Dancing Seas, Quaking Earth, Rocking Beds

“Grow up in Fisher’s Gasp and you learn how to handle yourself in a boat. There’s a big difference between fishing from a rowing boat and spending weeks at a time without seeing land. How long will it be before we dock at the other side of this gods forsaken ocean?” Danielle Longbow asked the red acolyte, clutching her stomach. She had barely kept a meal down in a month.

            The red acolyte, Barra, shrugged. “It takes as long as it takes, Cranner. It depends on the waves, the wind, and the creatures of the deep. We’re crossing the greatest ocean in the world. You call it the Eastern Sea, to sailors it is the Blue Barrier. Its bigger than your continent a dozen times over. There are creatures beneath us in the water that could pick their teeth with the ship.” He folded his arms in the red robe he had worn all through the journey. His brown eyes were framed by wrinkles. Short black hair had speckles of grey on his head.

            “So, are we nearly there or not?” Sir Longbow asked.

            “I have no idea. All I know is that we’re heading in the right direction because we face the sun when it rises.”

            “Thanks for your help, Barra, very useful.”

            “You’re welcome, sir.”

            Danielle leaned on the railing, wondering if it had a different name on a ship like everything else. Front was bow, rear was stern, right side was starboard and left side was port. In a month she’d remembered little else.

            She pulled ropes when she was told to. She scrubbed the deck. Crew didn’t like idle hands on their ship. They were a rowdy lot, dressed in rags mostly. Tanned and burnt, long in the tooth and missing a few. They ate disgusting things called limes to save themselves losing more teeth. She’d tried them. They were just another thing that made her sick.

            Anne Hyland was worse off. She’d barely eaten in the month of the voyage. She was skin and bones in her hammock below deck.

            “Back again?” Anne asked, a weak smile on her pale face. “I’m not dead yet.”

            “You’d better not be,” said Danielle.

            “Are we there yet?”

            “Almost. Not much further now.” Sir Longbow’s hand wrapped around Miss Hyland’s.

            “You’re a shit liar, sir.”

            “You got me. We’ve been there for days. We’re docked but no one likes you enough to tell you. Want to come to the inn? There’s chicken on the fire.” A weak smile twitched on Danielle’s face.

            “Cheeky cow. I knew you were holding out on me. Come on then. Show me this chicken.” Anne tried to sit up. Her muscles twitched until she lay back again. “Never mind. I’ll have to stay here until we’re back in Crann. Wake me when we get there alright?” She closed her red veined eyes.

            “Deal.” Danielle watched her friend pretend to sleep, knowing she was in too much pain but wanted to be alone.

            Heading back up the main deck, she watched the blue swells in every direction. Sir Euan Errol and Sir Aled Cadogan were standing on the quarterdeck at the stern, back, of the ship. The captain ignored them all as he watched the waves intently.

            “How is she?” Sir Cadogan asked.

            “Holding on. I pray we arrive soon.”

            “She’s a strong woman, Anne. She tells the most awful jokes.” Sir Errol smiled. “What’s the difference between poison and a husband?”

            “No idea,” said Aled.

            “Poison is kind enough to kill you quickly. A husband wears you down over years.”

            “Oh gods.” Aled slapped a hand over his face.

            “How do you know your husband is dead?”

            “Are there a lot of these?” Danielle asked.

            “The sex is the same but he’s a better listener.”

            “That woman.”

            “What’s hard and full of seamen? This ship.”

            “For fuck’s sake,” Aled said.

            To their surprise, the captain was shaking with laughter at the ship’s wheel. His long blue coat shook as his shoulders jumped up and down.

Two weeks later they spotted land at last. Anne had to be carried to dry land, half dead. Danielle fed her soup as the red acolyte made deals for their travel east. The imperial tongue was spoken by some traders in Bragyp. Mostly people spoke the local language, Bragish. Barra Mohani was fluent in the language, talking with the accent of a local. The sounds were abrupt, with a mixture of soft lilting sounds and hard sounds that felt unfinished to Danielle’s ears.

            Barra and his fellow from the Church of Red Knives had both changed out of their robes into Bragyp garb. The loose clothing showed chest on both, more so with Barra. They had stowed things in a bank. He urged them all to blend in as much as possible.

            Leaving her armour and shield in the hands of foreigners was hard for Sir Longbow but Barra assured her the bank could be trusted to look after their things. Wearing the loose clothes was freeing but she’d insisted on some armour. Worn leather studded with metal was almost nothing compared to her full plate mail forged in Leonor, but the weight reassured her.

            Anne was allowed four days to recover. Local healers fed her things that turned noses but built her strength. The quick smile returned. She was skeletal but well enough to ride when they were brought local horses on the fifth day.

            “They’re beautiful,” said Miss Hyland. “Just like my poor husband though, I’ll hurt after riding them for a few hours a day.”

            “All better then?” Una Donohuei, the grey acolyte, asked.

