Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
VALI
S leeping on the “floor” of the tent isn’t the most comfortable, but I’ve had worse. I wake up surprisingly refreshed to find myself alone in the sea-ogre’s quarters. He didn’t awaken me when he left, but that’s fine. He strikes me as a bit of a loner, and it’s going to take him some time to get used to having a wife around. I wonder if we’re going to live on the back of this turtle or if there’s a more suitable place. I can’t exactly ask. My new husband is already prickly with me.
At least, I think he’s my husband. I’m not certain what the marriage laws are with his people, but I know in certain lands, all it takes is a declaration towards a woman and then you’re bound to one another. We could be wedded at this point. I prefer to think of it like that. It gives my new situation a little bit more permanence, and my life has had very little of permanence thus far.
Yawning, I try to tidy the bags on the floor. I’m not sure what the reason is behind attaching a dried fish to each one, but I’m sure there’s a reason. Perhaps an offering to Vor if the bags should fall overboard? I should ask so I can do the same. I still need to give my offering to the great god of the seas, but I think he’ll understand that I’m not exactly equipped to fish at the moment. The bags in the tent are heavy, most of them laden with what sound like metallic objects. There’s a crate, too, but I don’t open it or any more of the bags. Ranan gave me a sour look yesterday when he saw me opening one, and I’m determined to get on his good side today.
I need him to like me because sleeping in his arms was far more comfortable than shivering out in the open. Plus, I’m absolutely famished with hunger, and he’s no doubt got food around here somewhere. If I make him annoyed at me, he’ll swim off again and then I won’t see him for hours, and I can’t catch my own food.
At least, not yet. If we’re to live on the back of a turtle, though, I suspect I’m going to have to learn.
Once the bags are straightened into (mostly) neat piles by the sounds they make when the objects inside clink together, it leaves a lot more room on the floor of the tent. Room enough for both of us to spread out comfortably, and I wonder if there’s bedding somewhere, or if it’s just not something he uses. I suppose I can ask when we get a bit more comfortable with each other.
I wish he’d let me suck his cock. Men are far more amenable to a woman’s demands when they’ve had their cocks sucked.
The ground shifts underneath my feet and I wobble, falling against the side of the tent with a yelp. I manage to catch myself before I crash through the strange leather and tear it, and stagger outside, looking around.
We’re…moving?
Even though I don’t see the turtle’s head, I can feel the strange surge of the body moving, and every so often, the lift of a long, angular flipper rising through the waters. The sea around us glimmers in the sunlight, startlingly beautiful, and I can see why someone would live on the waters. It’s so pretty. Seagulls fly through the air high overhead, clouds dot the blue sky, and it’s an absolutely gorgeous day with fair weather and a gentle breeze. It’s so much nicer than the cities, where everything smells like last night’s chamberpots and the only greenery to be seen is on sale in the market, and won’t be eaten by slaves because it’s too expensive.
I take a deep breath of the sea air and hug my arms to my chest. Get a blanket and some food and I could be happy like this, I think…provided my new husband will speak more than two words to me.
As if my thoughts have summoned him, Ranan’s head surfaces through the waters nearby. He tosses a fish the size of my arm onto the turtle’s back and then hauls himself over the side and onto the shell. He’s dripping with water, wearing nothing but his usual loincloth and the knife-belts that cover his chest. The sail atop his head shivers when he shakes himself off, and I raise a hand to shield my eyes from the flying droplets that go everywhere. “Good morning, Ranan,” I say cheerfully. “Are we going somewhere?”
There’s no answer. Why am I not surprised? The man acts as if he doesn’t even like me, which is quite odd considering he’s the one that asked for a bride. Perhaps he’s just not a chatty sort. If he prefers silence, I’ll have to learn to be a bit quieter. The old man I served when I was first enslaved liked for me to talk. He said it filled his empty house a bit, so I learned to chitchat as I did chores and talked about everything and nothing. If Ranan doesn’t want that, though, I can learn to be quieter.
