back. But why? No time to think. The craftsman was set upon by Alethe''s loyal henchman, but Benold couldn''t be bothered about that. The newly freed gentleman''s feet took flight towards where Alethe had lept upon a prone Caorain. The distance to them suddenly seemed so far away as he watched Alethe raise the knife. "NO!" Benold yelled again as Alethe plunged her arm down. He threw out his hand as if reaching for them would magically bring him closer.


    Alethe suddenly stumbled back, howling in frustration. Lying on the ground, knees tucked up to her chest was Caorain, face set with fierce defiance. This was not the meak confused girl that had been wandering his halls. This was the face of a survivor. Alethe prepared to spring on her again, but by this time Benold was able to tackle her from behind. He pinned her on the ground, legs astride, and wrenched her right arm behind her back, fighting for control of her knife. She was loath to give it up and she squirmed beneath him. Using both of his hands, he peeled her unrelenting fingers from the handle of the blade and it dropped to the ground. It was then he saw the blood.


    "Caorain! Are you hurt?" Benold asked, while still struggling to keep Alethe down. He could feel her strength working against him, and although trained as a soldier, his martial prowess was always focused on ranged weapons. He could not risk looking at Caorain, but the longer she remained silent, the more he grew anxious. "Caorain?"


    "Hurt. Not poorly," came Caorain''s voice, which was a great relief to Benold.


    Alethe finally managed to plant her feet on the ground and bucked him off like a rowdy bull. The two of them scrambled for the knife. Finger tips grasped just mere inches away. A shadow loomed over the dark knife moments before a boot stamped down on it. Benold quickly withdrew his hand. Standing before them was Ashfort, a spear pointed to Alethe''s head. She ceased her struggle immediately. Benold rolled away from her and crouched nearby, watching as Alethe surrendered.


    "It is over Alethe. Come quietly." Alethe, faced lined and sunken, sighed and seemed to deflate as all of her passion left her, leaving a tired and ailing woman in its wake. Benold was astounded by her change in countenance as the will to fight fled.


    Benold scrambled over to Caorain and worked on freeing her from her bonds. Blood soaked the collar of her dress and he pulled the garment aside to look at the wound beneath. He clucked at the laceration and took out his handkerchief, pressing it to the wound. "There now. We''ll get that cleaned up and dressed. Tis but a scratch." A scratch that might benefit from a few sutures. Caorain searched Benold''s face then her gaze retreated.


    A little gratitude could have been warranted for his valiant rescue, Benold thought to himself. All the same, he helped Caorain to her feet. Alethe and her two guards now had their hands tied behind their backs, and the craftsman who had freed him held a bloody hand over his shoulder. Everyone else looked nominally scuffed and tussled.


    Benold cleared his throat. To provide Caorain with a proper example, he addressed them all with arms held wide. "Thank you for saving me." Benold looked at Caorain. "Us," he corrected.


    "We are saving ourselves," Ashfort said, his eyes narrowing coldly towards Benold.


    Benold cleared his throat and smoothed out his crumpled attire. "Ah. Yes. Well. You have my thanks all the same." Benold swallowed hard, his mouth feeling dry as he evaluated how close he had come to getting Caorain killed. While he often wished she hadn''t been lashed to him, he never desired any harm to come to her. "We shall go back to the village and gather our things."


    "It''s best that you do, and do not tarry," Ashfort said. Benold gave a weak smile to the well groomed, albeit shabbily attired, spokesman. The villagers all formed a line and began their descent down the easy sloping path which led to the base of the mountain. Benold took up the rear, giving them a wide berth. Caorain followed silently after him.


    <hr>


    Caorain and Benold packed up their tent. The two had not spoken a word since the incident with Alethe. He also did not know nor dared to ask, what was to become of Lady Barian. All that mattered was that he got away from this perilous island and put the whole debacle behind him. "I should have known better than to think these people could be reasoned with."


    "Oink."


    Benold looked crossly at a hog who stuck its snout through the slats in the fence. "I didn''t ask your opinion!"


    "How the mighty have fallen."


    The voice caused Benold to nearly drop the folded up canvas in his arms. He looked over and saw the craftsman from before. "Talking to pigs now, are we, Benold?"


    "I was unaware we were on a first name basis." Benold stuck his nose in the air as he continued packing up the hand cart. Caorain looked up from her task briefly, then went back to strapping their belongings in.


    "Hmph." The craftsman looked critically at the cart and then back to Benold. "I''d like to come to New Karebryn."


    Benold looked over at him, sizing her up for signs of insincerity. "If you do, we still won''t be on a first name basis. I''d be Governor, to you."


    "I''m fine with that, Guv. Trosyn seemed to like you well enough. There must be something good underneath all that pompousness. And I can see the writing on the wall." He looked over his shoulder.


    "Well you are free to come with us, although the ship won''t be arriving for another five days," Benold said. Five more days of sleeping in a tent with a brooding Lienog woman. Glee.


    "Where will you be in the meantime?"


    "Oh... I don''t know. Camping on the beach at the rendezvous." Benold said with a shrug. Caorain cinched the last strap and gave a few items a tug to test their security. A baleful glance was cast Benold''s way, which raised the hair on the back of his neck. Why was she angry with me? Benold looked back at his potential recruit.


    "Hm. Well in that case I''ll come with you. Don''t worry, I''m used to roughing it, often taking long excursions to collect materials." He placed her hands on her hips. "I''m guessing you forgot my name." Benold said nothing. "It''s Stellan."


    "Let me guess. You are still terrified of that fire spirit and won''t show me around the island?" Benold asked. Following these remarks he grunted and lifted the handles of the hand cart. Judging by the wound Caorain had on her shoulder, and the one Stellan sported, neither were likely to help him in pushing it this time.


    "Mountain spirit. And we have not found a way through. Some of the old paths we knew were changed by the eruption." Stellan began following Benold. "But if you can find me a new life, I can be your guide if you want to try and find your own way."


    "Or excavate my own way," Benold remarked, squinting at the peak before turning away from it.


    "I wouldn''t risk that, if I were you. I don''t know what upset him the last time." Stellan shrugged, then winced. He glanced over at Caorain, who was likewise hastily bandaged up. "You know, our doctor often makes a poultice with comfrey and willow. Before we leave, I''ll ask her how to make it."


    "We don''t need..." Benold paused and sighed, gritting his teeth. "That''d be appreciated, but I doubt she''d help us."


    Stellan lifted his eyebrows, and gently patted his own bandaged shoulder. "She doesn''t need to know it''s for you. Wait for me outside the walls and I''ll meet you there."


    "Be quick about it. We have a long walk ahead of us," Benold grumbled.

 Chapter 6 Epistolary - All In Order

    Mr. Gustello


    The interview with Mrs. Dobby was helpful, and provided more information on when Trosyn was last seen. Mrs. Dobby also mentioned one Mrs. Nona Gravina who had been overseeing Trosyn''s case. More on that later.


    You were right. The letter contents were surprising. Is Trosyn from Siperon, or is she of a troubled mind? This will affect the course of the investigation.


    I spoke with Mrs. Gravina. At first she denied knowing Trosyn. I pressed her further until she admitted to sheltering Trosyn for one night. Trosyn complained of seeing lights and headaches, which Mrs. Gravina said was very grave. Previous women in her care had similar complaints, and did not live. She began treating Trosyn immediately. She blood let Trosyn and gave her a sleeping draught. While Trosyn was resting, Mrs. Gravina left on an errand. When she returned, Trosyn was gone. Mrs. Gravina indicated she did not expect Trosyn to be found alive in her state.


    One of Mrs. Gravina''s neighbours reported seeing a red haired woman leaning on another woman all in black, simple clothes common among pious widows. They got into a hackney and left. In Trosyn''s letter she mentioned leaving her child to be raised by the Church. There are various orders in the Orthodox Church of Caelum who also wear widows'' drab. I have already checked in two different Houses and one Abby of the Matronly Order, but have come up empty.


    The search continues. Brace yourself for the truth.


    -G. F.


    <hr>


    GF


    In response to your request for information on one Trosyn Nytt, I may convey the following.


    No Trosyn Nytt exists in the census records of Floratti. No one of that name is registered with any of the reputable banking establishments. No one of that name has any offences of record in the city of Floratti. However, the name Trosyn was recorded in the Landing Office of Floratti seven months prior.


    A list of ships that docked within a fortnight of that entry''s timestamp has been included.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Consider my debt repaid.


    -ZZ


    Enclosed(1)


    <hr>


    Dear Mr. Fidochi


    Thank you for your most recent update. I do hope you find Trosyn alive and well. I cannot impress upon you enough the urgency of finding her. She may need help. I know you make it clear that you do not interfere, but I do hope that as an upstanding citizen, you would help her out of any immediate danger should you discover her thus.


    As for her mental state, she is, as far as I can tell, of sound mind. I believe her claims to be from Siperon, but have no evidence to prove or disprove those claims. Which is why my colleagues and I have been quiet about her. I forward that obligation to you, Mr. Fidochi. Do not let this information of her being Siperian reach anyone who would seek to exploit her. Although I fear that may already be the case.


    Something occurred to me. Trosyn was in a civil arrangement abroad before she came to Lomany. It is possible she may have, due to the difficulties of being unwed in her condition, used the name Ovollar instead of Nytt. However, the circumstances of that union are complicated, and I do not fully understand them.


    I will be eagerly awaiting any news you can send me. Please, hurry.


    Regards


    V. Gustello


    <hr>


    Mr. Gustello


    No mention of Trosyn Nytt or Trosyn Ovollar is to be found on various records. A clear timeline is important. She was not on any ship manifests. Your name, however, was on the SS Serendipity log. Was that the vessel she arrived on?


    I have checked the Floratti hospital, two lie-in clinics, various apothecaries, and surgeries. Nothing. No bodies matching her description came through the local mort houses either. I scoured all charitable establishments in Floratti that take in infants. Several orphans came into their care during the timeline, but none of them young enough. Some agreed to contact me should a newborn arrive.


    I spoke with more women from the Matron order. During our interviews, a young postulate edged close, and then hurried away. My intuition tells me that she knows something. When asked, they said she was not of the Matron order, but was from the Custodial Order. Odd. Next will be to ask around the docks and visit Noneva House.


    Your first payment was received. When this is over you will receive my receipt for the rest.


    G.F.

 Chapter 7: Benold - Sub Luna Saltamus

    "I am grateful that you came promptly." Benold held the door open eagerly, watching as the woman, with head held high, strode past him. He was relieved she was not wearing that horrid wolf''s head, instead opting for more subtle wolf-fang earrings. "Caorain is this way, madam Asion"


    "Tell me the trouble. Your message was short," Asion said, unfastening her gray fur cloak and bundling it into Benold''s arms. He stared at the furry mass in his arms, indignant and perplexed. He looked around until he saw one of his few remaining maids and dumped it on her. Rid of the smelly garb, he resumed leading his guest towards the stairs.


    "Caorain was injured abroad." Benold glanced down but then grabbed the bannister as he ascended, Asion following. "She seemed to be getting better with the use of healing poultices, but on the voyage home she became feverish. She is frightened and hysterical, and fights with my doctor whenever he tries to examine her. I am hoping someone who can speak her language can calm her down."


    "Is the doctor a man?"


    "Why yes. Women make fine nurses, but as for doctors..." Benold shook his head.


    "In our village, men and women are healers. Men see men, women see women. How can a man know what a woman feels? And not knowing that, how can he heal her?" Asion criticised.


    Benold cleared his throat. "Then, can you speak with her and maybe arrange a healer from the village to come to her? I worry moving her again will make her worse."


    "I will see what I can do, Governor."


    Benold brought the Lienog liaison into a dimly lit bedroom. The curtains were drawn and the oil lamps down low. Shivering despite a merry blaze in the fireplace, Caorain lay in her bed. Her skin glistened with sweat and her breaths were rapid and shallow. Benold remained by the doorway, afraid to get too close to an ailing person. Asion had no such concern.


    Asion felt Caorain''s brow. The feverish woman opened her glassy eyes, staring up in bewilderment at Asion. As recognition dawned on her, she grabbed for Asion''s arm, clinging to her desperately. The two women spoke several words between them, although Caorain''s was laboured. Asion gently leaned down, pulling away at her sheets and dressing gown until she could see the wound. After inspecting it, she put the dressing back on and said something more to Caorain. She nodded and settled back into her pillow.


    Asion returned to Benold, her austere face particularly grim. "I thought Ayokonians kept their wives out of battle?"


    "We do!" Benold snapped peevishly. "We were both taken prisoner by a woman driven mad with grief. Knowing Caorain to be my wife, she hurt her to hurt me."


    "Hm." Asion looked back at the sick bed, then studied Benold. "I will procure a wise woman immediately."


    "Thank you."


    <hr>


    "Stellan! Enough with that racket! It is late, and Caorain requires peace and quiet!" Benold chastised, standing imperiously in the doorway as he glared at Stellan, who had been working on repairs.


    "You''re the one who said you wanted this done as soon as possible," Stellan responded, setting down his hammer.


    "Well I am telling you, work faster during the day, and stop in the evenings, if you please." Benold folded his arms.


    Stellan ran a hand through his hair, plaster dust and wood chips falling out as he shook the unkempt mop. "You don''t expect a lot, do you?" Stellan sighed. "How is she, anyway? Any better?"


    Benold let out a long sigh, his shoulders sagging. "No improvement. But she is not any worse either. The medicine woman comes every morning and evening from the village. I offered to put her up here, but Asion told me she had too many other obligations to do that. So instead I send my carriage to fetch her." Benold scratched his own scalp, the sight of Stellar''s messy mop making his own itch. "I have stopped checking on her, because she gets worked up whenever she sees me."


    "I cannot say that I blame the poor lass," Stellan said as he gathered his tools.


    Benold placed his hands on his hips in consternation. "Pray tell, what is your meaning?"


    "You probably try and shunt her recovery on to your precious time table as well," Stellan said, smiling.


    "I beg your pardon!"


    "No need. I''m going." Stellan shoved one hand in his pocket, the other carrying his tools in a bundle as he walked past Benold, whistling. Benold looked down his nose at the craftsman as he passed under his gaze.


    "By the way, Stellan, as soon as Caorain has come through, I intend for us to return to the Forbidden Isles."


    Stellan''s whistling stopped abruptly and he turned to face Benold. "So soon? Are you sure that is wise?"


    "Of course I''ll be leaving Caorain behind to recover." Benold clasped his hands behind his back. "But I will assemble a team this time, and you will be part of it. As promised, once you do your part, I will grant you the empty foundry."


    "Right you are, Guv." Stellan slid into half a smirk, shaking his head. Benold arched an eyebrow, unsure what Stellan could be smirking about, but decided it was not worth his breath to inquire, or his precious time to listen to the answer. Just as Benold was about to dismiss Stellan, one of the maids came in.


    "If you please sir," the mousy maid curtsied, "...you are wanted in Mistress''s room."


    Benold was somewhat surprised by this, but did not delay in making his way up to Caorain''s room. When he entered, he coughed lightly as the smell of herbs and smoke greeted him. Asion was standing off to one side, and leaning over Caorain was the healer. "Yes? I was summoned?"


    "Caorain''s fever has become worse. Can you arrange a room for the healer for tonight? If Caorain makes it through, then she is very likely to make a full recovery," Asion informed. The healer woman was feeding Caorain spoonfuls of some dubious, and frankly pungent smelling mixture.


