Chapter 5
My ass aches something fierce by the time I reach Windmere Port.
Riding for two days through dense forest and villages in Credence and across the main trade route in Windmere Province has left me exhausted and hungry.
Even worse than the time I followed a spirit through Credence’s busiest market and ended up lost for hours until Leith found me.
There are twigs in my hair and dirt smudged on my face.
The last of my bread and cheese ran out this morning.
I dig in my bag and extract the small purse of gemstones.
I ran away without much thought to what was coming, but now the reality’s set in: I’ve left my family behind for a ship full of strangers and an uncertain chance at a retrial.
As foolish as my plan sounds, I like to think Leith would have supported this bold move to save my magic. But we always were the impulsive ones.
Windmere Port is crowded with luxury carriages and upper-class travelers in vibrant jewel-tone dresses and waistcoats.
A man with tawny skin and smooth black hair kneels to straighten his son’s collar while a pale woman flushed from the heat directs a staff member to her towering pile of luggage.
A woman with umber skin and dark curls descends from her carriage in a heavy dress made of expensive silk crafted in Kalenar.
Servants unload heaps of luggage and formalwear bags.
The carriages struggle to reach the docks through the crowd.
A vague memory tickles the back of my mind.
I was eight years old and wanted to carry my own luggage onto the Celestial.
Mother clung tight to Eliza’s hand, but I ran ahead to get a better look at our famous destination.
Leith put me on his shoulders to see over the crowd.
I don’t need to be on anyone’s shoulders to see it now.
The Celestial eclipses the port, its black, glossy exterior gleaming in the afternoon sun.
The ship is majestic and immense, stretching twelve decks high, and wide enough that it blocks out the horizon.
Rows upon rows of windows dapple the lower part of the ship, while grand balconies adorn the upper levels.
The cruise ship, with shimmering silver stars painted across the bow and stern, lives up to its name.
At night, the black exterior shifts to a bright, ethereal silver.
The first guests, who had seen Tamarynth on the brink of a magical war two hundred years ago, had been hesitant to board a ship full of Morphia.
My great-grandfather assured them his ship would be like sailing through the cosmos, where glowing jars of Morphia were wishing-stars that made impossible things happen.
While future generations forgot the initial fear surrounding the ship, the otherworldly theming and name stuck.
The ship, resting in a mist of violet-hued fog, looks as if it has come out of a dream.
A carpeted gangway protrudes from the side and connects to the docks below.
Staff members roll luggage up and check guests in with wide smiles and foreheads beading with sweat.
They wear black vests with a vertical line of silver buttons down the front over a tunic shirt paired with beige or navy pants and short brown boots.
In their uniforms, the staff all look the same.
When I think of my vibrant wardrobe back home, the staff’s lack of individuality is unsettling.
I run fingers through my tangled hair and pour water from my canteen into my hand, furiously rubbing my face to clear the dirt. I’d hoped to arrive earlier than what appears to be right before departure.
Specter snorts and paws the ground as if to tell me we’d better get a move on.
I should be happy I made it before the cruise left for its voyage.
The shortest cruise is a week, which means I would have been holed up in some dinky inn waiting on the ship to return to port for the next guests. But I’m frozen in place.
Carriages and people on horseback pass me by with disgruntled looks. “If you’re just going to sit there, get off the road!” one carriage driver shouts.
I can’t make myself move. I’ve only ever been a treasured guest aboard. Not a dangerous resurrector sent to serve her time.
Most don’t talk about their time aboard out of embarrassment, but memories of some former ship staff members, people now working in our household or neighbors I’d met elsewhere in Credence, come back to me now.
The scars embedded in their skin, their murmurings of shadows on the ship’s walls, and strange happenings aboard.
Mother would tell me to ignore them because they had been deemed violent enough to serve on the ship in the first place, but it still makes me wary.
Come to think of it, I’ve never served anyone before.
Not to mention upper-class guests who expect everything done right the first time.
My fingertips tingle with nerves, but I lift my chin and urge Specter forward through the crowd.