I can be anything he needs, as long as he keeps me safe. And last night, he was kind to me. He saw me shivering and pulled me in his arms and kept me warm. If he truly hated me, he wouldn’t have done such a thing. Pleased at this realization, I beam at him.
Ranan eyes me with a hard gaze.
“If I do something that bothers you, please let me know,” I say, keeping my voice gentle and even. “I’m not here to make you miserable, but I won’t know you’re displeased unless you speak up.”
“It’s fine,” he says, voice gruff. His gaze falls to the gaping neck of my slave shift and then just as quickly veers away again.
I noticed him looking at my body last night. I might not be a noble lady, but I’ve got a strong frame and rather nice breasts, if I do say so myself. My slave shift is old and showing its wear, and I’m starting to think that dirt was the only thing holding it together. Now that it’s gotten wet, pieces of it have started to fray and tear quickly. The neckline gapes open far too low for a modest household, but we’re on a turtle’s back. I don’t know the etiquette for this particular location.
If I’m to stay with him, I should probably get something a bit more suited to sea life, though. Something that won’t fall apart too much. Something warmer, perhaps. Then again, he’s not offering and I’m not going to ask. It’ll do until it falls off of me, and then I can just run around in a loincloth like he does. I have to bite back a smile at the thought as Ranan stalks away.
He moves with purpose, I notice, as I follow after him. Every step is one made forcefully, as if he has a battle plan in mind and is simply executing it. I like it. Slave men tend to meander, because a prompt and eager slave just gets more work handed to them. You learn to be slower—cheerful but slower—and you learn to lie a lot.
Lies serve a slave more than the truth. I learned that very quickly. No one wants to hear from a slave that their work is too much, their master’s cock is not appealing when waved in one’s face, and the lady’s arse does look big in that. Lies are a slave’s armor. They’re our safety. Of course we lie. It’s to protect ourselves. I do it as naturally as breathing nowadays.
Ranan picks up the fish flopping on the turtle’s back and then pulls one of his knives from the loops on his leather straps. I study them, noting that there are several loops and the knives themselves look to be made from large sharp teeth, some from hard scales, and some look like they were crafted from thick flakes of rock. All of them look rather deadly, and when he cuts open the fish with a single stroke, I realize they’re sharp, too.
With expert, quick movements, he slices the fish and guts it, tossing the innards over the side of the turtle. A moment later, he cuts a large, thick chunk of pink flesh out and holds it up to me with one of his many hands. Oh.
I take it gingerly and try not to wrinkle my nose. Parness was farther inland, too far from the shore for fresh fish, and the ones we got from the river were smelly and unpleasant. “I don’t mean to be a bother,” I say to Ranan, knowing that he’s going to hate my question. “But I truly don’t know how to cook without a fire of some kind. Can you advise me?”
He narrows his eyes at me. A moment later, he carves a second chunk from the fish and shoves the entire thing into his mouth, eating it raw.
Oh. Oh my. My nostrils flare and I swallow hard, because I’ve never had raw fish, and I’m not sure I’m prepared to eat such a thing. Growling stomach or not, food has to go down when one eats it, and right now my throat is locked tight. “I’ve never had raw fish,” I whisper, as if a quieter protest will somehow make him less irritated with me. “Won’t we get sick?”
He takes another chunk from the fish and eats it, staring deliberately at me as he chews. It feels like a dare, a challenge. If I’m to be a sea-ogre’s wife, I have to learn to eat like a sea-ogre, don’t I? Bracing myself, I take a small, nibbling bite, expecting it to taste horrendous.
It’s…quite nice. The flesh is tender and flavorful, and I pop the entire thing in my mouth with a noise of surprise. “I didn’t realize it’d be so good.”
He cuts off another piece and holds it out to me. “Never ate fish with all the other sea-ogres, eh?”
He’s determined for me to admit that I’m a liar. But I just smile sweetly at him and lick my lips. “Never.”