    "It shall be done." Benold nodded gravely. He then scratched just behind his ear, glancing off to the side. "Does Caorain... even know where she is? Who I am?"


    Asion shook her head. "Sometimes. If the ride wouldn''t quicken disaster, I would send her to the village. She would be less upset there." Asion looked over at Caorain, who despite being able to sip at her medicine, seemed otherwise incoherent of anything or anyone else in the room. "Tell me if this is true. You took her with you to find Trosyn?"


    Benold coughed again. Goodness. That smoke was making his throat dry. How could it be good for Caorain? Benold looked at Asion, waving a hand in the air. He sensed disapproval before he even confirmed, "Yes. What of it?"


    "Trosyn said you were not cruel. I do not agree." Asion frowned.


    Benold crossed his arms. "I thought leaving Caorain alone would have been cruel."


    "To search for Trosyn. That is cruel," Asion specified. She placed her hands on her hips, her command of the Siperian language superior to Caorain''s, but still lacking in nuance and complexity. Benold wondered if by cruel she meant some other, less antagonistic word.


    "Tactless, maybe, but cruel? I think not," Benold corrected. While being tactless was unbecoming of a gentleman, it was far better than to be labelled cruel. Asion eyed him sceptically. "As I told Caorain, I will take care of her. I was not aware the Lienog were so sentimental."


    "We are not. You can do what you want to her. The chief gave her to you. But Caorain is my cousin." Asion placed a hand on her hip. Benold cleared his throat, taken aback by this revelation. A flutter of nerves hit him as his mind began to rake over every single thing he had said or done to Caorain that she might repeat to Asion. "I will see her happy."


    "Ah..." Benold suddenly found words very difficult to form.


    "And she is not."


    "Oh..."


    "Her parents are honoured that she is the wife of a powerful man." Asion looked over at Caorain who was being eased back into her pillows by the woman nursing her. "If she is rejected by you, it would dishonour her and her family."


    "Now see here..." Benold raised a finger in objection.


    Asion thrust a finger towards him, poking him brazenly in the chest, causing him to flinch. He was unaccustomed to unsolicited touching. "I will see you and Caorain at the fertility festival this full moon." With eyes like daggers and a firm voice, Asion was clearly not making a request.


    "I may be abroad by the full moon..." Benold said weakly.


    "Not by this full moon. Because I will see you at the festival."


    Benold nodded. His pride was screaming at him to remind her that she was in his house, and no man is told what to do in his own house. But relations with the Lienog heavily rested on keeping Asion mollified. So Benold was forced to swallow his pride. "Yes. Of course. I will be in attendance, as it will help our two people... come... together..."


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    "Well said, Governor," Asion said with a wry smile.


    "I will go make sure a bed is made up for, uh, for your medicine woman." Benold quickly fled, taking a deep breath to allay his own anxiety once he was out in the hall. The promise Asion had extricated from him fouled up his plans. But he was not going to give up on finding Trosyn so easily. He would return to Crethal Thane one way or another. It just may take him longer than he had planned.


    <hr>


    The next morning Benold was awoken early by the jabbering of the toothless medicine woman. He wondered how anyone could trust the medical administrations of a woman who could not keep her own teeth. He also cursed himself out for not locking his door at night, allowing the uncultured woman to storm in and nag him out of bed. He managed to shoo her off long enough to get on a dressing gown. But as she seemed to believe something was urgent, he opted not to go through his usual morning readiness routine.


    Yawning, Benold shuffled into Caorain''s room where the old woman led him. To his mortification, the woman seized him by the wrist and pulled him to Caorain''s bedside. The young woman lay there, devoid of any colour, with greasy hair clinging to her gaunt cheeks. It took Benold a vast deal of concentration to divine if she were still breathing or not, but he saw meagre signs of life. "What? What have you brought me here for?" Benold asked in a harsh whisper, although he knew it was of no use. The crone lifted Caorain''s limp wrist and placed it in Benold''s hand. He blinked. Caorain''s hand was clammy. No. Slimy. He almost dropped it immediately, but even he realised that would be in poor form. So he held the ailing woman''s hand.


    "Is this it? You want me to hold her hand?" Benold asked, incredulous. "Why did you wake me up for that? Why now?"


    The medicine woman stared at him, nostrils flared. Maybe she could understand some, for she was giving him a most formidable stink-eye. The medicine woman stood on the other side of Caorain and took her other hand. She glared at Benold, as if making sure he was still holding on. He lifted Caorain''s hand as a show of good faith. Satisfied, the wizened one closed her eyes and chanted. Benold wasn''t sure what he was supposed to do, so he did nothing.


    Although disgusted, Benold tried to view Caorain through the sweaty and blotchy skin. She was fighting for her life. Benold reflected on this, and pondered as to why she put up a fight at all. What sort of life was she living? She was in a loveless marriage and could barely speak with anyone in her current household. The girl must feel quite alone. Except when Benold was trying to teach her his language, he wanted her out of the way. Benold sighed as the stirrings of guilt fluttered tentatively in his chest. He believed he was being merciful in keeping his distance from her. As far as he was concerned, she was forced to marry him. But had he thought about it all wrong? In an attempt to be a gentleman was he just guilty of neglect instead?


    Benold''s other hand now joined with hers. He stroked the back of her hand as the medicine woman prayed or sang, or did whatever it was she was doing. "It is alright, Caorain. I will not blame you if you give up. But I do hope you will give life another shot." Benold lifted her hand, with the intention to lay a kiss upon it. But he couldn''t do it. Her fingers were slippery with perspiration and he feared getting sick himself. He lowered her hand again and looked at her. How did these people stay by bedsides day in and day out and stay healthy? How did they watch someone suffer? Benold was relieved he had a nurse to attend to her needs when the Lienog healer wasn''t present.


    Benold was pulled out of his reverie by the woman reaching across Caorain''s prone body and placing her own clammy fingers over his. He jerked away, letting go of Caorain''s hand which fell to the bed. Benold and the healer looked at each other; the scorn had drained from her expression.


    Benold arose and smoothed out his dressing gown. He felt very foolish when he realised he was still not properly dressed. Still he tried to conduct himself befitting a man of his station, bowing to the woman. He''d almost wished he''d bothered to learn her name, as saying it there would seem fitting. Alas, he did not. Thus he departed, intent on having a bath immediately.


    <hr>


    "Ah, Governor, I am pleased to see you and Caorain. You do not visit our village often," Asion smiled with false grace. Benold narrowed his eyes, but smiled and bowed to her. She knew well that he had little choice but to come. Caorain, who was on the mend, said something to Asion. Asion eyed Benold and he felt a sudden chill in the air. Caorain took hold of Benold''s arm, drawing close to him for support.


    Caorain did not have her full strength back, but was assured that she could manage the trip to the village. Benold was unsure if her trembling was from excitement at being home, or dread. He also wasn''t entirely sure what to make of the Lienog festivals, having never attended one. He looked around, trying to gain his bearings.


    Benold tried not to swat at the gnats that flew about his head out of respect. He knew to remain still and reverent during such events. Especially as someone wearing a white robe and a crown of oak leaves was speaking. He didn''t understand a word of it, but it was surely something demanding his respect and attention. Still, the gnats buzzing in his ear made it difficult to focus.


    Several people laid food on a stone altar, and spoke the same words. At least, he thought they were the same. As a fertility festival, he imagined they were asking the spirits to release them of the curse. Benold had performed something similar at Trosyn''s behest - and felt ridiculous the whole time. But at least it was done privately.


    Caorain removed a bag she had brought with her from her shoulder, and pulled out a bottle. Benold eyed it. That was from his cellar. Was she going to share it with these people? Why didn''t he think of bringing wine? He would like to incur more favour with the Lienog to chase away his previous blunders. Blunders. No. they were more than blunders. He''d shot and killed some of them. A chill reverberated up and down Benold''s spine as he realised he was standing in a circle of people he''d shot at the previous year. This was feeling too much like Nothvar already. At least there were no volcanoes on Klogvan island.


    To Benold''s dismay, Caorain did not pass the bottle around. Instead she strode up to the altar and began pouring the contents into a wide, shallow bowl. He jumped, nearly shrieking when a hand came down heavy on his shoulder.


    "Join her. If you do not, you are not a good husband." Asion pointed to a couple who watched Asion anxious. "Her parents watch."


    Benold sniffed and crossed his arms. "I already made my offering to the spirits last year."


    "Do it. They want to see." Asion released his shoulder. "Appear as a good husband."


    Benold''s shoulders drooped. But knowing people were watching, he rolled them back and lifted his chin, joining Caorain. When the bowl was full, she passed it to him. He looked at it confused. Caorain pointed to the altar. "Give." Benold nodded and placed it, but not without some reluctance. That was some of his finest wine. He picked up the bottle, which was now quite light, and sighed. Maybe he could get a small glass out of it. But it would not be proper to take a drink here in view of everyone. Caorain began her prayer, and Benold just bowed his head, not sure what else to do.


    When Caorain was done, she smiled and looked towards her parents. Benold could see the pride written all over their faces. He mustered something akin to a grin and then walked briskly back to his place in the circle.


    Benold wanted it to be over. He wanted to go home to his own comfort and his own people. He glanced at Caorain. She probably felt the same every day. Another sigh escaped him. "Caorain, are you alright? It is late. You are still weak," Benold asked, nay, suggested hopefully, seeking a way to extricate himself and save face.


    "I am good. Ah. I am well," Caorain corrected just as Benold lifted his finger, preparing to do so himself His hand went down and he nodded his approval. He would have preferred her to say she was tired, but at least she was improving her language skills.


    "Ah." Benold placed his hands behind his back and tilted his head towards Caorain''s parents. "Your family?"


    "Yes."


    "Are you happy to see them?"


    "Yes."


    "Good."


    It was growing darker and the savages all began holding hands. That meant Benold as well. Caorain he did not mind so much, but he did not know the person to his left or where their hands had been. He just had to endure a little longer, he hoped. He went along with the motions, raising his hands and letting them fall in waves as something was shouted. Then the drumming began. A haunting reed instrument joined in, adding whimsical notes to the evening. Everyone broke off into partners and began to dance.


    "Ah, I..." Benold looked down at Caorain who took both of his hands.


    "Come."


    "This is not..." Benold tried to protest, but she forced his hands up in the air and walked up to him, standing chest to chest. Benold was unaccustomed to following a woman''s lead, but he did his best to keep up with his wife. At least this dance was not overly complex, and it was dark enough that even when he stumbled, it likely went unnoticed.


    It took time, but Benold eventually enjoyed himself. Caorain also seemed in better spirits. Her demeanour had been dour since her sickness. And Benold kept blaming it on her feeling poorly. But he began to wonder if it was more than that as she twirled in front of him. "Caorain..."


    "Yes?"


    Their hands clasped and they came nose to nose again. "If you could stay here, would you? Do you want to go back to your family?"


    Caorain frowned. The question seemed to drain the vitality out of her. She stepped back, but their hands remained clasped. "I can not. Do not ask."


    Their hands released Caorain circled him, hands on her hips. Benold watched her, waiting for when he must do the same. "I want you to be well. And coming here has brightened you. You seem more alive."


    "I go with you. I am your wife," Caorain said firmly, her tone verging on offended.


    "Of course." When he took her hands again, they felt cool, and she seemed to tremble. "I think that is enough for today. You do not seem well. Let us go back."


    "But... it dark. We all stay until light."


    Benold looked around at everyone. "...Everyone stays here until dawn? They stay up all night?" Caorain nodded. "You are not fully recovered. I am your husband, and your health is my responsibility. We are going back."


    Caorain did not argue further. She glanced towards her parents who were dancing together and then looked up at Benold. He took her firmly by the hand and led her out of the circle. No one stopped them, but Caorain kept looking longingly over her shoulder as the festival continued.


    Once they were in the gig, Benold drank what remained of his wine. Caorain looked away from him, too tired to hide her disgust. Benold arched an eyebrow at her, then held up the bottle. "This? You do not like my wine?"


    "I do not like." Caorain shook her head to emphasise her point.


    "Then you need not have any," Benold said, tilting the bottle back again for another draw. He then clicked his tongue, urging the horse to get moving.


    "You drink I do not like," Caorain clarified. Benold shook the empty bottle and then placed it in the seat with Caorain.


    "Why?"


    "You..." Caorain brought her knees up, leaning into the upholstery of the carriage. She nestled under the fur blanket that Benold had brought for her comfort.


    "I...?" Benold asked, looking over his shoulder a moment then directing his attention to the path ahead. The ride was a bumpy one as no road to the village had been made. "I what?"


    "Talk. Talk of Trosyn."


    "Well, I won''t tonight," Benold assured Caorain. "Try to get some rest."


    Caorain said nothing more. Benold tried his best to remain alert, but he was feeling depleted. It would be a long journey back, and his eyes felt heavy.

 Chapter 8: Epistolary - Unfortunate News

    Mr. Fidochi


    I grow ever more anxious that you find Trosyn. These weeks past have been hard on me. While I am relieved to not receive news of her passing, I am all the same being driven to distraction.


    Trosyn arrived with us on the SS Serendipity. She was not on the manifest because she was found adrift in the ocean and rescued. She claimed to be pregnant at that time, although she admitted to having not yet experienced a quickening. Discussing such matters is very disconcerting to me.


    She may be with the Custodians? I wasn''t even aware they still had a presence in Floratti. Isn''t their role a bit antiquated? There are no holy wars to fight. Although I suppose I did hear rumour that they turned their attention to medicine and opening hospitals. So perhaps it is not so odd after all. I do not keep up with that at all. My family is Lucidian. Although in their day, they would not have so openly admitted it.


    I await your next update.


    -V. Gustello


    <hr>


    Mr. Fidochi


    I do not wish to pester, but it has been a while since I received an update. Have you stumbled upon a block in your investigation? I do hope everything is well. If there is anything else I can help you with, or anything more you need to know, I am at your disposal. The business which is tying me up here in Beste will hopefully conclude soon, so if you think having me there would help, let me know.


    -V. Gustello


    <hr>


    Dear Mr. Gustello


    I do not wish to meddle in anyone''s business. But this is regarding the gentleman you sent to inquire after Trosyn. As you requested, I was obliging with him, although his mannerisms were a bit gruff. But I felt I ought to write to you. It may be rumour or misunderstanding but my conscience compelled me to say something.


    Just yesterday my boarders were discussing another dead body found at the docks. I wish to say in our fine city this was a rarity, but sadly, it is not. Accidents, drunken disputes, and banditry gone wrong all contribute to a death here or there. But one of them, who sells fish down there, said she recognised the unfortunate man as the fellow who came around here asking questions about Trosyn. I asked if she was sure, and she assured me that she was.


    I apologise for the grizzly and shocking contents of this letter. But as I said, I could not rest easy until I contacted you.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Sincerely


    -D. Dobby


    <hr>


    Dear Mrs. Dobby


    I am shocked, and I dare say, shaken deeply by the news you give me. I will be writing immediately to the authorities to confirm this before taking any other action. But if this turns out to be true, I am deeply indebted to you. I had feared myself taken in by a sham when Mr. Fidochi stopped all communication with me. Such a macabre fate had not even occurred to me. While I would not call this news a relief, it does bring my clarity. So again, I thank you for your consideration in bringing this to my attention.


