Chapter Forty Ris
chapter forty
ris
We stew for weeks, steering clear of each other as much as we can, which is difficult in such close quarters.
Finlyr’s barbed comments are as prickly as a sea urchin.
The bickering is relentless; we blow hot and cold.
Which is more than can be said for the wind, which still does not blow at all.
The weather is more changeable on the open sea than on the Paranishian mainland.
I’m grateful that we gathered rainwater in the barrels during that last storm, the one that almost claimed Finlyr’s life.
I almost miss the rolling of the ship on those giant waves; now looking out on the horizon is daunting in its nothingness.
There’s not much by way of entertainment on Saltswept.
I think everyone else’s main attraction is watching me and Finlyr fight.
I can’t stand having idle time; it drives me to distraction.
There’s nowhere to go, so I’ve made little projects for myself: Isagani and I fish; I watch Biba trying to make the ube sprout.
I’m checking the supplies in the storeroom one evening. Since the porridge blunder, I’m not taking any chances. Then I hear them: Isagani and Sinigang, conspiring on the quarterdeck above me.
‘Do you think they’ll resolve this soon?’ Isagani whines.
‘Flames eating each other – that’s what it is,’ Sinigang says. ‘They’ll run out of air eventually.’
‘Rocks banging together,’ Isagani says, and I hear them knocking their closed fists against each other. ‘More alike than they think. Both stubborn.’
‘Death by a thousand cuts,’ Sinigang says, voice smooth and rich.
‘I wish Fin would just be honest with her,’ Isagani sighs.
‘He told you what happened?’ Sinigang asks.
‘Not entirely. But it was bad. The guilt sent him to the bottle. He was in a right state when I met him.’
‘Sometimes there’s a peace in the inevitability of oblivion,’ Sinigang muses.
I quietly back out of the storeroom and go to sit on the forecastle deck, where Isagani and Sinigang won’t see me. As luck would have it, Finlyr is making his way across the deck, passing the brim of his hat through his fingers.
‘Oh. I didn’t realise you were here.’
‘There’s not many places to be on Saltswept.’
I can see him trying to read my face, feeling out my mood. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Dancing with tamaraws. What about you?’
‘Trying not to piss off my first mate even more,’ he says, gently.
‘I’d take the tamaraws.’
He tentatively sits down next to me. The silence is stifling for a moment, and then he sighs. ‘I wish I could tell you everything.’
‘What happened to your crew?’
He looks haunted. There’s something buried there, something he’s holding back.
‘You remember back at the Magliyab festival?’ Fin begins, fiddling with the infernal hat again. ‘I told you how I got caught?’
Paranish – that seems a lifetime ago. I nod.
‘I received a commission – an honest one, for once. A royal one, even. Anyway, that was an ill-fated quest. It’s my life’s greatest regret.’
He gets up and paces the deck, dropping his hat on the helm spokes.
‘Tried to drink myself into the ether, but that didn’t work. When I crossed paths with Nestor, it was easy for him to turn me in. Trying to curry favour for a promotion. Delivering me to the Bastion was a nice little sweetener for him.’
‘What a bastard.’
His fingers go to his throat, to the scar I know hides beneath his beard. I let the silence stretch for a moment and look up at the sky. It’s a perfectly clear evening; the stars pricks of light on a dark canvas.
‘You’ve been an excellent first mate. This isn’t your first time on a ship, is it?’
‘More than just a farmer.’
He looks shame-faced. ‘I’m sorry I said that.’
‘We’ve both said some foul things.’
‘Aye, we know how to get under each other’s skin,’ he says, smiling. We sit in silence for a few moments, listening to the gentle bobbing of the water against the hull.
‘I can show you the stars?’ I offer, and he grins.
We lie down on the deck side by side, and I point out the constellations.
‘My knowledge is limited,’ he confesses. ‘I’ve always been blessed with exceptional navigators.’
‘He admits a fault!’ I turn to Finlyr – Paranish, you’re actually very close while lying side by side with someone. Our noses could almost touch.
‘I’m waiting for those words, Fin.’ He blinks at me. His expression reminds me of my late husband. ‘An apology. I’m waiting for you to say sorry.’
The tension has bubbled, and there’s nowhere for it to go on this ship. It’s exhausting. He cringes but eventually says it. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been somewhat vile.’
I bask in the moment. Why is it so often up to the wronged party to teach the other how to apologise?
‘The way I learned, navigating is to look at the light and swells on the waves. We follow the clouds, bird flight. Measure the dead reckoning by the debris floating in the water.’
‘There’s a lot more strange debris floating in the water these days,’ Finlyr grunts. ‘The world’s off-kilter.’
I stare at the sky and think of the thinning golden wool. ‘Like our farm.’
‘There’s something wrong and I blame those in their high tower.’
‘The shoreline of the Spring Isle is closer than it was when I was a girl,’ I say, after a time. ‘Warmer waters, stranger things afloat. Nature is ill at ease.’
‘Those with power always try to control and exploit.’
I consider this for a moment, looking at my hands. ‘Is it like that everywhere?’
Finlyr looks at me, and I feel his breath on my face. He sits up, as if realising how close together we are. ‘Things have gotten worse.’
‘Why did you come back?’
‘Not much business in smuggling once the ports were open.’ He smiles, but his body stiffens, and I know this isn’t the full truth of it.
‘What did you smuggle?’
‘People.’
I stare at him.
‘We helped them leave Paranish. There are those desperate enough to risk everything for a new life, and they paid us for the privilege.’
‘And were they right?’ I ask, my voice soft. ‘Was it worth it?’
He takes my hand and squeezes it. ‘Things aren’t better in Orin or Lassair. Same problems, different people.’
‘Is that why you stopped smuggling? The guilt?’
‘The only ones profiting were the pirate smugglers. I couldn’t do that, not after—’
The moment stretches between us, dark thoughts clouding our minds.
‘There are those desperate enough to risk everything for a new life,’ Finlyr says solemnly. ‘And most of them pay for it with their lives.’
‘You used his name,’ I say at last.
He sits up then, as if he were a puppet pulled by string. ‘I wondered if you knew him. You seemed so startled when we first met.’
‘Because you were using my husband’s name.’ I struggle to get the words out. ‘What happened to him?’
His expression is the most open and vulnerable I’ve ever seen on him. Eventually, he says, ‘Larkin was on my crew. One of the most loyal sailors I ever met.’
The memory of Larkin’s voice comes back to me.
This will change everything for us. It’s such a small dream, isn’t it? To choose for yourself. That’s freedom. But to have it, you need power. Now we’ll have something of value. Both feet on the shore.
‘Tell me what happened,’ I insist, grabbing at his shirt.
‘I fucked up, Ris,’ he confesses, his body crumpling into itself. ‘I should have gone in after him, but it all happened too quickly. He was overboard, and then he was gone. The Maelstrom took him.’
I hit him hard in the jaw and he staggers over, palming his bloody mouth. ‘Why the fuck did you do that?’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘It’s the truth!’
He stares at me, eyes wild, face bloodied, and the only thing I can hear are my choking sobs.
‘Ris, I’m sorry.’
I collapse into him, and we stand there, my knees buckling as he holds me.
‘He left us. And now he won’t ever come back.’
He strokes my hair gently. ‘I know, I’m sorry.’
‘He left us behind. This was our dream, and he left me behind.’
I let the rage seethe like poison through my body, crying until I feel spent.
Finlyr says nothing, just holds me, and I listen to his steady, calming breaths.
I want to hate him, to blame him, to trade him in Larkin’s place.
But in my heart, I know that’s not true.
I am tired of being the martyr, the widow. The ruin of fury is eating away at me.