Ranan rolls his eyes, and I can tell I’ve annoyed him again. He carves up the rest of the fish for me and disposes of the ends and innards over the side of the turtle once again and then rinses his hands in the water. His feet are huge but powerful as he grips the side of the shell where it slopes, whereas I practically have to lie upon my belly just to rinse my hands, because otherwise I’ll fall off into the waters below.
But I follow him to the edge and rinse my hands, and when I nearly tumble in (just as I suspected), he grabs the back of my dress and holds me steady. “Thank you,” I say, ignoring the fact that the fabric ripped in his grasp. It’s not his fault. “Will you teach me how to fish so I can get a large one for Lord Vor?”
Ranan doesn’t answer me. He studies the waters instead. “We are going to shore.”
“We are? Is that why your turtle is moving?” When he doesn’t answer, I prod, “Are we going someplace in particular?”
He shrugs, not looking at me. “Near a human settlement.”
“Oh, so you can sell your jewels? Do you need help with that? I’m happy to assist. I’ve gotten pretty good at haggling.” I give him a cocky smile. “I once talked the armor off a soldier headed to war.”
Ranan snorts, the sound full of derision. It’s clear he doesn’t believe me. “Stay here until we make land.”
As if I have anywhere to go?
It’s a long, lazy morning.
I have to admit, I’m not used to those. Mornings as a slave are full of early starts and endless chores. Even before, when I wasn’t a slave, I had to take care of my father’s house and feed the chickens. There’s nothing for me to do here, though, so I sit and admire the scenery, watching the view change from alarmingly rocky cliffs to sandy shores. I soak up the sunshine and finger-comb my hair, and it feels both odd and pleasant to sit around and do nothing. It’s jarring, of course, but…still nice.
Ranan works as Akara swims. He fills the strange-looking cage with more seaweed to dry, testing strands and removing ones that have crisped up in the sun. He weaves them into a long length that he stores away, and frowns at me when I ask what he’s doing. Then he works on sharpening his strange little knives and disappears into the waves again, swimming alongside the turtle for a time. He fills a barrel with a sand-based filtering system that pulls the salt from the water and makes it potable and keeps refilling it throughout the day so we both have drinking water.
I might as well not exist for all that he pays attention to me.
He’s just not used to having a wife, I remind myself. He’ll need time to get used to another person around.
We come upon a long, sandy stretch of shore with white beaches leading up to tall hills of vibrant green. I’ve heard the lands to the south of Aventine are nothing but dirt, that all the magic has been soaked up from the ground, leaving nothing able to grow. This obviously isn’t that place, but I don’t know where we are. There are a couple of broken-down-looking boats at the far end of the beach, near some jagged-looking rocks, and a hut on stilts. Someone lives around here, then. A friend of Ranan’s?
Somehow, I find it difficult to think of Ranan as having friends. He barely speaks to his wife.
My face feels hot as the massive turtle steers towards the shore, jostling us when she climbs over a sand bank. I glance down at my bare arms and they’re reddened from the endless sunlight. I’m sure I’m going to hurt later, but for now, I’m just enjoying the warmth. I’d rather be warm than shiver, and since my only dress is getting worse by the day, I’ll be happy with nothing but sunshine.
The turtle skims her way into shallow waters and then turns slightly, settling into the sands. Waves crash against her shell, jostling the ground underneath my feet. I look over at Ranan, who wades out to the shore. “Can I go look around?”
He glances over at me, and I get the impression that he’d almost forgotten I was here. “Stay close.”
“I won’t go far,” I tell him brightly. “I just want to look around. Maybe find some pretty shells.”
Ranan makes a flicking gesture with his hand, indicating that I should follow. I move to the side of the turtle and slide into the water…and sputter when it goes over my head. I keep forgetting how very tall my new husband is. A large hand fishes me out of the water, and then an arm locks around my waist. He hauls me toward the shore like I’m a sack of grain and plops me down on the sand the moment we clear the waves. I cough, brushing my wet and wave-ravaged hair off my face. “Thank you.”