    Sincerely,


    V. Gustello


    <hr>


    Dear Sir


    My name is Volente Gustello. I am writing to request confirmation on the death of your inquiry agent Genio Fidochi. I had hired Mr. Fidochi through your agency to conduct an investigation on my behalf, as I hope records will show. I received word of a rumour that he may be deceased. As part of your agency, I imagine the news of his death would reach you, and effects on his person may pass through your hands. I am eager to retrieve any and all communications from myself to him if he is, indeed, deceased. It is a matter of some urgency and delicacy.


    I await your response.


    Respectfully,


    V. Gustello


    <hr>


    Mr. Gustello


    We regret to inform you that Genio Fidochi is, indeed, deceased. Your request for correspondence to be returned to you will be adhered to if and when we receive any of his possessions. However, we cannot return any payments already made to Mr. Fidochi. Should you require our further services, we will let you know when another of our inquiry agents is available.


    Regards,


    Messrs. Tavini


    Of Tavini & Sons


    <hr>


    Dear Baldovo


    You likely won''t read this letter until you have returned from your voyage. But I felt the need to reach out to someone who knows the situation with Trosyn. I had hired one Mr. Genio Fidochi to investigate Trosyn''s disappearance. I won''t summarise the progress made there, as I am forwarding copies of the letters I had received to you, as well as copies of my own letters. I am fearing the worst as Mr. Fidochi is now deceased. I am sure it is just an unfortunate coincidence, bad luck to run into the wrong sort on the docks. All the same I have had a fit of the vapours and have only now regained my composure.


    The death of my father had kept me detained in Beste for some time. Although my oldest brother had the entail, I was given a small inheritance to my surprise, but also charged with the continued responsibility of my unmarried half sister. Yes, the one you made very improper overtures towards. There were some peculiarities of my father''s last will and testament. But as soon as my business here is settled, I am travelling to Floratti to continue the search for Trosyn myself. I will send another letter once I am there and settled with the direction of my accommodations. I should like to hear from you once you return.


    I know you think me a foolish old goat. But I do consider you a friend. Your aid or advice would be most reassuring.


    My deepest regards,


    Volente


    Enclosed

 Chapter 9: Benold - Im Alive

    The ringing in Benold''s ears was insufferable. Benold opened his mouth to complain, only to cough and sputter. The taste of blood filled his mouth. Pain in his chest followed. Soon, his whole body ached. Bleary eyes parted and the blue haze of a cloudy dawn bewildered him. He heard birds chirping merrily, incongruous to his current agony. Despite sensations trying to dissuade him from moving, Benold managed to sit up and look around. His gig had a rather intimate yet disastrous encounter with a tree. What remained as a heap on the ground, ribs exposed. The wild animals had got to it. And yet he was left untouched.


    Benold tried to remember the previous night. He was coming back from the festival with Caorain. And he was very tired. Oh no!


    "Caorain!?" Benold barely managed to croak out her name. He tried to repeat it louder, but was cut off in a fit of coughing. He put his hand to his mouth, and felt it moisten. Peering at his dirt encrusted fingers, he saw fresh red blood. Benold rolled onto his hands and feet and crawled towards the smashed vehicle. He brushed green shards out of his way and tugged on at a loose panel Furs clumped beneath the overturned vehicle, but Caorain was absent.


    Using the trunk of a sturdy oak, Benold dragged himself to his feet. His legs shook and knees felt as though they might buckle at any moment. His chest felt as if a tight band were constricting it. "Caorain?" Benold called feebly, hoping to hear her call back. Nothing.


    This would never had happened if I could still afford my equipage. This would never have happened if I didn''t let Asion bully me into going to that festival. Benold''s thoughts went on and on of who all was to blame for his current predicament. He blamed everything and everyone except himself.


    Feeling sorry for himself wasn''t going to save him. Benold sifted through the debris, until he found his rifle. It was loaded, but he could not find the rest of the bullets. No matter. One shot was all he needed in most cases, and it was heavy enough to use as a club. It also doubled as a walking stick, although it chagrined him to use his darling in such a way. But he needed to find Caorain.


    Benold limped as he beat around the foliage, looking to see if Caorain had been thrown into some of the low lying brambles. Clinging to a branch was a light shred of fabric. He could not remember what she wore the previous night, though he was sure it was white, or at least light coloured. Feeling tightness again, Benold loosened his cravat and unfastened his vest and continued.


    Eventually the trail led to a small clearing. Benold was surprised to see Caorain reclined on a bed of wild flowers, leaned up against a large willow. Resting its head in her lap was a creature he''d always thought was mere myth. A unicorn.


    The animal was truly magnificent, with its shimmering white coat that no mere horse could achieve. Its delicate pink nose quivered as nostrils flared and its thickly lashed blue eyes opened. The spiral horn jutting from its forehead was formidable indeed. Its mane was immaculate and its body slender, more cervidian than equine, down to the cloven hooves. Its ears, which now pinned against its head, were large and donkey-like, as was the tail which only had a short tassel of hair at the end of its whip-like appendage. The majestic beast lifted its head and stared directly at Benold.


    "...Caorain. Are you... is she..." Benold muttered, uncertain how intelligent unicorns were. He had high doubts any creature of myth that only approached maidens could have much wit.


    Caorain, whose eyes were closed, did not move. Benold took a few shambling steps forward. However, he froze when the unicorn abruptly rose and shook its mane. Ears pinned back and head held high, it flashed the whites of its eyes. Benold put his hands out in a placating manner. "Easy now... I''m not going to hurt you." Benold grimaced, and one of his hands immediately withdrew, going to his sore ribs.


    The unicorn stamped one of its feathered feet and gave another shake of its trailing mane. It moved between Benold and Caorain, lowering its head and pointing its horn towards Benold. He attempted to retreat a step, but his knees gave out and he fell to the ground. The shock left him gasping painfully for air. His efforts were rewarded with yet more blood and spittle issuing from his mouth. This seemed to offend the unicorn as it reared up, legs flailing in the air and it let out a shrill bugling sound, sounding more like an elk in rut than a horse.


    Benold immediately grabbed his rifle and pushed his back up against a tree for support. The mythical beast reared again, screaming louder, assaulting Benold''s already aching head with its horrible sounds. What happened to chimes and tinkling of bells that were spoken of in legend? Benold was certain it was about to charge and he rested his finger on the trigger. To his surprise, though, it calmed down.


    "Benold..." Caorain''s voice was quiet, but urgent. "No. No hurt..." Caorain weakly held up a hand. The unicorn''s ears swivelled back then flopped forward as it craned its slender, arched neck to look at her. Caorain said something else in a soothing voice, and Benold reluctantly lowered his weapon.


    "Caorain... you are... alive..." Benold strained to speak.


    "You hurt," Caorain frowned and rose. The unicorn nuzzled her, and she patted its nose affectionately. Benold squinted his eyes at the unicorn. To him, it looked smug. Somehow. She gazed into its blue eyes for a moment, muttering something to it.


    "But you... are you...?" Benold could not get out all the words. With the relief of a de-escalated confrontation, adrenaline ebbed away, leaving exhaustion in its wake


    Caorain twirled the unicorn''s small downy beard around her finger. "He help me."


    That was all very well, but now what? Benold was relieved that Caorain seemed to be alright, but now he had his own injuries to worry about. And in his effort to go save her, which she didn''t need, he wasted valuable time that could have been spent finding a doctor. Benold tried to get to his feet, but he could barely lift his arms now, let alone motivate his legs to bear his weight. "Caorain... get... help."


    Everything faded to black.


    <hr>


    Benold stood in a grove. A limpid pool caught the morning sun through the trees, glittering and dancing. He glanced down at his bloody hands, then at the pond, which was pure and inviting. He crouched down, about to lower his hands into the water when he halted. His reflection showed a version of him with bull''s horns. Beside him he saw Trosyn, holding a premature calf in her arms. Its large eyes bulged out from sunken sockets and its ribs were visible in sharp relief. Its legs were thin and spindly and did not look as though it could hold its own weight.


    Excitement tingled up and down Benold''s spine. Grotesque as the calf may be, he was eager to see her. To be near her. To touch her. He stood up and turned to embrace her, but no one stood with him at the pool''s edge. Confused, he looked back at the pool, where she remained standing, tilting her head to him curiously. Benold crouched down again, reaching to the pool. The ripples that spread from his touch interfered with the image and Trosyn faded away. In anger, Benold struck the water, splashing himself in the process. It stung. The pool burned bright and he tried to shield himself from the searing sensation, but the light engulfed him.


    Moments later he was standing in a foggy, empty space. From the mist came a man with pale skin, long white hair and beard, and plain white clothes. Although his hair was white, his features appeared ageless. In his hand he carried a flute with a spiral pattern. His face scrunched with disgust.


    "Filthy mortal."


    Benold tried to protest this verbal abuse, but could not make a sound.


    "You spit poison and ravage our lands." The pale man took another step forward. "You conspired to take our Patriarch Guardian from us."


    Again Benold tried to say something in his defence, but all that came out was an airy squeak.


    "You tethered him and tore him asunder, until all that remained was rage." The man brought the flute to his lips, but there was something dangerous in his ice blue eyes. "I shall play your heart song."


    The man''s countenance turned serene as he played a few enchanting notes on his flute. A throbbing in his chest turned to a sharp pain, as if something were trying to burrow out through his back. Benold closed his eyes and could envision his heart beating. Wedged behind it was a mote of light. It grew brighter as the song continued. He saw the light by itself in darkness, and a silvery string attached to it. Fragile and seemingly invisible at times, the gossamer thread led into the distance. He could hear waves crashing and suddenly the din of voices all around him, muffled and ranging in volume as if he were passing through a tunnel. Finally, the end of the thread was revealed. He saw Trosyn curled up in a dark corner, her face glistening with sweat, her belly enlarged, and a pool of blood at her bare feet.


    The music stopped and he was again in the misty expanse. The pale man lowered the flute from his lips. "I can only heal those who are pure and chaste. But I can see the pieces that fit together. You are bound, though the tether is frail. If not for this, I would impale you, regardless of the maiden''s entreaties." The man blew on his flute again, but this time the sound was a discordant shriek.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Benold awoke suddenly. The first thing he saw was Caorain standing over him. He lifted a hand to touch her face, but she pulled away. Benold heard the impudent bugle of the unicorn and the stamping of hooves.


    Caorain stood up and put out her hand. Benold hesitated, then took it, and she helped him to his feet. He still hurt all over, but knowing Caorain was alright made it somehow bearable. He snuck a glare at the unicorn, who snorted and pawed at the ground. "He..." she made a shooing motion with her free hand. She then howled like a wolf, starting Benold.


    "He scared... the... wolves?" Benold asked. Caorain tilted her head, thinking the laboured words over and then nodded.


    "Wolves?" She made a quieter facsimile of a howl and Benold nodded.


    Benold looked down, noticing that he had been bandaged up, at the expense of Caorain''s now frayed frock. The amount of leg she was showing was scandalous! But thinking matters over, he was glad she was resourceful. He then peered at the unicorn which pointed its horn menacingly at him. "Let''s... go."


    The two continued their long trek back to the dirt road they had been travelling on. Many times Benold wanted to just pass out and give up. He was tired. He struggled to breathe. His body ached. His limbs didn''t work right. But Caorain kept pulling him along, encouraging him as best she could with her limited vocabulary.


    Just as Benold was considering giving up for the twenty-third time, he thrust his head head up upon hearing hooves. He looked around alertly, almost afraid that the unicorn had changed its mind and came to gore him after all. He gripped his rifle tighter, but then heard the unmistakable sound of wheels. Relief and hope all flooded into his aching chest and he went to call out, but only managed to cough instead. Caorain supported him as he wheezed and spasmed.


    Around the bend came a horse cart and Benold tried to stand on his own so he could flail an arm to flag the traveller down. As the cart grew nearer he realised he recognized the driver. More relief, mixed with wonder, overwhelmed Benold and he nearly collapsed. Caorain caught him just in time , to which he was simultaneously grateful and mortified. He also remembered Caorain''s torn skirt and stepped in front of her for her own modesty, trying again to stand on his own.


    "Well, well, Guv," came the familiar voice of Stellan as he brought the cart to a rolling stop. "You look like you got trampled."


    "Just... nearly..." Benold placed a hand along the flank of the horse to steady himself. "But what..."


    "What am I doing here? I got worried when you didn''t return." Stellan got down and helped Caorain into the cart, and then Benold. "Good thing I did."


    "Yes..." Benold was just a bit too tall to lie out flat in the cart, so he raised his knees and placed his hands on his stomach, staring at the sky. Caorain knelt beside him.


    "Good and ready?" Stellan asked. Given a grunt in the affirmative, he clicked his tongue at the horse and they set off for home. "So what happened?"


    "Wolves... "


    "Ah. Well. So long as it isn''t bandits." Stellan remarked. "We''ll talk more once the doctor has seen you."


    "Thank you."


    No longer focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, Benold finally had time to think about the dream he had. He was certain the man in the dream was the unicorn being unreasonably judgmental. While he had made some mistakes, he did not think himself filthy nor deserving of skewering. Had he known what critical creatures they were he wouldn''t have used them as a motif for one of his guest rooms.


    Thinking deeper about the dream, he remembered the sight of Trosyn with an emaciated calf in her arms. It made him uncomfortable to recall. As for the image of her in that dark place, was that just a projection of his fear, or was the unicorn able to give him a glimpse of Trosyn''s fate? Was Trosyn alone, sick and injured? He needed to get to her.


    Benold winced as his body tensed, bringing back the pain from his injury. He felt a soothing hand placed on his forehead and he relaxed. Opening his eyes, he saw Caorain peering down at him with a look of concern.


    He had Caorain at his side, caring for him. Was it simply reciprocation? Was it just her being a good person that cared for others? Was it her upholding her duty as a wife? These questions plagued Benold''s mind and weighed heavy on his conscience, as the crash laid heavy upon his chest. She was at his side and that ought to be enough. But all he could think of was the haunting image of Trosyn in trevail, and how he must reach her and save her somehow. Benold lifted his hand, groping around until he found Caorain''s, to give it a squeeze.


    "Caorain. I failed..." Benold had this speech in his mind, but when it came to say the words, he was too sore and exhausted for the eloquent execution he had imagined. "...as a husband. Not your fault. You tried." Benold closed his eyes again, not having the courage to see her reaction.


    <hr>


    "I think that''s all I can remember. It''s different looking at a map versus actually being there." Stellan gently pushed the map away from himself, fanning the wet ink. Benold brought the oil lamp closer, squinting at the additions Stellan made.


    "This will have to do." Benold pinched the bridge of his nose. "We leave in three days."


    "So soon? Are you quite healed enough for a voyage?" Stellan wiped the ink smudges off the tips of his fingers as best as he could as he stared at Benold with incredulity.


    "I will have the additional week on the ship to rest. A couple bottles of wine should see me through." Benold leaned back and stretched, grimacing at the cacophony of cracks that assailed his ears. He attributed that to his recent injury, refusing to accept it as a sign of his advancing age.


    "If it was just your neck you were risking I wouldn''t speak up. But if you perish, what happens to Caorain?" Stellan deigned to ask.


    "She''ll be taken care of." Benold waved his hand. "I''ve already seen my solicitor. She is to be provided with her share of inheritance in the form of livestock and sent back to her village. Encumbering her with this estate would just set her up for exploitation."


    "Well then I bid you goodnight," Stellan bowed with mock respect and left promptly. Benold sighed, turned out the lamps, save for one which he carried with him to his bedroom.


    Upon entering his room, he was surprised to see Caorain sitting cross-legged on his four-post bed. "What brings you here?"


    "I hear. Three days?" Caorain said, holding up three fingers.


