Better

“That’s the thing ‘bout this city, everyone thinks issa land of opportunity, gold, ‘n riches. They listen to the stories and eat up the lies. They think whatever they gonna find here will make their life better. Then they arrive and all they wanna do is leave. Talk ‘bout leavin’, plan on leavin’, save up supplies for leavin’. But, that’s the thing about this city. No one leaves. Ever.” A loud, wet burp followed the proclamation and Arnen looked up at the sailor - more likely pirate - as he spoke to her. His neck was shadowed with coarse hair and his breath wafted down to her thick with the sickly scent of his last drink. He was holding a badly creased cap in one meaty hand and gesturing broadly around them with the other. Dirt stood out clearly under his nails and his red tunic was heavily stained, missing a belt and hanging loosely around his breeches. His bare feet were two shades darker than his legs and the golden hoop in his ear was an obvious fake.

She looked back out at her burning ship, at the oily smoke rising into the lightening sky, and wondered if he would notice her walk away, if he was even addressing her or if he routinely came out to the rotting docks each morning to monologue drunkenly to anyone who would listen. But she stayed. She stayed and stared at the last five years of her life slowly crumble into the trash-clogged waters of the port. A breeze ruffled her tunic and loose breeches. Screaming seagulls circled the wreckage daring each other to dive among the broken bits of her life for scraps of cargo. Salted fish, smoked pork, bolts of silk all carried from the continent to this floating city off the edge of the map. All packed carefully in the hull of her small ship, tucked next to the sparse belongings and rolled mats of two crew members that didn’t finish the journey they had begun as a team of five. Pointless. It was all pointless.

Arnen finally turned away from the fire and surveyed what the years of planning, the deaths of two good men, and hundreds of gold pieces had bought her. The ranting man next to her seemed to represent the general population of the lost city of Consah. Hollow eyes seemed to stare out each window as people woke and suspiciously dark puddles stained each wooden walkway. She met the eyes of the people staring out at her. She wondered who had set fire to her ship hours after it docked? Who had crept out of the dying city in the middle of the night to destroy the only opportunity for anyone to leave this cursed place? Maybe it was as the belching pirate said, maybe the city fed on despair and ashes.

“Man few years back tried to swim away. Sev - he’s the lookout you saw comin’ in - said he saw him get swallowed up by a whale…I believe it. This place is death. This is what we get…this is our punishment…” He trailed off and looked down sadly at the cap in his hand. Arnen continued staring out at the city and wondered how long this pitiful man had been in Consah. What had brought him here and what terrible things he had done to believe he deserved this life. The eyes that had been staring out at her destroyed livelihood were joined by the skinny frames of men and women drawn to the crackling flames. Their homes made up the outskirts of a city that seemed to consist entirely of wooden, creaking buildings rising slowly up toward an apex in the center that made the whole place resemble the sloping shell of a giant sea turtle.

When she had ventured out after docking she had quickly surmised the port wasn’t simply the hovels of poverty that surrounded every city. There were no distinct social classes or districts of commerce. The whole island was a city of loss. Her remaining crew had quickly found a sticky tavern to drown their growing sense of anxiety and realization that the whole journey had been a waste. Arnen had continued walking up the sloping wooden planks toward the city center. It had been so quiet, so dark, the only light coming from the reflections her lantern cast in the eyes of the stray cats occupying each alleyway. Descendents of ship cats that had grown fat off stowaway rats and now grew thin off scraps.

The dark, creaking journey had only brought her further into a slum that called itself a city. These ghostly streets mocking her foiled journey for a lost city of plenty. She had seen very few people and no one offered a greeting, though it was clear they all regarded her as a new arrival. Some curious, bony children had followed her to the small circle of shanties that formed the center of the island. She had considered hiking out to the opposite side of the wasteland, but the sun was to rise soon and her crew would need direction. She never made it back to the tavern having seen the smoke first and knowing in her gut what it meant.

Now she stood staring back at the haunted eyes. The image of her future. No. She would find a way home. She would take her men and leave this awful place. Arnen understood she was responsible for the deaths of two men, that her ambition had cost her that and so much more, but she refused to believe this was a punishment. That she was destined to waste away in a manner almost perfectly designed to crush her wandering spirit was too ridiculous. Besides, Hell wouldn’t allow its prisoners to seek comfort in the arms of ale. She always imagined sinners would have to suffer the afterlife sober. Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders she left the mumbling pirate and went to find her crew.

