Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 (48 page)

She had seen many ships as a child, but always from a distance, and Adria had never had the chance to board one — certainly never been able to explore one as fully as she might have liked.

There’s a bit of saltwater in your blood,
Kaye had told her more than once.
Yer Grandad breathed the ocean air near all his life.

She envied Hafgrim this one simple fact — his tower, unlike hers, overlooked the harbor, though it was at some great distance, and their imagination had always been required for anything more than the obvious details.

Nonetheless, Adria could identify several types of ships on sight, from having memorized their shape and configuration of sails, and compared them to books. The Heiland navy, she knew, used mostly the large galleys for war and the transportation of troops, with their banks of rowers and single square sails.

These galleys moved slowly, and were none too trustworthy in the open sea far from familiar shores. Mostly, they stayed in port, necessary and useful only truly in war, and most likely to be avoided in favor of the inland roads. Even in their rare sojourn, it seemed to Adria little different from the rank and file of road-bound war.

Unleashed, unfurled, though beautiful in their way, these seemed merely lines of black violet standards, sails marking floating planks for Knight contingents to stand and wait for other shores.

Of greater interest to Adria were the ships that lived absolutely at sea. Restless at port, waiting only to load or unload their cargo and the shifting of the tide. Shanties and storm winds. Freedom.

Some of these ships Adria had often seen sported the violet of Heiland, often with secondary flags of lesser noble houses or the guilds of Highreach or Propolus or Aeland. But the sails and flags of many bore the colors and emblems of foreign lands, or even of no one, and their decks and holds served maybe merchants, maybe diplomats, or simply nobles of greater means and a desire to travel swiftly. Perhaps each and any only once. Freedom with a few coin attached.

Caravels were by far the most used among these. Taller than galleys, they sported two or even three masts, with mixed sails for both speed and maneuverability. They lacked rowers, relying solely on currents and tides of wind and water, but they could manage themselves along the wider rivers and were, when crewed and captained well, readily seaworthy.

The Echo, Adria could see, looked to be a caravel, though it seemed to have been adapted somewhat for a more military use. Its raised castles at both fore and stern were higher than usual, and allowed for a full enclosure beneath. From the tops of both of these, archers could gain some distance, and the captain and crew could gain some perspective for swift maneuvers.

Three masts rose from the decks. Their sails were still mostly furled, but Adria could tell their style by the rig. The aft sail was lateen, a triangular shape which gave the ship its deftness, and the fore and main mast each held a square sheet for greater speed in the open.

What crew she could see appeared well capable, of reasonable years, and with the burnished skin of more than one season between the sea and sun. She could not be certain of their actions, and what words they called to each other as they readied lines and sails made little sense to Adria. She knew that many sailors, like the Hunters of the Aesidhe, had something of a language of their own.

Adria heard hoof beats in the distance and turned to see that the Knights were approaching then. From the railing a short distance aft of the gangplank, she watched the contingent board from the deck railing, but did not announce her presence or address anyone else for some time.

The Knights boarded swiftly. They had their own plume-helmed captain, and a squire who carried his standard, but it looked as if they were otherwise sharing squires between them — four or five young lads for the whole contingent.

I do not envy them
, Adria smiled. 
Each serving several masters, they will have little rest upon this journey.

Her brother and the Sisters awaited the party as they boarded, and were now accompanied by two servants of their own. It seemed Hafgrim was allowed a personal squire, and the three Sisters had brought a young novice on board, a green robed girl of eleven or twelve whose hair had not yet been shorn as required upon her dedication.

Adria had known of more than one young girl who had been brought to tears with this sacrifice of devotion, intended to symbolize the purity they must maintain until their final entrance into Sisterhood. Unlike her Sisters, or most anyone else among the boarding party, this girl not only looked Adria’s way, but met and held her gaze for a moment, with a mixture of mirth and curiosity.

She will be one to watch
, Adria thought as she acknowledged the girl with a nod.

Finally, Captain Falburn boarded, and the sailors slid the gangplank into its mooring on deck. One by one, dock hands lowered the horses, still saddled and in barding, into the hold. The crane was in three lengths, each with a system of pulleys, and it took four strong men to operate it. Their arms glistened with sweat in the torch light, and their voices competed with those of the sailors to be heard.

The boarding party were led below deck, either fore or aft, presumably to their quarters, but it was not long before most of the Knights returned, led by Hafgrim, who began conducting an inspection of sorts — though Adria thought it likely that Hafgrim knew even less of naval matters than she.

The Knights mostly looked even less confident of their place than their prince. Unlike the sailors, they were nearly all as green as spring. One of them managed to trip over a line as they crossed the deck. The sailors mostly did their best to ignore them as they prepared, and after a few minutes Captain Falburn invited the prince to join him beside the wheel.

Probably to keep him out of the crew’s way,
Adria thought.

Adria managed to stay out of the way herself, though she tried to concentrate on everyone around her, hoping to gather some knowledge of seamanship from their actions. She was obliged to move at one point, so that a rope might be coiled about a post at the foot of the railing, but the sailor merely nodded to her as she sidestepped.

Adria hoped that one of the Sisters or their novice might return upon deck, but she was not surprised to be disappointed. Guarded as they had been, one look at the three had told Adria that they were nervous, and this she did not take lightly.

Are they simply worried about the mission, or the journey itself
, she wondered. 
Or does my presence play some role?