    Benold nodded as he walked over to his vanity, setting the lamp down. "That is right. I do not know how long I will be away. I need you to stay this time. You and Mrs. Gray must take care of the house while I am away. Can you do that for me?"


    Caorain nodded her head. "You... Can you..." Caorain tried the words he used back at him. "Can you do come back for me?"


    Benold was about to tear apart her awkwardly stitched sentence, but just smiled at her instead. "I will try to come back, Caorain." Although he was unsure how she''d feel about his return when he brought Trosyn with him. He just kept holding on to the hope that the two women would get along somehow.


    "Good." Caorain placed her hands on her knees. Benold stared at her in silence. She stared back at him. The silence verged on awkward.


    "Was that all? If so... good night, Caorain.".


    Caorain shook her head. "I stay."


    "Caorain... I know you are just trying to do your duty. I respect that. But if something happens to me, wouldn''t it be easier for you to find a new husband if... we don''t?" Seeing Caorain''s eyebrows draw together in confusion, Benold sighed and sat beside her. "Just think, if we''d consummated our marriage, that unicorn wouldn''t have saved you." Caorain scoffed. "Look. If I come back, we''ll sort it all out then. If I don''t return, you will go back to your village with sheep and pigs. A horse even, if you want. All yours. Surely that will make you desirable to the other men in the village? Or maybe you could live independently and chase some other dream."


    Caorain was silent, her gaze going distant, eyes darting side to side. After a moment she looked at Benold, eyes narrow. "But... you come back with Trosyn."


    "Yes. That is what I want."


    "Trosyn maybe like me not. Make me go," Caorain predicted, worry lines forming on her forehead.


    "No!" Benold held his palms out. "No, Trosyn would not do that to you." Benold placed a hand on Caorain''s shoulder.


    "Why wait?" Caorain placed a hand on Benold''s cheek, flinching when she saw him look away. "I go back, they see a bad wife."


    "No! You''re not a bad wife. I''m just a bad husband." As much as it pained Benold to think himself flawed in any way, he could not escape the fact that he was quite negligent. He did not even want to admit to being her husband at first.


    "Why?" Caorain asked, her hand going to his shoulder instead. "Why be bad husband?"


    "I..." Benold sighed. It really was intolerable that he, a gentleman, had to explain himself. His knee-jerk reaction of puffing up and commanding Caorain to stop asking was suppressed. Instead he looked down at his own lap, placing his hands on his thighs. That wasn''t enough. He clasped his hands and placed them on his lap. "I guess... I''m not like some men who don''t mind so long as they get some pleasure out of the affair. It took trial and error to figure out how I liked things done, and how Trosyn did too. I''m not a barbarian who doesn''t consider the comfort of his partner. That said, I don''t want to go through that awkward stage again with someone new." Benold twiddled his thumbs and stared across the room. "At least, not without the ability to communicate better."


    There was a silence that followed. Benold rolled back his shoulders but did not dare look at Caorain, as he was feeling quite foolish in having to explain this to anyone. Just as he was about to try and swear her to secrecy, he heard a most horrid sound. Laughter. Benold gawked at Caorain, whose hand covered her mouth and she suppressed the urge to giggle further. Benold stammered indignations at Caorain''s audacity. He bore his soul to her, and she LAUGHED!


    "That''s it! Go! Get out!" Benold said, throwing his arm wide and pointing to the door. Caorain''s hand remained over her mouth as her eyebrows lifted. She looked at the door and then back at Benold with incredulity.


    "Sorry! We talk with words. But we talk not with words, too." Caorain''s tone took on a grating matter-of-fact tone, as if she were explaining the obvious to a child. This did not improve Benold''s mood. He shook his hand and pointed again to the door with emphasis.


    Benold fully expected her to bow her head in shame and meekly comply. He did not anticipate she would stand up, place her hand over his banishing finger and then kiss him. In his riled up state, it created such confusion in the emotionally bruised man that he could do little more than drop his arm and blink in a stuport. Before he could get his thoughts in order Caorain was on her feet, patting Benold on the cheek.


    "Okay. I go. But need not words. Need not awkward. But you need calm." Caorain gave an amused shake of her head and turned to leave, leaving a very bewildered and bothered Benold in her wake.

 Chapter 10: Hippophobia

    <hr>


    "These are the areas of interest, but it would do well to get a more accurate map. Tomorrow we''ll fan out and measure. The day after that we shall journey to our second camp site, probably about here. From there, we should be able to reach the base of the mountain," Arn, the prospector said, tapping on various locations of the crude map.


    Arn and Benold were standing in a large tent, with the din of men settling in for the evening casting a backdrop over the buzzing of insects. The voyage back to the Forbidden Isles was been uneventful, and it was time for the real work to be done. He''d arranged a much larger team for this expedition, loath to make the same mistakes as before.


    "It''s best we head further northwest than that, to get closer to this river. I suspect the best deposits will be found there. But before crossing this threshold I marked in brown, we need to stop here, at the twin boulders and make a burnt sacrifice," Stellan said, drawing attention to features on the map.


    "It really is a shame to waste such a fine ram," Benold murmured.


    "You will not consider it a waste when it appeases the mountain spirit." Stellan countered sharply. He sighed and continued in a softer tone. "Although he''ll be the main obstacle, there are other spirits that can be troublesome. If you see a water spouts and then an old man or a fair horse nearby, be wary. And don''t follow any dancing lights at night."


    "Oh, we are well acquainted with will-o-wisps," Arn said as he looked up from the papers. "Maybe we''ll camp closer to the boulders. Leading a sheep far through the forest is inviting trouble."


    "I concur," Benold said decisively. However, the confidence was a ruse as his mind was otherwise preoccupied as he kept looking at the elevated cot he''d brought along. How lonely it seemed, shoved in the corner of the large octagonal tent. He wondered if Trosyn was alright. But he also found himself wondering how Caorain was faring. For that matter, how Mrs. Gray was coping with her in her charge. What a mess.


    Benold''s thoughts were drowned out by irritation. A smell offended his olfactory senses, and he sniffed despite the odious odour, trying to identify it. It was smoky, but also sulphurous. There was also something fishy about it. He blinked a few times, interrupting the men discussing the finer details of the expedition. "What is that smell?"


    Stellan stopped what he was saying mid sentence to sniff the air. Following, his face was stricken pale. "Oh no... no no no!" Stellan rushed out of the tent.


    "What? What is it?" Benold demanded, going after him, followed by the bewildered prospector.


    "Stop that! Stop that now! Put it out!" Stellan hollered at the men surrounding the camp fire. The man with a handful of scraggly kindling looked up in astonishment, but did not oblige Stellan''s desperate pleas.


    Stellan charged at the fire, kicking dirt onto it.


    "Hey!"


    "Don''t burn seaweed! It''s dangerous!" Stellan admonished. "It attracts him!"


    "Who!?" Benold demanded. "What are you on about?"


    Stellan was too busy grabbing the pile of dried seaweed to answer. Instead, Benold''s inquiries were met with a sound like an intense gale whistling through trees. Yet not a single leaf ruffled. Hooves thundered, men shouted and pointed.


    Benold rubbed his eyes and felt a pang of pins and needles as he gazed at the monstrosity that had broken into the clearing. Sinewy and devoid of skin was an grotesque horse with a hideously misshapen rider on its back. The equine had a single red eye that glowed malevolently as it snorted out a yellowish plume, which withered nearby plants. The flayed horse reared up on its hind legs, which had curious fins protruding from them. Benold covered his ears and quaked as the creature unleashed an otherworldly shriek. To his horror, when it came bounding towards the camp, he realised it did not have a rider. Nay, the humanoid figure, whose over-sized head lolled side to side as if too weak to hold it up, grew out of the horse''s back, with disproportionately long arms trailing down its flanks.


    Benold ran into the tent to fetch his rifle, shouting of orders as he did so. He could hear the horses they''d brought with them whinnying and stamping. With his gun loaded, Benold stepped out, primed for action.


    A man dove out of the way lest he be trampled by the rampaging creature while someone else screamed to set the horses free. The horses'' nostrils flared, and their ears pinned back. One of the men rushed over, cutting the tethers, and was kicked and trampled in the horses'' frenzy to get away. They all scattered in different directions as the loathsome horror reached the hitching post. The monster reared again and stamped the ground, as if deciding what to attack next. During its hesitation, Benold took his shot, aiming for one of its heads.


    BOOM!


    The gunshot echoed and the large head wrenched to the side as black blood spurt out from the wound. No splatter reached the nearby post; the black ichor dissipated immediately into vapour. The humanoid torso slumped forward, its large head limp against the back of the equine neck. It turned towards Benold, a glowing red eye leering at him. Another puff of the yellow-green gas caused a nearby branch to peel back and shed its leaves.


    "You can''t kill it with that!" Stellan cautioned.


    Benold raised the rifle as the creature reared again, trumpeting its war cry. "No? I''m still going to try. I thought metal hurt the spirits?"


    "Only certain kinds. Watch out!" Stellan called, quickly getting away.


    Bullets flew, men screamed, chaos ensued. Benold lined up a shot and took it, hitting the being straight in its glowing red eye. Its horse head jerked to the side, but the momentum was too great for it to be stopped. Benold had to dive out of the way, rolling as he hit the ground. It veered to the side, narrowly missing the tent. Although its one eye appeared to squint, it did not otherwise appear hindered.


    "What do we do, Stellan? What is that thing?"


    "An ocean spirit!" Stellan hollered back. Benold sought a greater explanation than that, but there wasn''t time. The beast was wheeling around for another charge at Benold.


    Benold had to think fast. He dashed to a narrow gap between two sturdy trees. "Ocean you say? Where was that river you mentioned?" Benold shouted to Stellan as the angered spirit stamped at the ground, seeming to survey the campsite. More men fired at it, causing it to rear up and expel a larger cloud of gas, the area around it losing all life. Its tentacle-like tail whipped about in a fury as the torso, having recovered somewhat, pushed against its neck and held itself upright again. Still, the head, with its sunken, empty eyes tilted to the side. But now it showed its teeth in a hideous grin.


    "River... oh good thinking!" Stellan called back. "This way!"


    "HOLD FIRE! Retreat! Follow Stellan, but spread out!"


    Stellan made a run for it, which grabbed the sea spirit''s attention. It let out a series of rattling, coughing noises that almost resembled a laugh. It pointed a spindly finger at Stellan''s back, and then advanced at a mere trot, toying with its prey.


    "LOOK OUT!" Benold cautioned. Everyone else mobilised, heading into the same direction Stellan had gone, but giving the mad spirit a wide berth.


    Benold wasn''t sure which was going faster, his heart or his feet. He divided his attention between avoiding obstacles a forest was rife with and watching Stellan. He had to admit the man was surprisingly nimble, several times barely avoiding being trampled down by the hideous manifestation. However, Stellan''s agility didn''t just keep him barely out of danger''s grasp, but by degrees he had run beyond Benold''s field of view.


    Now what?


    Benold was breathing hard. Although he had served the Kayonn in many battles, it was not as a foot soldier, and prolonged running was never required of him. A familiar tightness about his chest and pain in his ribs reminded him that he had not fully recovered from his injuries. He stumbled to a stop, leaning against a tree, coughing. Although he could still hear shouts in the distance, they faded away.


    "Blighters..." Benold breathed out, then began coughing anew. Benold considered if it might not be prudent to just return to the camp and wait for everyone there. But what if that thing came back for him? With great trepidation, Benold trudged onward, following the trail of broken branches and dead plants.


    Relief washed over Benold at the sound of rushing water. He headed in its direction, weary and sore. In his distracted state, something caught his foot and he tripped, flailing madly to grab at something to halt his descent to the filthy ground. His hand clasped a branch, but it was dry and withered, snapping in his grasp, and he landed on the boggy ground with a thud. Benold scrunched up his face, disgust at the mud that now caked his clothing and face. He sat up, whipping out his handkerchief and wiped at his face as he looked for the offending root that had dared to grab his noble boot.


    No such root presented itself. Nay, the guilty party was a gnarly hand sticking out of a scraggly bush. Benold inched forward to identify just who had met such an unfortunate fate, but he quickly decided against it. It was enough to know someone in his party didn''t make it, and he could surmise the person''s identity through a process of elimination later. Benold picked himself up, dusted himself off, and walked warily towards the sound of water. He constantly scanned his surroundings, fear of the malevolent creature lurking in each shadow.


    Benold stepped out onto the river bank. He saw a variety of tracks in the mud. They came from various angles and openings in the woods. Some appeared to head straight into the river, which was folly. Benold groaned inwardly, hoping they didn''t go and drown themselves in a panic. This was a poor beginning to his expedition. Benold eyed the other tracks which all ran down the river side. He could not see any hoof prints, as he would have expected.


    As Benold approached where the river narrowed, movement out of the corner of his eye set him on high alert. He unslung his rifle from his back and held it protectively. From the treeline the monster emerged. Benold froze, hands going cold as he gripped the rifle for reassurance. The fiend sidled to the side, like a nervous horse as both heads stared at the river. Just as Benold suspected, it was not fond of fresh water. He tried to sneak back to the tree line to hide himself before it saw him. Just as he was about to reach safety, his foot fell upon a particularly dry and brittle twig. Curse that creature withering everything! The horse portion reared and the lanky arm pointed at Benold.


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    Benold was a gentleman. He would NEVER use uncouth language. Certainly not the slew of vulgar curses that ejaculated from his lips at that moment. No. He maintains deniability, since there were no witnesses beyond the murderous sea spirit. The rifle would not serve him, so he slung it over his back and ran straight for the river. His feet slipped on the silty mud, and his left foot splashed into the shallows. Before losing all traction, he made a clumsy leap, hoping to make it across.


    Benold did not.


    His mouth filled with river water as he flailed and felt his body tugged by the swift current. The shock of the cold waters knocked the breath out of him and he barely got his head above the water, to see the creature rearing up and shying away from the splash of fresh water. Although at that moment, his brain wasn''t ready to make sense of that. All he was concerned about was getting his limbs to coordinate enough to keep himself afloat.


    The sight of a rock, whose tip just barely peeked above the surface, grabbed Benold''s attention. He fought his way towards it, able to get his arms about it and anchor himself there long enough to rediscover the lost art of breathing. After blinking the worst of the water out of his eyes he glared at the monster. It stamped its foreleg a few times before turning and heading back into the forest. He was not going to forget this any time soon. Blasted spirits.


    Benold kicked off from the rock and swam towards the opposite bank. Once out of the river, he laid on the ground, not even caring about the mud at that point. He was exhausted and intense pain wracked his body. As Benold laid there, he began reconsidering whether or not Trosyn was worth all of this trouble.


    "Guv!"


    Never had Benold been cheered by the sound of Stellan''s voice. Benold lacked the energy to sit up and greet the man. He stared skywards as the scruffy face of Stellan came into view, peering down at him. "You made it."


    Benold placed his hands on his chest. Composed, despite his recumbent position, Benold tilted up his chin, eyes going half lidded. "Now would you mind telling me what that was?" It took all of his effort to speak calmly and hide the pain in his chest.


    "No idea. We didn''t see it the first few times. Just heard a commotion and our crops were ruined and our animals sick. By the time we realised it happened from making fertilizer with seaweed, we stopped." Stellan stood up straight, giving Benold a rather unflattering view of the fellow man. He chose to close his eyes at this point. "Anyway, Governor, it won''t cross the river. How did you know that?"


    Eyes still closed, Benold masked a wince of pain with a fake yawn, covering his mouth politely. "I read."