            “With a mighty beast between my legs? How could I complain?”

            “If the locals understood you, they would stone you to death for indecency,” said Barra, leaning over in his saddle.

            “I’ve been stoned before Barra,” Anne smiled, “Hens weed smells like a cat’s arse but smoking it can be a hell of a laugh.”

            “Let’s go, before someone understands her.” Danielle led the horses out of the port city. The red sandstone walls were topped with archers in steel skull caps with leather flaps down to their shoulders.

            Scrubland was all they saw for hours of riding, from the port town of Iglbar with two Bragish guides on horseback with them. Their destination was the border town of Machzas, two days hard riding away.

            As the sun began to dip in the sky, the world beneath them began to shake.

            The horses neighed and tried to scatter.

            One of the guides had to grab the reigns of Anne’s horse to stop her being thrown from the saddle.

            Danielle counted to two hundred before the shaking stopped.

            “What was that?” Anne asked.

            “It was an earthquake. They’re common in this part of the world.”

            “Just another reason to go home then,” said Miss Hyland.

            “Not until we have what we came for.” Danielle insisted. “We’re not wasting our time are we, Barra? Coowin She must have better weapons than the ones they sold the empire?”

            “We’ll only know for sure when we get there. We have to be careful. Niquin is at war with Iprith to the east. Crossing Iprith is the fastest way to get to Thraca before we head over the Thracan mountains into Niquin from the north. We have to cross Niquin to get to Coowin She. That could take another month. We should ride as hard as we can each day. If we want to go home, we need to get the job done.”

            “Wont the God of Dire Necessity provide for his acolytes?” Danielle asked, meaning the god those from the Church of Red Knives worshiped.

            “The God of Dire Necessity is beyond the understanding of mortals. It will do as it wills.”

They rode hard through the day and into the night, stopping at last in a village called Krytsh that was supposedly halfway between Iglbar and Machzas. There were eight houses and no inn. A farmer let them use his barn as a stable and make beds for themselves with his hay.

            “This reminds me of being homeless,” Danielle said, pushing straw into a pillow as she lay back for the night.

            “This reminds me of how I got fleas,” said Anne, lying next to her. “I must say, the last time I rode a mighty beast like that all day, I enjoyed it more.” She nodded to her horse as she closed her eyes.

            “Shut up and sleep, Anne.”

            “Your word is my command, sir.”

By the time the horses reached Machzas the world had changed. Scrublands had become rich forests that reminded her of Crann except for the endless flowers in the trees. Farms had their own look in those lands. Farms of a crop called rice were set out in stepped blocks with roads that wound between them.

            Machzas was a small town of people who eyed the newcomers suspiciously from beneath flat topped wide brimmed hats. Sunburnt in the garb of Iglbar, Danielle wished she had a hat like those. Barra got them all riding versions of the hats which had straps and were made of a stiffer material.

            Anne looked like a gleeful child as she modelled the new hat in a stable. All the horses were the same beautiful kind they had been riding. They were taller than the horses she knew from Crann. They rode faster and further in a day but had to rest more often than the stout horses from her continent.

            The fashion in Machzas did not favour showing chest the way it had in the port of Iglbar. Instead of buying them new jackets, Barra bought long sleeved undershirts that had high collars and flapped lightly in the breeze.

            Sirs Errol and Cadogan looked unimpressed in their new outfits, reminding Danielle of huffing boys dressed for a wedding.

            “I look ridiculous,” said Aled Cadogan.

            “No, you look dashing,” said Anne.

            “It all just flaps about,” said Euan Errol.

            “Since when did a man mind his bits flapping about?” Anne laughed and clutched her chest with a pained look. “Who has the water?”

            “You do.” Danielle pointed to her water skin, strapped to her horse.

            “Ah yes. Silly me.” She drank deeply, coughing a little.

            Local food was spicy in a way none of the Cranners had ever known before. All of them coughed and drank more water than they would. The locals laughed and offered more of the orange powder. Red in the face, Anne took a jug of something from them, drinking deeply. Making an odd sound, she began to wolf the liquid down and moan with delight.

            “What is it?” Aled asked.

            “Yak’s milk,” Una Donohuei said. “It soothes the burning from the spices.”

            “It’s a bloody miracle.” Anne took another mouthful of the spicy food and washed it down with more of the milk. “Thank you,” she said, bowing her head to the men who were watching her with laughs stuck to their faces.

            “You’ve made some friends,” said Danielle.

            “Anne Hyland.” She tapped her chest, then pointed to the brown skinned men.

            “Yilmaz,” the tallest man said, he had a roguish grin.

            “Adem,” said the shortest of them tapping his chest with a hand that was missing a little finger.

            “Tevret,” said a man with scars across his arms and face but a boyish smile that said he was younger than he looked.

            Anne held up the yak’s milk. “Yilmaz.” She took a gulp. “Adem.” Another gulp. “Tevret.” Another gulp. “Which one of you is going to marry me? Can I have you all?”