All suspicions led to unwelcome conclusions, and Adria could not help but notice they thus far seemed to be avoiding looking at her a little too pointedly. She was certainly reluctant to travel with them without more knowledge, but more knowledge was likely not going to be readily volunteered to her.

...or perhaps they merely suffer from seasickness
, Adria ventured with a smile, hoping she would not prove prone herself.

Finally, Captain Falburn began calling orders from the helm. The longshoremen loosed the lines, the anchors were raised, and the aft sail lowered. Adria could feel the change in her stomach, but it did not yet amount to sickness. The ship buoyed slowly, turning away from the dock and out into the inner bay, toward the twin lighthouses which marked the entrance to the outer bay and the North Sea far beyond.

Adria turned to watch the longshoremen wave The Echo out. Beyond, she could see the line of torches rise through snake-like curves until they met the tall walls of the citadel city. She even thought she could just make out her tower above the cliffs, where it broke the wheel of stars.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on the already heady motion. She steadied herself within it — not fighting it, but allowing it to carry her as a part of the ship. She felt some small vertigo, but allowed it to play out its course and then subside.

Words and pictures passed through her as she measured her breath... remembrances of her father, her uncle, the Aeman people of the citadel and the Aesidhe of the wilderness.

“I have never left this land before,” she whispered, her hands loosening their grip on the railing as she gained some comfort and balance. 
I had not truly thought of this before... I had thought of the forest as another land, another world beyond the castle walls. But now, I am leaving them both.

She opened her eyes, then, as The Echo passed the twin signal fires into the outer bay. Already, the city and citadel seemed small, a carving in the rock face with pinpoints of lantern lights along its walls, an earthly constellation her father had formed out of stone and with terrible violence.

From exile to exile
, Adria thought, wondering, 
If I see this land again, will it be only as a ghost?

She said a quick Aesidhe prayer for safe passage — both for herself, and for her People, who likely even now stirred themselves to war against the violet and the black, against the legacy of her father’s madness and against the promises of a god that might never be.

Shómepo, Homayáni zho sushawe gonila hechayo.

Shóme unipshazh michaowe gonila hechayo.

Shóme holo unistohã nislopi gonila hechayo.

Shóme uteko zho homili si nitipi gonila hechayo,

Tegoni ucheli hognu lobewe.

Let the wild welcome me.

Let my journey be a teaching.

Let my path be a circle.

Let it lead me home,

Wherever home may be.

Adria had never seen such a dawn. From her own childhood windows, she only ever saw the shadow of the sunrise, black spires shrinking along the city rooftops and into the courtyard.

But waking early enough, Adria and Twyla had sometimes watched from other windows, the edge of sunlight striding upon the lowlands and Windberth harbor and up the snow-topped mountains, illuminating the layers of stone in the cliff face of Chancer stretching back and up behind her tower.

Years later, perched carefully in the highest branches of a great pine, she had seen the sun unfold from endless treetops, shrouded still in a spring mist which slowly rolled away beneath its light.

She had seen these faces of beauty more than once, and it never paled her memory, but her first sunrise at sea surpassed all those before, if not in sheer beauty, at least in full glory.

From hues of violet and shades of black, through all the colors of life it unfolded, igniting the air from the water of its birth in a slender line until the whole world filled with silver fire.

She squinted and watched as closely as she could. She tried to trace where each color ended in the sky and the next began, and she whispered thanks to the stars who slipped into sleep, and to the sun who outshone all his adornments.

Adria closed her eyes, just when she could not bear the light any longer, and wondered, “Who would wait their whole life for a god to come, when such a fire rises every morning?”

She turned her head and body aside to lean back against the railing and watch The Echo come into the light. Just as she had, many of the sailors seemed to take a moment’s pause for the spectacle, and Adria could see some of them mumbling or whispering words.

How many cultures are there?
 she wondered. How many have prayers for the dawn?

Nearby, a dark and weathered man smiled when he noticed her attention, and she returned it.

Jeruscan?
 she wondered. 
The desert people of western Somana
. She was about to speak to him, but he bowed, then, and swiftly turned away to some task. Beyond him, Hafgrim was descending the ladder from the sterncastle, his helmet still in the crook of his arm, the same hand steadying the sword on his belt to keep it from hitting the rungs. Once on the mid-deck, he made his way straight to her, and, to her surprise, inclined his head and smiled.

“How do you find your first morning at sea so far?” he asked. “Well, I suppose we’re still in the bay.”

“I’m… keeping my stomach,” she smiled, a little confused at his change of humor.
Perhaps his earlier defiance was simply a form of posturing for the Sisters.

“I think I’m fortunate as well,” he nodded. His voice was much stronger than she remembered. “It must be in our blood. Our grandfather was a sailor, after all, was he not... a captain?”

“A captain by some accounts,” she grinned. “A pirate by others.”

“A matter of perspective, I warrant,” Hafgrim shrugged and laughed. “I remember the stories too. And yet, he can’t have been all bad, if he let a few people survive to write unfavorable accounts.”

A sense of humor?
 Adria thought. 
What next?

Aloud, she said, “He probably had them written himself, so that anyone who saw his flag would dump their cargo and run.”

“Fair enough,” Hafgrim laughed, then looked her over. “I think you may have grown more than I have.”

“Grown more wild, you mean?” Then, before he could measure her level of humor, “But I doubt it. You’ve easily doubled in size.”