    "...Ah.... then do you know what that was?"


    "No idea. I read about sea spirits that could not cross streams, but usually they just drowned people in the ocean." Benold''s speech was noticeably slowing down to accommodate the need for shallower breaths.


    "We just call him the soggy blighter," Stellan remarked. "By the way, would you care for a hand up?"


    "Hmmm I suppose. Thank you," Benold held up his hand coolly. Locked at the forearm, Stellan pulled Benold to his feet. The waterlogged gentleman began to wring out any loose fabric as he fell in step with Stellan. "Where is everyone?"


    "A grove not far from here. We have no equipment, and no one wants to go back to the camp. We were just deciding what to do."


    "We will have to go back. But..." Benold held back a groan, then continued after a pause, "...we will be safe if we move our camp to the other side of the river. Come, let us regroup."


    It took all of Benold''s force of personality, and some promises of greater pay, to convince the team to return to the camp. Benold had expected the camp to have been completely ruined, but was pleasantly surprised. It was only half ransacked. The crates containing some of the food were overturned and spoiled, and one of the tents was flattened. A few possessions were strewn about. However, the chaos was easily rectified before sun down.


    No one slept well that night, fretful about a return of the abomination.


    When the morning sun heaved over the horizon, the camp was torn down. The effort to move their camp to the other side of the river was fraught with difficulty. Everyone was on edge, and they were down four horses worth of muscle. While moving the ram they''d brought with them, one of the men called out in dismay.


    "Our sacrifice has black tooth!"


    Benold walked over. "Show me."


    The handler got the ram in a headlock with some difficulty, while another man peeled back its lips to expose blackening teeth, and pustules on the tongue.


    "Stellan. You said the sacrifices have to be in good health?" Benold sought confirmation. Stellan walked over, looking gravely at the woolly animal. Once let go, it shook its head, nearly knocking one of them men with its curved horns.


    "Yes. We tried giving runts and diseased offerings before, and it just provoked the spirit. Perhaps if we can find one of the horses that got free, we can sacrifice it instead," Stellan suggested.


    Benold pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. "I miss the city." Amidst Benold''s lament for simpler times, yet another problem presented itself. With their meat spoiled, they would not be able to stay as long as Benold had hoped. "Well, slaughter the ram, cut away the bad parts, and we''ll salt what we can salvage. I''d offer to hunt... but I lost my rifle in the river. Perhaps we can use some of the undesirable parts as bait to catch something else."


    The loss of his rifle was certainly something Benold was mourning already. He cursed the sea fiend three times over as the sheep was led away to be processed. The rest of the expedition team continued their labours to move the camp across the river as safely and efficiently as possible. This took nearly the entire day, and the evening was set aside for foraging and fishing.


    That night Benold dreamt again of seeing Trosyn in the reflection of a pool. Again he dreamt of a thread that led from his chest to Trosyn. This time she was sitting with the starved calf''s head resting in her lap. A cowherder dressed in white approached her, with robust black cows trailing behind him. He took the calf from Trosyn, who screamed and fought. The calf became smaller and smaller and was placed in a jar. A third thread stretched from Trosyn to the jar, and from the jar to Benold. Benold pulled on the thread, trying to bring the jar closer so that he could give it back to Trosyn. But instead of getting closer, it drifted further and further away. The thread, which had accrued plenty of slack, sprang to life and wrapped around his chest. He tried to scream, but could not. In a blink he was kneeling over a lava pit. Unable to balance, he pitched towards the molten mass below.


    Benold awoke, his brow hot and sweaty. He tried to catch his breath, but a sharp pain in his ribs made it difficult. He groped around for his gun, feeling as though something were threatening him. But his darling gone was lost to him. As his mind shifted to the waking world, the feeling of danger subsided.


    Benold held another meeting, and it was decided that some of them would work to try and locate the horses, while others focused on mapping. No one was to go beyond the markers Stellan indicated before they procured an appropriate sacrifice. And one unlucky devil would have to recover the body Benold claimed was by the river. That person would not be Benold. Instead, he was quick to volunteer to scout for horses as, to him, it seemed the least bothersome task.


    The natural melodies of birdsong failed to brighten Benold''s mood. Rather than enchanted with the ambience, he found it all a cacophony reminding him he was far from his comforts of home. The twittering birds were too high pitched, and the clicks and burr of insects grated on his frayed nerves. Still, the fresh air was at least rewarding, and the exercise dispelled the tension that lingered from his nightmare. He occasionally called out in a cooing voice and clicked his tongue, hoping to attract one of the lost horses.


    Benold took his search to the river, rationalising that the horses would become thirsty. As he strode up the river bank towards the shore, he allowed his mind to wander like a leaf on a stream. The past, the present, and the future all melded together as he tried to imagine his ideal future once Trosyn was saved, tried to whitewash his own misdeeds in the past, and hoped that this trip would reward him twofold.


    As he was musing, Benold spotted a form just around the river bend, which gave him simultaneous panic and relief. Wading in the river was a handsome buff coloured horse with a white mane. For a moment just the equine shape had brought to mind the sea demon. But as it had no misshapen torso and its hide was intact, and it was wearing a bridal. Benold approached softly, speaking in as calm of a voice as he could to the horse. Its ears swivelled towards him and it nickered softly, shaking its ivory mane.


    "Hey now, easy does it, come on. Come a little closer, you handsome stud," Benold tried to beckon the horse closer, hesitant to ruin yet another set of boots in the river. His first waterlogged pair were still drying by the fire, and he was dubious they could be salvaged. The horse turned away. "I know, I know, maybe stud was going a little far since... what the deuce?" Benold squinted as he peered at the horse. He could have sworn that they brought only geldings. But the intact rear end of a stallion was flicking its tail mockingly at him, testicles on proud display. "Okay... well as long as you''re well trained and a polite horse, we can get along just fine. No mares within miles, right? No reason to cause trouble."


    Benold stepped carefully to the bank, feeling his boot sink into the mud with a squelch. He froze. With his other foot still on firm ground, he pulled his boot out of the muck with some difficulty. "Come on now. Please don''t make me go in after you." Benold whistled sharply to get the animal''s attention. The horse craned its thick neck, looking back at him with a snort. Benold took some grain out of a pouch, holding it in an open hand for the horse. It flicked its ears, then turned and waded towards him. "There''s a good boy."


    After nibbling at the peace offering the horse snorted again. Benold patted his jaw, admiring the sandy coat colour. "Well let''s get you back to the camp." Benold trailed his hand along its neck as he moved beside the horse. The horse took a few more steps away from the mud and then stood patiently.


    "Pity I don''t have a saddle with me. This bridle will have to do." Benold drew in a deep breath, braced himself, and then mounted the horse bareback. The horse''s ears pinned back and it whinnered, going into a gallop with little warning. "WOAH!" Benold pulled on the reins but it had no effect.


    They reached a speed he''d never seen a horse dare in such confined terrain. It moved through trees with astounding reflexes before bursting into a small clearing. Panic turned to astonishment when wings sprouted from its back. Benold was unsure whether to laugh or cry as he held tighter to the horse. This was not one of theirs! "DAMN SPIRITS! CURSE THEM ALL!" Benold shouted as he closed his eyes, protecting them from the sting of the horse''s mane blowing in his face.


    When Benold dared to open his eyes again, he could see they were heading towards the looming peak of the dreaded spirit. "No! Not that way!" Plumes of smoke belched into the air from the volcano''s vent, as if anticipating his arrival with some sort of malicious delight. "Set me down! Set me down this instant!"


    Benolds demands fell on deaf ears, which were flattened against the stallion''s skull. It stretched its neck forward as they glided far above the trees. Benold''s ears popped as the altitude increased, and he found himself short of breath. He daren''t loose the reins from his hands to clutch at his burning chest. Benold flattened himself against the horse''s warm back as the air grew chillier. He hazarded a look down as they entered the dark cloud, coughing as smoke filled his tormented lungs. The warm glow of lava penetrated the haze. "Don''t you..." Benold coughed, "...dare!"


    Benold felt himself sliding as the horse banked sharply, nearly dislodging him. He put all of his effort into hooking his leg and holding on to the horse''s mane. This was it. He was going to get dropped in a volcano. All because he couldn''t cut his losses and move on with his life. Benold coughed some more, his eyes tearing up. He recalled the smoke from the incense in the seer''s hut. In smoke this crazy quest began, in smoke it would end. Benold just hoped that his neck would break from the fall before his body hit the molten rock below.


    With these grim thoughts in mind, he opened his eyes, ready to face his fate like a man. All he saw was a dark haze, but a delicate tendril of glitter could be seen, creating a trail through the dismal smoke. It reminded him of what he saw in his dream. And yet when he tried to focus on it, it fled from his sight. Benold closed his eyes again and tried to focus on the dream. Soon the air became clearer. He breathed a sigh of relief as they had passed the volcano.


    "Oh thank the spirits..." Benold muttered, despite having cursed the spirits moments before. He patted the horse''s neck. "Alright. You''ve... had your fun..." Benold was finding it hard to speak. "Let me down, please?"


    The creature''s ears perked forward and it tucked up its legs close to its body and leaned forward. Benold leaned forward as well, pulling up his knees as the horse began its descent. To his amazement, they had flown past the volcano. Perhaps the horse spirit wasn''t so bad after all. He scanned the shoreline, hoping to see signs of someone living there. To his disappointment there were no beaches, but rather unforgiving bluffs and sheer cliffs that plunged abruptly down into choppy seas. However, he was still elated that he was one step closer to finding Trosyn. Perhaps she was in a cave somewhere.


    "Good, good..." Benold muttered. The horse whinnied and stretched its legs out again, flapping to gain speed. "Wait... we''re... that''s the sea!" Benold sputtered as the horse flew past the rocky coastline. He stared at the frothy waves below, churning and breaking over jagged rocks. "I take it back! Bad horse spirit!"


    A sound like a snicker erupted from his mount, but it did not quite sound human. Shock filled Benold''s entire being as the solid form beneath him evaporated into mist and he pitched to the waves below.


    It was not his day.

 Chapter 11: Baldovo - Just Out Of Reach

    At first being aboard the SS Helix was a marvel. However, the novelty wore off and Baldovo found himself tiring of the noisy twin engines. The vibrations were felt even in the railing Baldovo gripped as he stared out at the sea. There''d been reports of an unusual creature in the distance.


    "I tell you! It disappeared and dropped something!"


    "No! It dove into the sea. With wings folded it just looked smaller."


    "I don''t think it was a bird at all!"


    "Not a bird? Are you daft, man?"


    Baldovo listened to the arguments, but his eye was on the unforgiving coast and the sharp rocks ahead. This was the closest they had ever made it to the Blazing Crescent. But ''closest'' wasn''t enough for glory. Only he who found the way would win the prize.


    "Maybe we''ll find another mysterious person with a pocket of cockle stories," Baldovo mused out loud in jest. The men looked at him for a moment, then shook their heads and resumed their arguments. None of them spoke Lomanian. Baldovo took his turn with the eye glass, searching for the cove Trosyn had indicated. Just as he was about to fold up, something caught his attention. "By the light." Baldovo barked a shocked laugh. "This is too absurd."


    Someone was treading water out there. Baldovo pointed and passed the spyglass to one of the crew. After a quick look the seafarer looked grim. "I''ll get the commander."


    "Well, bless my luck. Stars know I don''t deserve it," Baldovo chuckled to himself wryly.


    A half drowned man was rescued from the sea, and he was in no state to explain his presence there. "Wait until I tell Volente about this."


    <hr>


    Upon hearing that the drifter had regained consciousness, Baldovo loomed by his bedside. The man''s blue eyes regarded him with unveiled contempt and suspicion, aided by dark furrowed brows which hooded his deep set eyes. The man spoke in a foreign language. Baldovo frowned, which resulted in an exasperated huff from the patient. The man threw out his hands, and then set them on his berth.


    "Well, I suppose I won''t be in for a series of stories this time." Baldovo looked at the man''s hands. His nails were clean and his hands lacked callouses.


    The man spoke again, then crossed his arms, bringing up his knees in a comical show of petulance. Baldovo could not help but laugh, which just soured the man''s mood forward. "Alright, let''s go to basics." Baldovo placed a hand to his chest, patting it. "I am Baldovo. Baldovo." He pointed to himself again and repeated his name slowly. The man raised an eyebrow at him and then rolled his eyes. "Come on. No need to be huffy."


    "Baldovo," the man responded, his tone almost mocking.


    "Very good! I am Baldovo. I," he pointed to himself, "am... Baldovo. And you are?" Baldovo pointed to the man. He stared at the finger as if it offended him. But then he sighed and pointed to himself.


    "Benold."


    "Wait, did you say Benold? Benold?" Baldovo repeated. The man nodded. "Of all the... this is too much of a coincidence. What chicanery is afoot?" The man crossed his arms again, a single finger tapping his upper arm. "You are Benold? Then do you know Trosyn? Trosyn?"


    The wrinkles faded and the cold blue eyes lit up as the man''s mouth hung open. "Trosyn?" He jabbered on in his native language, then sighed. "Trosyn."


    "Sorry. I do not understand." Baldovo watched as the man leaned forward and rubbed his temples. "Ah, do not despair. It would be entertaining to see Volente''s face when I show up with Benold Ovollar!" Baldovo chortled which earned a cross look from the man. "Alright." Baldovo cleared his throat. "I..." Baldovo thrust a thumb to his sternum, "will take..." Baldovo made a walking motion with his fingers, "you..." he pointed at Benold, "..to Trosyn."


    Hearing the name again softened Benold''s features considerably. "To... Trosyn..." Benold repeated. "Baldovo... will take... Benold... to Trosyn."


    "If we must resort to third person. However, it will be a couple weeks before we get back to Lomany." Benold stared blankly. Baldovo shrugged. "Well, since we can''t understand each other, I guess that''s all I have to say."


    Baldovo rubbed his chubby fingers together with barely contained glee. Even if they didn''t find the cove Trosyn described, he at least would come back with a delightful surprise. Baldovo sauntered off to speak with the commander and take on responsibility for the foreigner.


    <hr>


    Once Benold was ambulatory, Baldovo often saw him out on the deck, squinting at the craggy coast. Sometimes Baldovo would try to teach him a few words in Lomanian, but frequently one or the other would tire or get frustrated at not being able to find ways to communicate complicated concepts.


    On a particularly windy evening, Baldovo was examining the wheel barometer and muttering to himself. He sensed someone nearby and turned to see Benold squinting at the device, with his hands primly placed behind his back. "Ah, I see his Highness has decided to grace us with his presence, even in this foul weather," Baldovo remarked in a jovial tone as he stood aside, nodding to Benold. Benold raised his eyebrows and gave a curt nod in turn. "I can''t decide whether my fun will end or truly begin once you understand me."


    "Understand..." Benold repeated the word dryly.


    "This is a barometer. BA-RO-ME-TER. Barometer," Baldovo said, gesturing to the dial which was slowly shifting. Benold cast him a dubious look, not deigning to repeat the word. "It measures air pressure. And it looks like a storm is on the way. A rather nasty one at that. How odd... last time there was a very similar reading. But that was before we found Trosyn."


    At the mention of Trosyn''s name Benold jerked his head back, looking at Baldovo with renewed interest. "Trosyn... We find Trosyn?"