This is my one chance to earn a retrial. I’ll do all it takes to prove myself.
Navigating the guests isn’t too hard since they leap out of the way to avoid the dirty, windswept girl who hasn’t bathed in days. A woman narrows her eyes in my direction as she turns her child’s gaze away from me. I try to ignore her, but it’s hard not to wonder if she’s right to fear me.
I glimpse a tall wooden sign on the right side of the gangway that reads: MORPHIC ENROLLMENT.
A smaller sign beneath it with cheerful silver lettering reads: PUT YOUR MAGIC TO BETTER USE!
MAKE MAGIC FOR GUESTS! Beside it, soldiers dressed in uniforms with silver wolf pins fastened to their chests escort Morphics into line.
Large carriages with a similar wolf insignia painted on the side screech to a stop, providing transportation for Morphics to the ship.
The wolf is a symbol of Tamarynth’s army due to the large wolf populations in the forests of Aryndar Province, where the army trains.
The soldiers look less than pleased to be here.
They don’t trust Morphics who failed their trials to travel here on their own. Not the way I did.
With a heavy sense that I don’t belong, I swing down from my saddle and lead Specter to the sign.
I wait in line behind young people with duffel bags slung over their shoulders.
Their nervous expressions and drab clothing don’t match the electric excitement and opulent fabrics on the other side.
As I stand behind them, I wonder what Morphic abilities they possess.
While many of the families who live in nearby estates didn’t have Morphic children, I met others at boarding school.
I marveled at the way they used their gifts, even if they didn’t appreciate mine.
I run through the known Morphic gifts in my mind, forcing myself to stay calm as another person is called forward in line.
Enhancers manipulate the properties of foods and drinks to transform them into fantastical flavors.
Menders alter the body, healing in ways physicians cannot.
Time winders change the passage of time, while crafters manipulate matter in unusual ways.
Shifters transform their own bodies, while illusives influence the mind.
Emotives can enhance or diminish feelings.
Most of these gifts could make someone popular with guests, but I have no idea how mine will help me here.
Bored from standing in line, I gaze out over the throng of people and at the Rivenwind Sea twinkling in the afternoon sunlight. There’s a small group of men crowded around a young boy near the docks. Although I can’t see the boy well from here, he appears to be yelling and kicking.
I squint to see him better as one of the men lunges forward and grabs him around the abdomen, hauling him over his shoulder.
The boy kicks and hits with curled fists at the man’s back.
I stiffen and wait for someone else to notice.
The boy’s hollering now, although I can’t make out what he’s saying.
I clap a hand over my mouth as one of the other men holds a knife to the boy’s throat to silence him.
Staff members from the Celestial pass by the docks, but none of them look up from their work.
My stomach leaps into my throat as the men toss the boy into the water.
I yell, but it’s nothing compared to the gurgling scream of the boy who knows he’s about to die.
As the other Morphics standing in line give me concerned looks, I know it’s happening again. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the deathmare to pass. By the time I open them, the docks are back to normal.
The woman checking us in finally beckons me forward, and I’m grateful for it. It’s good timing, as Specter’s begun nibbling the back of my head. I wipe the sweat from my brow and incline my head to the woman with graying hair and wrinkles lining her face. “Name?” she asks sharply.
“Roe Damarcus,” I answer, still shaken.
The woman runs her finger through the pages of a crafter-made registry book that magically adds the names of Morphics who fail their trials. She stops her finger on the D’s. “There you are.” She grabs my bag and dumps the contents on the table.
She pushes the gemstone purse to the side along with my remaining apples. She leaves the journal and quill inside but extends her hands again. “The weapon,” she clarifies.
With reluctance, I hand it to her. She examines the white bow frame and quiver of arrows with pinched brows and a tight mouth. Finally, she hands me back my knapsack with only the journal and quill inside. “You’ll get these back at the end of your stay.”
My chest tightens, and I open my mouth to argue. I’m a lady of Credence. I’ve had that bow for most of my life. And that’s all the money I managed to sneak out of the house. But the withering look she gives me assures me I am no lady here.