            “That’s enough yak’s milk for you, I think.” Una took the drink from her and sipped it sceptically, then smile and raised it to them. The three rice farmers smiled to each other.

            “If you’re not careful they will propose,” Barra said under his breath.

            “That’s the problem,” Anne said, “I’m never careful when it comes to men.” She winked. The three men all smiled as if it had been for them personally.

Mountains divided the Kingdom of Bragyp from the Kingdom of Iripth. The guides warned them that the mountains were deadly, and that it was better to turn back than freeze to death on the slopes. Barra paid them extra and promised more if they made sure the party arrived safely in the town of Cofa, across the mountains.

            The beautiful horses were sold for a hardier kind with thick fur, local to the mountains along Bragyp. They had short legs and were the same grey as the rock and rubble they scrambled over.

            Danielle began to miss the warmth as they climbed up and up. Furs that had been bobbing on the backs of the horses were happily draped across them as frost overtook the rocks.

            Grey turned white.

            Cold turned to freezing.

            There were conifers here and there, but less and less.

            Cold mist blew through the gaps in their clothes.

            Their feet slipped on snow and ice.

            Fires in the night made puddles that froze them in the day.

            Two days.

            It wasn’t even that they had travelled far, just that the terrain was perilous and their progress painfully slow. The path zigged and zagged up and up.

            Danielle had never been so far from the ground.

            Her nose hurt.

            Her toes stung.

            Her fingers ached.

            White melted back to grey.

            Conifers welcomed her again.

            She slipped more on scree than ice.

            Warm winds calmed her frozen extremities.

At the foothills they were met by Iripthian farmers who scowled at their Bragish outfits. They didn’t mind so much that they refused the gold Barra was getting from the knights. Danielle and the rest were given the best rags the farmers had to spare and more rice to eat in the company of the yaks.

            “I quite like this stuff,” Anne said, scoffing down her rice. “It agrees with me.” She had been putting weight on again as they ate the stuff from Krytsh onwards.

            Danielle wished they had the spices to eat with the rice. Though the orange powder had scorched her mouth, the flavour had been more palatable than rice alone.

Cofa was a town bigger than most they had visited. Its walls of grey stone reminded the Cranners of Leonor. The soldiers that manned the walls looked as tired as they ever had on duty.

            They were all questioned as they entered the town. Men wearing long chainmail dresses covered with tabards that went almost to their ankles were suspicious of their weapons. Whatever Barra and the guides said to them seemed to be enough. They mostly had black hair which had a glossy sheen. Though they wore skull caps, the helmets were almost hidden in twirled cloth Barra called turbans. They twirled the moustaches that seemed to be part of the uniform and went on their way.

            Danielle liked that their swords were curved. Barra said they were called scimitars. They had tiny round shields and most had fire lances like the ones the Church of Red Knives had stolen from the Empire of the Holy Proclamation. Others had crossbows or heavy looking arbalests like the ones Leonor had been adopting.

            “I liked the one with the big beard,” Anne said, nodding to the man in charge. “I like something to hold onto, you know?”

            “Can’t say I do. I’ve only ever been with Lupita.”

            Anne gave Danielle a confused look then patted her on the back as if consoling her.

            The owner of the inn where they stayed was full of questions for Barra as he paid the guides from Bragyp. Mister Mohani also knew the tongue of Iripth, he called Iripthian. It lackd the harsh sounds from Bragish but seemed to be a language spoken at lightning speed. The inn owner nodded his head constantly as he spoke and gesticulated wildly, as did Barra.

            The hotelier wore a bright yellow turban decorated with red peacocks. His silk waistcoat was a deep blue over a white undershirt. He wore earrings of gold, like many of the wealthy men and women around the town. His moustache was carefully clipped and twirled up his jovial face.

            “I am, sorry, my name is Vedant Varma.” He smiled and bowed to Anne and Danielle.

            “You speak imperial?” Barra sighed a disgusted sigh and strode out of the inn.

            “Who are you?” He pointed open hands to the women.

            “My name is Anne.” She bowed to him.

            “I am Danielle.”

            “Welcome into Cofa. You must enjoy your stay here.”

            “I intend to.” Anne winked at Danielle. “Could you show me around Vedant? I want to see your wonderful home.”

            “I am sorry. I do not understand,” said Vedant, smiling.

            “Are you married?” Anne asked.

            Looking very confused, Mister Varma shook his head. “No wife.”

            “Excellent. Then please show me to my room. Or yours, if we have a bed, I don’t care.” Anne took the confused man’s arm and led him away.

            “What the fuck is she doing?” Una Donohuei had appeared at Danielle’s side, silently. It was a terrifying habit of hers, left over from her time as a red acolyte assassin.

            “Whatever she feels like, Una. Let’s hope it doesn’t get us killed.” Danielle watched Miss Hyland disappear with Vedant Varma and sighed. She was too tired to care.