    "Ah, no. In the past. Found. Found, not find. We found Trosyn after a big storm. Storm... uh..." Baldovo paused, rotating his wrist as he tried to think of how to communicate a storm. He pointed to the waves, which were getting larger, and then to the cloudy sky. Benold followed his gestures with a crooked eyebrow. Baldovo waved his arms in circles and made a blowing sound, then, with more spittle than intended, tried to make crashing noises. Benold stepped back, face wrinkled. "Storm."


    Benold stared at Baldovo with half lidded eyes and a faint frown. "Storm," he repeated and then looked out to sea. "You find, ah, found Trosyn... after a big storm?"


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    "Yes." Baldovo looked back at the dial, writing some notes down. "We found you before the storm."


    "Before the Storm..." Benold repeated. He waited for Baldovo to look at him before repeating the word in his own language. Benold then repeated it a few more times, gesturing for Baldovo to say it. Baldovo sighed and said the word. "Yes, yes, storm. Hopefully we are teaching each other the right words. Well, I''d love to stay and chat, but I need to speak with the captain." Baldovo placed his pencil behind his ear and tucked his papers under his arm.


    To Baldovo''s consternation, Benold followed him. However, due to the language barrier, he decided it was not worth trying to shoo him off, as such attempts in the past proved to quickly lead to contention.


    When Baldovo found the captain, he was already in conference with his head engineer and helmsman. "There''s a storm brewing. My readings-"


    "We know. We saw the signs," the helmsman cut off Baldovo.


    "Well then we must make haste before it gets here!" Baldovo insisted.


    "Are you mad? We must turn back!" the helmsman thundered.


    Baldovo placed a hand on his hip, his other still clutching his notes. "If we can just navigate..." Baldovo flipped through his papers until he pulled out the map, "...here, we will be sheltered. Surely, Captain Plumont, it''s a worthy risk?"


    "I do not like the weight of that ''if''," Captain Plumont responded, running a finger along his pencil thin moustache. "Mr. Laciay, can her screws push us through the big waves?"


    "The Helix is not easy to capsize. But as you know, I never offer guarantees," Mr. Laciay, the engineer, answered. "The trouble is she''s far from any port that could properly service her should she take heavy damage."


    The Helmsman snickered, which caused Baldovo to smile in spite of himself. Captain Plumont frowned disapprovingly at him while the engineer rolled his eyes.


    Turning his mind back to important matters, Baldovo held out the map. "We''re too close to just turn back!" Benold, who had been standing by quietly, grabbed a hold of the paper and took a look at it. His eyes darted around the page and Baldovo snatched it back. "A lack of language skills does not excuse grabby hands."


    Benold lifted an eyebrow at Baldovo, giving him a deadpan glower. The captain and his crew looked at Benold and then shrugged. "There will be other expeditions."


    "Bah! Not if the crown or private investors decide it''s a waste. We need results to secure funding," Baldovo held the map to his chest while waving his free hand emphatically.


    "You need results. I just need to ensure our safe return. I do not consider dying in a storm to be good stewardship," Captain Plumont countered dryly.


    Not about to surrender easily, Baldovo held out the map again, pointing to the cove. "We will be safe if we can get here. And not only will the Helix be proven, but you, as her Captain, will also rise in glory. If this storm is as fierce as my readings predict, and we make it back in spite of it, it will also prove the superiority of the screw steamer. Everybody wins!"


    Benold, who had been standing with his arms folded and eyes towards the rocky shore in the distance, shook his head, saying something in a very firm tone. Baldovo had the strong sense whatever he was saying, it was disagreeable and was relieved to claim ignorance. Benold them pointed to the very cove Baldovo had been insisting would give safe harbour.


    "We go there..." Benold tailed off as his eyes darted side to side. He lifted his hand and slowly ran his index finger laterally across his throat. There was no doubt in his meaning.


    "Is he making a threat?" the Helmsman asked. Baldovo shook his head.


    "I do not believe so." Baldovo squinted at Benold, speaking to him in Lomanian, knowing not all present could understand. "I do not understand. Trosyn told us this cove was the way through. Do not ruin this for me. Do not..." Baldovo sighed, knowing Benold could not understand most of what he was saying. "Trosyn said go here. We go here," Baldovo said, pointing at the spot on the map.


    Benold shook his head and refolded his arms. "No." Benold dipped his chin. "Trosyn not here." He nodded to the nap, and then gestured to the islands. "You take me to Trosyn."


    Baldovo laughed lightly. "Ah, just a misunderstanding between us, do not concern yourselves." Baldovo explained to the Captain and his crew, who were looking between the two men impatiently. Baldovo turned back to Benold. "After! After we find a way to Siperon!" Baldovo


    Benold stomped his foot. "NO!" The commanding tone of his voice irritated Baldovo, but he remained his unflappable cool. Trosyn had not been wrong in describing him as haughty and entitled. However, he felt she may not have done the man''s ego justice in her tales. But it at least lent some credence to her story.


    "Go back to your bunk, Benold," Baldovo ordered. It had no impact on Benold who straightened up and took in a deep breath, puffing out his chest like a ruffled cock ready to crow.


    "No." Benold pointed to the map and made the same throat-slitting motion. He then gestured to everyone present and made the same gesture. "You go..." he motioned to the shore with an open hand. He then shook his head gravely. The three seamen looked at each other, seeming to hold some unspoken conference. Baldovo frowned as he felt his goal slipping out of his grasp again.


    "Come now, Benold, you are making a scene," Baldovo knew he didn''t understand every word he spoke, but hoped his entreating tone would calm the ornery Siperian. If this man weren''t making his job harder, he''d be laughing at his antics.


    Benold pointed to a particularly prominent peak. To make sure everyone knew of which he spoke, he held his hands straight, fingertips touching to form an inverse V. Once he had everyone''s attention, he threw out his hands explosively while shouting some sort of loud onomatopoeia.


    "Is he trying to warn us that the volcano will erupt?" Captain Plumont asked, now scanning the horizon. With the brewing dark clouds it was hard to tell what might be smoke and which was merely portents of the oncoming storm. "That settles it. Set in a new course, we''re going back to port."


    "Oh yes, this will make a valiant story you can share with your children. When you turned the ship around because a jabbering native who believes in magic and spirits gesticulated in a threatening manner." Captain Plumont''s face puckered sourly at Baldovo''s insinuations. He walked up until he was nose to bulbous nose with the scientist.


    "Remember, I am the law on this ship. It''d do you well not to cross me." With that said, Captain Plumont clapped his hands and his engineer and helmsman quickly followed as he strode off.


    Baldovo summoned up his most baleful sink-eye he could manage just for Benold. Benold, catching his look, was nonplussed. He clicked his tongue and placed his hands behind his back, standing straight and unashamed. Baldovo huffed and waved a hand dismissively. It was not even worth getting mad at the self-important goose. He had to prepare for a storm and focus on how to spin his meagre report to ensure there would be another expedition, and that he would be on it. He''d be damned if he ended up stretched thin and at the mercy of his family, like Volente. The only other option was to determine how best to exploit Benold for his own gain.


    With this in mind, Baldovo retired to his cabin in defeat.

 Chapter 12 - Benold [WRITATHON BEGIN]

    The long voyage was most tedious. Then again, Benold always found sea travel droll. He realised how much worse it was when you could not communicate adequately with anyone on the ship. Whatever language that smug scientist was teaching him, it was not what most of the crew spoke. The only other person who seemed to understand his infantile speech was the engineer. But he was often busy and had little to say.


    It was a triumph, at least, to make it to harbour a sane man. Nose in the air, the first few steps on a solid ground were a wondrous, albeit somewhat disorienting, experience. It took him a while to stop swaying as he''d learned to do to compensate for the rocking of the ship. He cast a surreptitious glance around, eager to see he wasn''t the only one. Alas, most of the crew who went ashore adapted with relative ease. But spotting Baldovo, who was speaking with some important looking person - Benold had an eye for such - swayed a little. A half smirk crawled onto Benold''s face with smug satisfaction.


    Baldovo looked up from a document he was holding, to see Benold. Their eyes met, and Benold almost looked away to feign disinterest, but it was too late. Baldovo was beckoning him over. While Benold considered his use of the language had improved, he still needed to admit that it wasn''t quite polished enough to strike out on his own. With a grim countenance, he approached the snide researcher.


    "You''ll need a place to stay. Come."


    Benold could not deny this fact. He had no money, no contacts, and no influence with these people. He didn''t even have his gun or status to bully or intimidate people to provide him with the necessities. It took all of his willpower to not sag his shoulders after slink after Baldovo, who turned and began his stride across the pier.


    "Trosyn. Is she here?" Benold wasn''t going to let his goal slip out of his sights. He demanded that this harrowing trip had its payoff.


    Baldovo gave a shrug of his sloped shoulders. "All in good time, my waterlogged friend, all in good time. First, let''s get some real food in us." He picked up his pace, moving quicker than a man of his shape ought. But perhaps that was because food was involved.


    Benold didn''t exactly know everything that Baldovo said, as he often slipped in words that were unfamiliar. For all he knew, the man was making up words just to confused him. Although, Benold could not help but reflect how often he spoke in complex terms to Caorain who could not hope to understand all of them. Still, she seemed to understand enough to surprise him. He certainly had a new appreciation for her situation. Although Benold considered his current predicament far worse. At least Caorain had a conscientious husband teaching her patiently and kindly.


    Well. Benold believed he was kind. Certainly kinder than the paunchy, pompous man he was stuck with as his instructor.


    Aromatic smells managed to break through the stench of fish and fishermen, and Benold''s attention was piqued as his stomach made a rather ungentlemanly sound. Baldovo did mention food, and while he was uncertain if these foreigners could provide anything inoffensive to his delicate palate, the smell wasn''t too awful.


    "In you go," Baldovo said, holding the door open.


    The building didn''t look anything special, having strange pale walls with odd bumpy patterns in it. It reminded him somewhat of a messy layer of meringue. Benold walked in, head held high, trying to ignore the fact he had been wearing the same clothes for days, and hadn''t had a proper shave and trim for weeks. A quick glance around the other patrons, however, told him he needn''t worry too much about his appearance. The men here were all shamefully shabby.


    "Ah Baldovo, you mud-faced whore! Come in, come in. Who''s your rugged friend there?" A man even broader than Baldovo greeted them, slapping Baldovo on the shoulder with gusto. His red face was pinched and pushed with a wide grin, that made his close set beady eyes barely visible. Benold quickly stepped aside out of this man''s formidable reach.


    "Ladio, you porcine skunk! Ah, just some flotsam picked up on the voyage. Now then, how about two of my usuals?"


    "Two fried squid, coming up!"


    Benold was relieved when the man in the apron wandered off. There were some unusual smells in the area, to which Benold could not decide whether they were enticing or off-putting. But he decided anything would be better than the hard pucks of grain served on the ship. Baldovo led him over to a small, round table with a brightly patterned cloth, lacking in any elegance or style. Still, it appeared mostly clean. Benold gently brushed the seat he was offered with his sleeve, then sat down.


    "What is ''fried squid''?"


    "You''ll find out, and thank me later." Baldovo leaned back and rested his chubby fingers on his stomach.


    Benold was sceptical. He glowered at other patrons, elbows on the tables, talking with their mouths full, and every meal etiquette sin he could imagine. He quickly looked back at Baldovo, the lesser of evils in the room. The din of clanging steins, laughter and talking was already feeling too much like the crew''s mess. "We eat. Then you take me to Trosyn."


    "Simmer down. I need to get her address first. Floratti is too large to just knock on doors. In the meantime, relax. Enjoy yourself. Have some wine." Baldovo straightened up, lifting a hand to summon a grizzled yet spry fellow. "Wine, my good man! I''m not picky so long as it''s red!"


    "What is..." Benold began to ask, but seeing Baldovo''s eyebrows raised, he knew it was a prelude to mischief. There would be no straight answers to get from the difficult man. Benold shook his head to signal he withdrew his question. "Waiting... to find Trosyn. Ah." Benold rolled back his shoulders, sitting erect. "Where can I..." again he trailed off, finishing with stroking the unkempt scruff growing along his jaw. He then added in his own language, as if speaking it could unwind and relax the stress of speaking Lomanian. "It''s just as well finding Trosyn will take a while. I wouldn''t want her to see me like this."


    Baldovo squinted at Benold a moment or two, rubbing his own chin. Then his eyes widened and he smiled, lifting a finger. "Ah, of course. I''ll make sure you see a barber and get you to a bathhouse. Hmmm... do they have bathhouses in Siperon?"


    Benold squinted as he mouthed over some of the syllables he heard but did not understand. Teasing out what he did know, however, he knew he was being asked if they had something where he was from. "Bathhouse?"


    "Hmmm..." Baldovo rubbed his chin in thought. "Ah. Right. I didn''t teach you bath, did I? I used the word washing. Hmmm. So a place where we scrub, uh, wash, then go in warm water. Soak. Relax. We come out clean. We wash ourselves." Baldovo rubbed one shoulder, then the other, and finally scooped his hands in the air and flung it to his face, pantomiming splashing himself. Benold arched an eyebrow, but gathered the gist. Which was a relief. He needed a bath, badly.


    "Ah, yes, a bath!" Benold blurted excitedly in his native language. He then cleared his throat and straightened up, relaxing his face to erase any sign of his uncomely eagerness and repeated in Lomanian. "Bath." He rolled back his shoulders, pleased. "I have bath in my house."


    "Good for you. But a bathhouse is a not a home. It is a place people go to have a bath. Many people use it."


    Benold canted his head to the side, eyes narrowed. He wasn''t sure if he was understanding Baldovo correctly, but if he was, he was not liking what he was hearing. Bathe in a public place? Scandalous! Just as he was about to try and seek clarification with the limited vocabulary at his disposal, two tin cups were set down. Benold gazed at the dark liquid, hard to really identify in the dim lighting.


    "Drink up, you persnickety coxcomb, drink up!" Baldovo grinned and raised his cup. Unaware of the constant insults slung at him, Benold hesitantly raised his as well. He watched Baldovo quaff the beverage with abandon. Benold brought the cup to his lips and gave it a tentative sniff.


    Wondrous! Benold''s eyebrows shot up and his face relaxed in a near swoon. He recognised that bouquet immediately. Wine. Beautiful, lovely wine. It was almost too good to be true, and he decided perhaps these Lomanians weren''t so bad after all. But now knowing what was in the cup, her looked at Baldovo rather perturbed. How could he chug a luxury back like that? And serving it in cheap tin cups? Blasphemy!


    Benold took a dainty sip and savoured the experience. After living off of watered down ale, it was bliss. It was a bit weightier than his preference, but it was still an oasis in the recent slew of mishaps he had to endure.


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    "Ha! You really enjoy that, eh? Trosyn said you were quite the wine bibber." Benold ignored Baldovo''s chatter, twirling the contents of his cup and staring off into space. It wasn''t until Baldovo leaned forward, clasped hands on the table, that the man afforded his attention. "Now then. I said I will help you find Trosyn. But you will also help me. With Trosyn to translate, I need to know how you came here." Balvodo held up a hand. "And please, don''t give me your life story. Just how you got dumped in the ocean for us to find."


    Benold took a long sip of his wine, sharp eyes on Baldovo. He did not understand everything that was said, but he understood enough. Strings would be attached. This did not surprise him in the least. He had been waiting for the man to try and strike a deal with him. He shrugged his shoulders and set the cup down. "We find Trosyn. Then we talk."