The tavern was empty. Those who had been treating their memories with alcohol had all crawled off somewhere to sleep fitfully until it was time to begin the process again. Arnen imagined the two men and young woman that had helped her reach this place were stumbling about trying to find something else to distract them from the disappointment Consah had turned out to be. A barmaid was picking up pieces of glass by one of the back tables. A dirty cloth was slung over one thin shoulder and her hair was tied back from a pointed face. She wore brighter colors than the people she had seen milling around on the docks. A faded red blouse and dark blue breeches hung on her frame and had obviously once belonged to someone larger.

The young woman looked up and met Arnen’s curious gaze with one of indifference. “Closed till sundown.” Arnen shook her head in response, still surprised at the total lack of curiosity these people had in a new arrival. It couldn’t happen that often, or the place would be overrun. Unless something nefarious took place when overpopulation became a problem. “I’m looking for my crew, they were here last night.” The barmaid tossed the broken shards she had collected out an open window without a glance to see if some poor passerby was standing outside. “That sad lot shuffled off a few hours back moaning about home and dashed dreams. Quite melodramatic in terms of our usual lost sailors. They also owe me quite a tab.” Arnen furrowed her brows at the belittling of her shipmates, but also at the thought of spending currency here. Now that she had walked the streets she didn’t understand what good gold would do for someone cut off from trade, from the world. The young woman seemed to read her thoughts and pointed at a sign listing various forms of labor for different available drinks. “Would you like an ale? I’ve been told it is different from continent drink, but still does the trick.” Arnen scrubbed her hands over her face and looked back out the door past the growing mass of onlookers at the dying remains of her life. “I have nowhere better to be. Perhaps after a drink, you can point me toward my crew?” The woman rolled her eyes and slammed a mug onto the counter. “Let them be. You captains are always the last to realize what the sailors know right away. There is no point in rallying your men. There is no need to bolster their morale and prepare to strike back out to sea. This is it. This is your life now. They knew the moment the first scent of smoke wafted through my windows.”

Arnen sank onto a barstool and watch amber liquid fill the poorly wiped mug. She wanted to ask this woman about her involvement in the fire, where she could find her crew, stories of those who left because surely someone had been successful. She didn’t want to take the word of a drunk over the drive in her heart to keep moving, to explore further, and find the lost floating city that this horrible place was attempting to imitate. But she didn’t, couldn’t. The words formed on her tongue but couldn’t push past her lips. A heavy blanket of apathy was settling on her shoulders as she slouched over the ale and stared at her watery reflection.

“This is your home now. I was born here, don’t know any different and I think that’s my blessing. People like you come and act as if your world has ended, but this is my world and it works just fine for me.” The statement had a monotone sound to it like she had repeated this speech for many other ears at many other times. Arnen just shook her head and took a swig. She winced at the salty and sour taste, but the burn of alcohol was present and that’s all that mattered to her now. “What’s your name?” The barmaid smirked and started to wipe a stain that was deeply set into the grain of the wood. “What’s it matter if you’re leaving?” Arnen just waited and the girl sighed. “Meli. Was the name of me pap’s ship. Two generations my family has lived here.” She rubbed the spot with a bit more aggression before moving on to another stain further away from Arnen’s growing sadness as if she was afraid of being infected. An infection she clearly already bore from years of hard labor in a terribly depressing place.

“Don’t you want to leave Meli?” Arnen took another swig and grimaced. Her growing depression sliding in with the ale, seeping through her body and settling into her soul. “Why? To go do this exact same thing in a city with a different name? People come and tell stories about the world, but all of those stories have people who work and are poor and wish to live in a different city with yet another name. Seems to me like those of you who end up on my stools are all lookin’ for dreams, not places.” Arnen shook her head sadly. “No, the world has better cities. This place was supposed to be better.” Meli came and looked her in the eye. Her dark hair was pulled back so tightly her pale skin resembled a skull. “But that’s the thing about this city. People think it’s better. Just like they think every voyage will take them somewhere better, but it never is better, it just is. Your world out there isn’t going to magically fill whatever void you carry around on your ship seeking better. You ate up the lies and now you’re here. You can never leave.” Meli's smile was almost kind as Arnen laid her head down on the rough grain of the wooden bar and fell asleep dreaming of better.