“Stay close to Akara,” he growls at me.
“Who’s Akara?”
He gives me an irritated look and stabs a finger at the turtle. Oh. The turtle has a name? Of course it does. Why wouldn’t a turtle have a name? Is it some sort of pet to him, then? More than just a moving island he lives atop? Perhaps Akara is all these things, and I feel foolish for assuming that the turtle is nothing but a means of moving about. Even farmers name their chickens.
“Hello Akara,” I call out to the turtle from my spot on the shore. The creature doesn’t answer, but that’s not unexpected. I can’t even see its head from here. As I straighten, Ranan stalks down the beach. All right, that message is clear—we’re not spending time together.
At least now I have an entire beach to explore.
I spend the next while going up and down the small inlet beach, curling my toes in the warm sands. I’m thirsty, but Ranan didn’t leave the waterskin with me so I’m just going to have to wait. I do find shells, though. There are some large ones, bigger than my palm, and with a deep belly full of shine. I hold each one, determining if it will make a good cup. Two of them are very close in size, and I hold them up to my breasts, wondering if I can make myself some sort of corset with leather straps that will keep everything from bobbing.
The shells are so lovely that I can’t help but gather all of the ones that I find. There’s one that gleams iridescent in the light, and another spiky blue one that has a tiny hole bored through the center that would make a lovely necklace. Like a greedy child, I grip the edges of my dress to act as a sack, using it to hold all the shells as I wander about. Perhaps we can go to a market and I can sell my finds for a few coins at least. I’m sure people farther inland would pay for such charming oddities. They’d make great decorations, and I immediately start to think of all the things people could make with them. Bowls. Spoons. Candle-holders. Shiny bits could be sewn into the neck of a tunic?—
“Well, well, well!”
The voice is so raspy and unfamiliar it makes me jump. Several of the shells tumble out of my skirt and land on the sands at my feet. I turn, eyeing the man that’s snuck up on me while I’ve been distracted with my finds.
It’s a stranger, no more than ten paces away from me, and far too close to make me comfortable. The man is a peasant from the look of things, with a scraggly graying beard and weathered clothing. His face is lined and deeply tanned, and when he leers at me, he’s missing a few teeth. “Aren’t you pretty.”
“My thanks,” I say, though I’m not thankful at all. Then, I put my lying skills to work. I crane my head, trying to peek over his shoulder. “Did you pass my husband? He was just here.”
“No one here on this beach but you and me and the boys,” he says, taking another step towards me.
I take a step backward, still clutching my skirts. The boys? I scan the shore quickly and sure enough, there are two other grown men—both larger than I am—watching from nearby, their eyes covetous. I’m a woman alone, which is problematic…but I’m also dressed in what’s clearly a slave garment.
“You’re wrong,” I correct, keeping my tone cheerful. “I’m positive my husband is nearby. You’d know if you saw him. He’s a sea-ogre, and quite a fierce one.”
“That his turtle?”
“Yes it is.” I’m relieved they noticed, though I’d prefer if Akara came out of the water and chased these men off. They’re making me uncomfortable.
Or she could eat them. Truly, I wouldn’t mind that either.
“Call for him,” the bearded man says, and there’s a gleam in his eyes I don’t like. “If he’s nearby, I’m sure he’ll answer.”
I haven’t seen Ranan since I stepped onto the beach, though. He keeps avoiding me as if he hates me, and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m not sure how sea-ogres treat their wives normally but surely better than this? I don’t have any authority to complain, though, and so I’ve ignored it. But my heart sinks as the man takes another step towards me.
If I call for Ranan and there’s no answer, these men are going to snatch me…or worse.
“RANAN,” I yell, as loud as I can.
We wait. I hold my breath, hoping for his crested head to appear. There’s no response, though, and as the moments slide quietly past, my anxiety rises.
The bearded man glances behind me. “Jos, ready the boat. Kep, you know what to do.”
Rough hands grab my arms, and I drop my shells to the sands, screaming.