    <hr>


    Smooth as butter. Benold ran his hand over his own freshly shaved cheeks. The barber that Baldovo recommended worked nothing short of wonders. Benold wistfully recalled when he used to have a barber on retainer who came to his home to pamper him. But those days were gone. He also missed having a bath in the privacy of his own estate. While he had no qualms about having a trusted servant run a bath for him and wash his hair, the idea of soaking with a bunch strange foreigners was off putting. He spent most of the time with his eyes closed, trying to imagine himself at home.


    At least he had some fresh clothes. Benold looked down at the shirt that did not quite fit right. A display of a tailor''s work in the shop windows was not necessarily strange to him. What he discovered, however, were clothes that had been made ahead of time. One could walk in, select a shirt, pay, and walk out. The notion had some appeal for convenience, but the execution was poor. The sleeves were too long, and the breeches were too short. He still had his original boots, which were ruined by the seawater, but still serviceable, but they did not quite reach the hem of his bottoms, which irritated him.


    "Where now?" Benold asked as he trailed behind Baldovo, who strolled at a leisurely pace through the crowded streets. The people around him wore such bright clothes and the women all had their hair down. He thought perhaps it was because all of the married women were at home minding their households, but then he saw several of such women openly kissing or hugging men in the streets. Certainly, they must be married to carry on in such a way in public. He wasn''t sure how he felt about all women dressing like maidens. And with flowers in their hair, too!


    "Now I shall take you to my humble abode," Baldovo responded, pausing at a stall to eye some sort of confection. Benold huffed lightly, scornful at the man. Not only did he down a large plate of that gritty, chewy monstrosity he called a delicacy, he ate half of Benold''s as well. It was a valiant effort to keep eating the ringlets of indecipherable flesh out of politeness, but the battle was eventually lost.


    "Your... humble abode..." Benold repeated uncertainly.


    "My house."


    "Ah." Benold frowned. As much as he looked forward to some place where he might get some quiet time and put up his feet, he was not keen on sharing space with his guide much longer. He had little choice.


    Upon entering a building with smooth arches, framed with tasteful hanging plants, a woman was upon them in moments. Out from her apron she took some letters and threw them at Baldovo. He fumbled to catch them, one or two flipping out of his grasp and landing on the ground. "Mister Danaudi! You-"


    "Bah! Woman! Enough with you! I can''t get in the door without the harpies descending!"


    "Your rent is late. Until you pay, no supper." The woman was old, wiry, and her face dominated by a large noise and tiny, dark eyes that peered out like a hostile rodent. She gestured a gnarled finger to Benold. "And who is this!? Another tramp? Or is this one an actual investor?" The woman paused, giving Benold a more critical eye.


    Benold straightened his posture and lifted his nose. He did not like the tone this woman was using, nor the way she was sizing him up. The shrew reminded him somewhat of his housekeeper, but with far less decorum. "He''s a foreigner in need of bed. I assure you, Mrs. Checci, he will not be here for long."


    "See that he isn''t. I don''t like the look of him." She turned directly to Benold, pointing a slightly curved finger, like a talon, at him. "Keep your airs to yourself. This isn''t a hoity-toity hotel."


    Benold jerked his chin back, frowning deeply at the woman. Her tone conveyed much more than her chattering. "Now see here madam..." Benold began, then remembered she wouldn''t understand a word of his indignant speech. Instead he nodded and added a begrudging, "right you are."


    "You''ll get your money when I''ve had a chance to settle in. I told you I would be at sea," Baldovo grumbled as he picked up the fallen epistles.


    "And I told you to pay in advance!" The woman put her hands in her spacious apron, pulling out a parcel. "There''d better be money in this!" She tossed it at Baldovo who dropped the letters in his hands to catch it. "Next time you go to sea, I''ll throw your things in the street."


    "Do that and I''ll poison you like the miserable rat you are!" He eyed the parcel in his hands. "This had better not contain anything fragile, house wench!"


    The woman bared her teeth and made an awful noise, between a scream and a hiss before she turned and stormed off. Baldovo turned to Benold and smiled pleasantly, as if he hadn''t been in a row with a feisty termagant. "Do not fear her temper. She comes by it naturally, being my cousin."


    "Cousin?" Benold tilted his head, wondering if that were the word for wife. He hoped not.


    Baldovo did not elucidate, preoccupied with picking up all of the flung papers that littered the ground. "Well, let''s head up."


    Humble abode was an appropriate description of the one bedroom apartment Baldovo lived in. Benold looked around with a wrinkled face at the sloppy, cluttered room with no rhyme or reason to its furniture or other items. There was a desk in the room, not squared against any of the four walls, but angled and off centre. It was covered in papers, and there was another table just under a poorly shuttered window, beams of mote filled light sneaking in through the cracks. Instruments of unknown purpose lined wooden shelves, and two mismatched chairs were placed near a tiny wood stove. Another corner was occupied by a settee, but several coats and other outer garbs were tossed over it. The walls were papered with various charts and maps, all of which meant nothing to Benold.


    "Sit. Make yourself at home," Baldovo instructed absently as he shuffled through the post. He set the letters aside and untied the twine from the brown paper parcel. His face bespoke disappointment as his lower lip stuck out petulantly, but his eyebrows drew together in consternation. He lifted a stack of even more letters out.


    Benold looked around at the seats available, and gingerly lowered himself into one of the chairs by the stove, although it was not in operation. He glared at the blackening on the wall above the stove, reminded of his own home, ruined by fire.


    "Damn." There was a shuffling of paper. "Damnation to the darkest nights. That puts a screw in my plans."


    "What?" Benold asked, turning slightly to look at Baldovo.


    In his hands Baldovo held two different letters, eyes darting between both of them, lips moving. He glanced up briefly at Benold then at the letters again. "I guess I won''t be taking you to Trosyn after all. She''s missing."


    Benold took in a breath, his heart beginning to race. He felt that tightness across his chest again. "What is ''missing''?"


    "Gone!" Baldovo barked back. "Not here!" He frowned and set the letters down, placing his hands on his hips.


    "Not here? Where?"


    "I don''t know! No one does! She''s gone."


    Gone? Dumbstruck, Benold stared. It was most fortuitous than he was already sitting, for he felt as if he might fall. He had taken for granted that he''d be reunited with Trosyn at last, only for her to be yanked out of his grasp yet again. A sharp pain jabbed in his chest and his hand groped at his shirt. "Gone..."

 Chapter 13 - Caorain

    "It''s too tight." It was hard to understand the fashion of the continental people. Caorain bit her lower lip as the maid tightened laces, cinching her waist. "Bad. Hurt." She stared directly into the mirror, catching the maid''s face in the reflection. After she rose her head in surprise, she eased on the ties.


    "Sorry, Miss. Er. Mistress."


    Caorain wanted nothing more than to slip into the looser, simple gowns donned by her people and snuggle into a fur, or perhaps deerskin cloak. She placed a hand on the copper torq at her neck, relieved she was at least entitled to wear this, signifying her importance to her clan. Sadly, that importance was predicated on her union with the foreigner.


    Caorain took a deep breath as the maid finished helping her dress. She felt like a doll. But Benold expected her to dress like his people. The maid picked up a brush, but Cairain quickly laid her hand over the maid''s and shook her head. "No. I do it."


    "As you wish," the maid said, relenting control of the brush. "Anything else, ma''am?"


    "No."


    The maid curtsied and left, muttering to herself. Caorain stuck out her lips in a pout. "I don''t need to know your words to understand your meaning..." she muttered resentfully to the servant as she exited. Caorain focused on brushing and braiding her hair. "Do they think I am deaf?"


    "No. They merely don''t believe we have feelings."


    Caorain swallowed and glanced into the mirror. Standing framed in her door, left open by the maid supposedly, was her cousin. Seeing her, she relaxed. "Asion. Why have you come? Is anything amiss?"


    "It is. But I need not troubles to visit my kin." The deer tails that hung from asion''s belt swayed as she came in, standing behind her cousin. Caorain finished tying the end of her long braid and tossed it over her shoulder.


    "It is not father?"


    "No." Asion placed her hands on the back of Caorain''s chair. "Chief Limtan has died."


    "What?" Caorain''s eyes widened. She put down her brush with a heavy clack, immediately lowering her gaze, lower lip dropped. "Who, then, succeeded him as chief?"


    "His nephew, Guclein MorKarria."


    The words fell on Caorain heavily, and felt as though many bees were stinging her heart. She sucked in her lower lip, holding it in place with her teeth as she tried in vain to think of all of the ramifications. "The MorKarria have much reason to despise the Ayokonians. Will they march on New Karebryn?"


    "We fear so. A messenger has been sent to see which way they will turn." Asion''s knuckles went pale as the gripped the back of the chair harder. "It is likely, Haggol will come to free you."


    Caorain''s eyelashes fluttered and she continued to stare down. Freedom. From this strange place, and to be with her own people. But Haggol was just as bad of a husband as Benold. "I will defend this house if he comes."


    Asion''s eyebrows lifted, but then she relaxed and smiled, somewhat grimly. "Honour in duty."


    "Honour in duty."


    <hr>


    "Mrs. Gray!" Caorain had become very good at saying the crone''s name. She looked up as she draped a large bolt of cloth over her arm, to allow the masons access to the badly damaged wall.


    "I''ll await your assessment. Don''t dally," Mrs. Gray said sternly to the men, who wore plaster dust in their hair and mortar caked on their clothes as a sort of badge. With prim steps and erect posture, the hard heels of her pointy leather boots clicked as she approached Caorain and Asion, giving a short curtsy. "What?"


    Caorain lifted her chin in a manner she had often observed her husband do, letting her eyelids droops as she stared her nose down at the housekeeper. Mrs. Gray twisted her mouth into a frown at this. "I mean, what is it, my lady?"


    "Need..." Caorain paused uncertainly. "Warriors."


    "Warriors?" Mrs. Gray looked around, uncertainly. "Are you plotting conquest while the master is away?"


    "Your mistress is concerned about defence. Is not that right, Caorain?" Asion filled in with her greater command of Siperian.


    "Defence? Why? Has someone threatened you, m''lady?" Grs. Gray seemed torn between scepticism, as her tone sounded suspicious and her lips remain screwed into asymmetry. But the darting of her eyes and slant of her eyebrows gave a hint of concern.


    Asion took in a breath, but Caorain held up her hand and stepped forward. "No." She lowered her hand and looked to Asion. "MorKarria new chief. Enemy." She looked to her wolf-clad cousin and nodded to her. "Tell her an attack may happen, but is not yet known. I want scouts. And I want guards - here."


    "MorKarria, neighbour clan, have a new chief, Guclein. To him, New Karebryn is the enemy. Attack is not known, but better to increase defence now."


    Mrs. Gray hugged the heavy cloth tighter to herself, shuffling the majority of the weight to her other arm. "And why tell me this? We have a sheriff."


    "He listen not!" Caorain retorted, patting her chest with her hand twice. "Listen Benold, only!" Caorain then pointed to Mrs. Gray. "You, you listen."


    "Asion, as liaison, could speak with the sheriff directly. Why bring me into this? I know nothing these matters. Master Benold always ar-"


    "Master here not!" Caorain interrupted. She rolled back her shoulders, trying to look as imperious and commanding as her husband had always been. "I here. I speak for Benold. Asion does not."


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    Asion nodded her head, crossing her arms. "I will help Caorain speak, no speak for her."


    "I still don''t understand why you came to me," Mrs. Gray groused.


    Caorain''s strong demeanour faltered. "I... know not how to meet Sheriff."


    At this Mrs Gray''s furrowed brow mostly uncreased, save for the permanent wrinkles that informed of her weary experiences in life. "Ah. That I can help you with." Mrs. Gray paused. "How have your writing lessons come along? Do you need me to write a summons for you?"


    Caorain regained her composure and nodded her head. Mrs. Gray''s expression softened considerably. "Well then, let us go to the study and I''ll send a messenger into town as soon as possible."


    As the three of them walked through the scorched halls, Asion leaned to her shorter cousin. "You put on airs just like him."


    "I deal with his people, I deal with them in his way." Caorain''s plump lips thinned as she stuck her chin out.


    "Are you sure that is wise? They may not respect you if you pretend to be him."


    "These people are happy to be deceived by appearance. I appear to be powerful, then that is enough."


    "Be careful. There will be those, even among them, who will challenge you. Are you ready to stand your ground, Caorain?"


    Wearing a grim smile, Caorain answered, "I am. What have I to lose but everything?"


    <hr>


    The natural light of the setting sun came in full blast from the west facing window. Caorain lifted a hand, and the hapless mai, overworked and underpaid, went to adjust the heavy drapes. The mistress of the estate sat with her hands on her lap as a man walked in, removing his hat and bowing his head.


    "I came as soon as I got the message. Has the Governor returned already?"


    "No." Caorain said with a shake of her head.


    The blocky man standing before her cast a gaze around, confusion dawning on his face before he carefully reset it to neutral, seeming to will his chiselled features to harden in place. "Ah. Well. Has there been some trouble at the estate you needed to report?"


    Caorain hesitated. Asion had her rehearse what she would say over and over. She sucked on her lower lip a moment and glanced down, but then leaned back in her chair slightly, feeling reassured by the wicker that curved naturally around her shoulders. She looked the man directly in the eyes. "Sheriff Poul. I summoned you on behalf of Master Ovollar. I act in his interests." So far it all sounded right. She didn''t stutter, but she took a moment to pause, pick apart what was said, and prepare the next part. A quick glance to Asion, who stood still and silent in a corner, was all she needed to continue. "The MorKarria chief died, his truce died with him. We need more patrols. We need a scout. We need guards posted here again."


    The sheriff stood and stared blankly at Caorain, which was exacerbated by his spaced out eyes. His thumbs twiddled above his hat, which several times looked as if it might tumble out of his grasp. After a sideways glance, he looked directly at Caorain again. "We don''t have the manpower to be sending out scouts and patrols as well as keep peace in our own streets. With the recent wave of opportunity seekers, we have been having plenty of trouble at the docks."


    Caorain canted her head to the side, listening carefully. She hazarded a glance to Asion, who remained mostly concealed from the Sheriff. Asion held up a hand signal, her fingers from each hand barely touching, forming a perpendicular angle. Caorain nodded and swallowed hard, her nerves beginning to gnaw at her. "Enlist farmers if you... must."


    The Sheriff crossed his arms, hat tucked under his armpit. "Then who will tend the farms?"


    Again Caorain glanced to the corner containing her cousin. She did not want to seem weak by always requiring the Lienog liaison. However, she was finding this charade was a bit much, and not sustainable. She was out of practiced phrases. Caorain took in a deep breath, her heart thumping, and the back of her neck was feeling moist with nervous perspiration. "We need patrols," she repeated.


    Despite disliking the use of restrictive garments, Caorain was glad for them at present, as it kept her from slumping in defeat. She rolled her shoulders back and raised her eyebrows in a challenge for him to continue to defy her.


    Sheriff Poul snorted, looking her up and down. "Look, I don''t take kindly to some savage ordering me around. Your purpose doesn''t extend beyond the bedroom. Unless there''s been a burglary here, or some other real crime, don''t waste my time." As a punctuating statement of his disrespect, Poul put on his hat.


    Caorain quickly glanced at Asion, who looked as though she might leap from the shadows. Caorain gave quick jerk of her head to the side and a flick of her fingers to signal her to stay. She then narrowed her eyes at the impertinent man. She didn''t know all of the words, but his expression and body language said enough. "Do as I say!" Caorain threw out her hand, towards the man, trying again to embody Benold''s bluster.


    Sheriff Poul chuckled derisively as he strode out of the study. With a flash, Asion''s dagger was drawn. Caorain shook her head, and Asion held back, allowing the Sheriff to see himself out.


    "He was out of line and needed to be taught a lesson. Why did you hold me back?" Asion asked as she stepped from her cloaked vantage point among the drapes.


    "You are our ambassador. Attacking Sheriff Poul would create tension between New Karebryn and our kin. If we wish to regain our lands, and teach these devourers The Way, it will not be with blood shed." Caorain stood up, glaring at the doorway through which the Sheriff had evacuated.


    "But now he will see you as weak. So will the men under his command," Asion said, her face turning grave. She likewise glowered at the exit, crossing her arms and shifting her weight. "Have you secured your position?"


    The muscles in Caorain''s throat displayed in sharp relief as she tensed. She swallowed and shook her head. "I did my best, cousin. He wants only Trosyn. He promises me cattle if he does not return. But will they honour it?"


    "Let us hope it does not come to that. Without him as Governor, I fear our plans will be frustrated." Asion walked around to the large desk in the study, picking up a piece of paper and examining it before setting it down again.


    Caorain remained seated. "Your plans," Caorain said quietly.


    Asion turned to Caorain, leaning against the desk and arching an eyebrow. "This has been hard on you. But it is for our village and our extended kin. We will do our best to convince the MorKarria it is for theirs as well. But all the same, we need a contingency. We cannot have that rash stag, Guclein, setting us back."


    "No. We cannot. Not after what I gave up for this purpose. And as I said, if it comes to baring our fangs, I will defend what is mine." Caorain looked around at the room, once opulent she imagined before the fire. "Benold is frustrating and extravagant. But a wife who does not defend her home, is a worthless wife. I do not believe, even if I returned home with a bounty, any man will look at me if I turn on him."


    "Any man except Haggol," Asion added with a soft snort. "No. You spoke well to remind me of your duty, and what brings you honour. It is not the same for me, and my family legacy."


    Caorain did not wish to discuss Asion''s legacy. Although related, Caorain was the daughter of Asion''s uncle. But they both came from the only matrilineal family in their clan. As the daughter of a son, she was mere leftovers. "What do I do about Sheriff Poul?"


    Asion took a moment to consider the situation. "He said the docks were trouble. We learn about it, and see what we can do to fix it so he has no more excuse. Then make more commands, with more threats."


    "These people are attached to things. Without work, they cannot trade for more things," Caorain mused. "I will replace him as Sheriff if he does not do his job."


    "Is there someone you have in mind?" Asion asked with a cant of her head.


    Caorain was silent for a moment, listening to the banging of repair work being done. Her lips curled up in a smile. "Yes, I do."

 Chapter 14 - Benold

    Benold glared at the slovenly array of the room that he''d been in for days now.  A doctor of sorts had come and gone after his collapse.  Being poked and prodded was insufferable to begin with, but by a foreign physician who didn''t even try to acknowledge him as a person was worse.  But the final insult was being told he had to stay in this stink hole and rely even more on that jabbertooth, Baldovo.  He ought to be looking for Trosyn, not lazing around in a flat that would embarrass swine.


    Voices could be heard out in the hall and Benold turned around to face the wall.  His back ached from the couch he had been sleeping on, but it was all Baldovo could afford him.  Whoever that fat rat was bringing with him, he did not want to engage.  So when he heard the door open and close, so too shut his eyes, and he tried to focus on breathing slowly.


    Two men talked to each other and he didn''t even try to understand their language, with its effervescent cadence.  That is, until he heard his name.


    "Oh looks like Benold is asleep.  Should I wake him?"


    "I really am astounded you found him."


    Benold knew the phrase ''found him'' and could tell he was the subject.  But this perturbed him enough that he held his breath and listened more.  It concerned him that his meeting may not have been mere coincidence.  And he never understood Baldovo''s explanations on how he knew Trosyn, other than it had something to do with the sea and a storm.  A sickly feeling of unease filled his chest, and he began to worry the pain would return.  He shifted.


    "Oh.  Maybe we woke him already." came Baldovo''s voice.  There was a shuffling sound and the impertinent man''s voice could be heard closer.  "Alright, let''s get you up and get introductions over with."


    There was no point in pretending to be asleep any further.  Squinting, Benold rolled back over and slowly sat up, trying to untwist himself from the throw blanket he''d been covered in.  He did not appreciate making his first acquaintance with so many people while in such disarray.  But there was nothing to help that.  Benold yawned and rubbed his eyes, focusing on the other man in the dim light.


    "Greetings, Mr. Ovollar.  Or would it be sir?"  the man who spoke was older than himself, if judged by the wavy silver hair and ample worry lines etched in furrows deep enough to plant squash in.  He wore spectacles - which indicated to Benold this man probably had some means as such contraptions could not be afforded by the common folk.  Benold lifted his chin to him in greeting, but said nothing.


    After a brief silence, Baldovo chimed in.  "He doesn''t have you-know-who''s knack for language.  As I explained, even mentioning the name gets him agitated.  So I stopped."


    "I see..." the other man said, frowning thoughtfully.  He then cleared his throat and stood beside Baldovo, leaning forward a little so that he was more on Benold''s seated level.  He placed a long-fingered hand on his chest.  "I..." he paused, patting his chest again while raising his voice, and Benold rolled his eyes.  "...am Volente. Voh-len-tay."


    "I am not deaf!" Benold snapped.  But he needed to remember his manners and he took in a deep breath and stood up.  This Volente character also straightened up, lifting his eyebrows and deepening the lines in his high forehead. He gave Baldovo a scathing look for having never taught him how to handle a proper, polite introduction. Borrowing what the man said to him, he tried to funnel all of his gentile upbringing into his tone, relaxing his face to appear respectfully unaffected but still vaguely interested. "Greetings, Volente."


    "Ah!" Volented clasped his hands together.  "Very good, very good!" the older gentleman turned to Baldovo.  "Ah, yes, I can certainly see that self-important air she often described him as having.  Remarkable!  To really see him here, in Lomany!  What odd timing."


    Benold tried to remain patient as the man clearly talked about him rather than to him.  But he was beginning to get used to this.  He racked his brain, trying to recall if he did this to Caorain.  He didn''t think so, but he was a man who relied heavily on careful landscaping of his memories.


    "Well, as you can see, because of my ailing guest, I cannot put you up unless you are fine sleeping in a chair or on the floor by the stove.  But I doubt your old bones could handle it.  I''m surprised you survived the voyage, you geriatric goat!"  Baldovo laughed heartily and gave his friend a solid pat on the shoulder, which seemed to rattle the reedy fellow.  He quickly did his best to correct his interrupted posture, narrowing his eyes briefly at Baldovo, but then put on a simpering smile.


    "I often fall asleep in chairs without trying these days.  I would rather put my money towards finding Tro-I mean, her. "


    Benold narrowed his eyes and frowned.  "Trosyn?"


    "Oh now you''ve done it!" Baldovo bemoaned, placing the back of his hand against his forehead as he gazed to the ceiling.  Volente bit his lower lip and quickly occupied himself with cleaning his spectacles.


    "When do we find Trosyn?" Benold balled his hands into fists, knowing that Baldovo was getting tired of this question.  But the displaced Siperian was beginning to suspect he was being lied to.  He wondered if the intention was ever to find her.  But what could these men gain by such lies?


    Volente replaced his spectacles, adjusting them gently with a spindly finger.  "As soon as possible, I hope." He gave a weary yet seemingly friend smile.  "My dear fellow, I wish I could reassure you.  We''ll just have to do the best we can to help each other."


    "You needn''t waste your feigned niceties on him.  Especially since I know you feel threatened he will take Trosyn away," Baldovo grumbled.  Benold strained and tried to piece together what was being said, but there was just too much going on to decipher any meaning.  All he knew was whatever was said, caused Volente to frown and look away, busying himself with checking his pockets until he could retrieve a handkerchief.  But one thing was right, and one thing he did understand.  Benold had every intention of taking Trosyn away.  And these men would not stop him.


    "I am ready.  We go find Trosyn," Benold proclaimed, giving both of them men what he intended to be a wary eye, informing them that he was not going to be tricked by either of them.


    "Well he is certainly eager," Volente remarked as he walked over to the cluttered desk.  He unlatched a satchel at his side, taking some pieces of paper out.  Although it was doubtful Benold could understand any of the words, he had spent some of his time merely copying every letter he could find, trying to familiarise himself with their script.


    "What have you, Volente?" Baldovo asked, also hedging in to peer over the smaller man''s shoulder.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "As said in the copies I sent you, Mr. Fidochi mentioned visiting somewhere called Noneva House before his letters stopped.  I asked around, and learned its location.  It is in the more pastoral outskirts of Floratti," Volente said, handing a roughly sketched map with some text scribbled on it to Baldovo for his examination.


    "Who is Mr. Fidochi?"


    Volente''s eyebrows raised and he looked surprised at Benold.  After some hesitation, he replied, "He... he was helping me find Trosyn.  But then, he died."  It didn''t take much for Benold to imagine the meaning, when Volente held his fists side by side, then quickly pantomimed a breaking motion.  Something bad happened.


    "He find Trosyn?" Benold asked, tensing, racked with concern that whatever ill fate befell this Fidochi character also may have befallen Trosyn.


    "I do not know.  His letters..." Volente picked up a piece of paper and waved it.  Seeing the smudge of a wax seal that remained, Benold knew what it was.  "...stopped." The silver haired man shook his head and slashed the air with his hands.  "No letters.  No news of Trosyn."


    "Trosyn could be in danger.  We need to..." Benold halted his slip back into his native tongue and corrected himself, trying to order his thoughts.  "We need find Trosyn! Fast!"  Benold looked around.  "Have you..." he paused and thought a while, then held out an arm straight, while using his other arm to support it, a single finger extended and curved like a finger resting on a trigger.


    The two men looked at each other, Baldovo with amusement and Volente with horror.  The more fragile of the two men raised his handkerchief to his nose.  "Gun?  Heavens, no!  No gun!"


    Baldovo glanced towards the door that led into his bedroom, then back at Volente.  "Well.  I have one, but I''m not about to put it in his hands.  But, all the same, it might be wise for me to dig out my pistol and bring it."


    Volente''s eyes widened.  "Mercy me.  Why do you have a pistol, Baldovo?"


    "Why not?  Never know what sort of trouble you''ll encounter doing field research," Baldovo said with a shrug of his sloped shoulders.  "Now stop being a lady''s blouse about it.  Let''s go see this Noneva house and see what we can glean."


    Benold crossed his arms.  He held his hand out expectantly at Baldovo.  Baldovo stared at him questioningly, then glanced back at his room.  "Oh no!  Not for you.  My pistol.  Mine."  Then he had the gall to walk away, leaving Benold hanging.  Grumbling, Benold withdrew his hand.  There was a clatter from the other room, garnering the notice of the men who remained without.  Eventually, expectant eyes saw Baldovo re-emerge victorious, holding a hefty pistol above his head.  Volente made a strangled noise of dismay in his throat and Benold again held out his hand.


    "Give."


    "I said no!  You may not have my pistol."  Baldovo patted his chest with the side of the weapon.  "My pistol.  Not yours.  Mine."


    Benold squinted at the man, flaunting his weapon.  He was still bitter about the loss of his own dear rifle, which had seen him through many dangerous encounters and triumphant hunts.  It was doubtful this urbane man could properly aim his weapon.  It didn''t look like it was well maintained, with an unsightly smudge on the barrel and patches of dust along the wooden handle.


    "Wash... pistol."  It wasn''t quite the right word, Benold knew, but he wasn''t sure how else to convey that weapon would be a hazard without some proper care.


    "Wash...?"  Baldovo glanced at it.  "I suppose it is a little dirty, but that happens."  Baldovo untucked the bottom of his shirt and used it to wipe off the dust, which made Benold squirm inside.


    "No you idiot!" Benold couldn''t take it anymore.  "A quick wipe down is not proper firearm maintenance!  A weapon like this is your lifeline, an extension of yourself, and dangerous!  It requires respect!  It requires to be carefully and tenderly cleaned, every single part and..."  Seeing the two men staring bewildered at his lecture, he trailed off into a defeated sigh.  He then wagged an admonishing finger at Baldovo.  "If you pull that out, I''m not sticking around to see the disaster that results!"


    Volente leaned closer to Baldovo.  "You really set him off.  Trosyn did mention he was quite the marksman.  Perhaps we ought to get him a pistol of his own?"


    "Don''t be daft, man!  Who is going to pay for another?"  Baldovo held his weapon up, causing Volente to cringe and move away.  "These don''t come cheap, now, do they?"


    "N-no, I suppose not..." Volente muttered.


    Benold crossed his arms and turned his back on the two foolish men.  If only they could understand his magnificent skill with firearms, they wouldn''t be so stingy.  After a moment of solid sulking, he jumped at feeling a hand on his shoulder and immediately slapped it off.  Spinning around, he saw Volente holding his hand, eyebrows furrowed.


    "That was unnecessary," Volente pouted.  He then sighed and gestured to the exit.  "Are you ready?  We go look for Trosyn."


    Finally, some progress.  Benold nodded his head, but still gave Baldovo a dirty look but then headed towards the exit, but waited for both Volente and Baldovo to walk through before he took up the rear.  He wasn''t convinced that these men could be trusted, but he had little choice but to be led along and hope it would take him towards his goal.


    The three men all piled into a carriage.  Benold was adamant about being one bench to himself, while the other two squeezed in the seat opposite from him.  The clop of hooves and rumbling of the coach was soothing and Benold nearly drifted off, but he could not entirely let himself relax.  There was a fear that if he were to surrender entirely to sleep, they would leave him behind and go find Trosyn themselves.  They talked amongst themselves, but since neither his name nor Trosyn''s came up, he did not pay much attention.


    Finally the carriage pulled to a stop.  Benold looked out at the gently rolling hills covered in coats of grass, dotted with yellow and pink wildflowers.  The dirt road they turned on was tufted with daring weeds trying their luck in the furrows made from wagon wheels.  Surrounded by trees which huddled together conspiratorially was a formidable cast iron gate, which lead up to a bold, stone structure with a stout tower which stood stalwart between two wings of asymmetrical dimensions. No on could be seen on the grounds past the gate, and there was an eerie hush that fell over the property.  It seems incongruous with the lazy afternoon sun shining down, and it felt as though birds ought to be twittering, but there was hardly a buzzing of a gnat.


    Not that Benold minded.  He rather despised gnats.


    "It almost seems abandoned..." Baldovo murmured to Volente, who had taken out his handkerchief and was dabbing just under his pinched nose.


    "Maybe they are just having... quiet prayers," Volente suggested hopefully, but he shivered all the same.  Which was odd considering the pleasant, balmy climate.


    "Is Trosyn here?" Benold asked in his singular way.


    "That''s what we''re hoping," Baldovo responded grimly.  "Well, we might as well ring the bell and see if anyone comes to the gates."


    Volente hung back, squinting at the surrounding area while Baldovo boldly stepped forward.  Benold walked straight up to the gate, grasping the bars in his hand and giving it a quick rattle, trying to determine how firmly it was secured.  Baldovo raised a bushy eyebrow at him, but then pulled on a string, ringing a large bell, whose knell came out loud and clear, carrying across the sullen silence of the place.


    Benold released the gate and stood back, watching anxiously for someone to come greet them and let him inside.  Not that he would let a gate keep him away from retrieving what was his.  He''d come too far to be deterred by a mere fence.