Chapter Ten
MILA
An unknown island loomed ahead the next morning, and smelled . . . musty. Something dead, perhaps. Mila hadn’t often smelled death. The spectrals had no scent at all, so she assumed death smelled this rank and coppery.
Nose wrinkled, she looked at Pedr in question.
He stood next to her, leaning on the gunwale with his hands, and chuckled.
Like all things Pedr did, it was quiet. He didn’t speak loudly, didn’t move fast. Everything had purpose, and a flow that soothed her fears, just like his voice.
She soaked in every word he spoke through his morning ship ministrations.
Mast. Sail. Bo’sun. Gunwale. Mainland. Kapurnick.
Draguls. She collected them like treasures.
Pedr gestured to the desolation ahead.
“This is Selbrucke.”
“Why are we here?”
“You wanted to see somewhere new and unforgettable, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Well, this place is new and unforgettable.”
Pedr hadn’t moved much in the night. She remained in her cabin, staring out the window, before catching a few hours of sleep.
Two hours, to be exact. Last year, it would have been three.
The trajectory for maturity was never the same, though.
She expected that, within a year, she may not require sleep again.
The timeline could be less. Everything winnowed her toward freedom, even her body.
Her age.
Mila waved a hand under her nose, banishing Selbrucke’s horrendous smell. “It certainly will be memorable.”
Clearing his throat, he pointed off the port side. “See it? That’s a dervish.”
A spinning, black creature elevated from the boggy earth a couple of ship lengths away.
Sticks and grasses and growing things jutted from the sea-land mixture as a twirling whirlpool whispered into the bog, then back out.
It interrupted a simmering black fog that hovered above dark sand. No wonder it smelled foul. It was foul.
Mila folded her elbows on top of the railing. “The twirly thing is a dervish?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t it just air?”
“Dervishes resemble little spirits.” Another ebony whirlpool elevated from the bog. It skidded around, flinging bits of damp earth until it entirely diminished and zipped into the water with a vibrant shriek that hurt her ears. She winced.
Pedr chuckled. “They’re vocal.”
“Are they only alive for a few seconds?”
“No one knows. Some say that what we see here is the soul of a dervish made corporeal.”
“It’s so fleeting!”
“True, but it could still exist outside of us being able to see it.”
She murmured, “I hadn’t thought of that,” and studied the bursting whirlwinds more carefully. What he said didn’t align with the arcane and souls as she knew them, but yet again, she’d only learned from her aunts.
What if they were wrong?
He continued. “Other philosophers believe that dervishes are people who died with anger in their souls. They spin and shriek to get rid of it before they can move on.”
“That’s . . . poetic.”
He tilted his head in deepening thought. “Some claim that dervishes are hiding a great treasure. That they’re an arcane construct meant to protect whatever lays beneath the sea.”
“Like what?”
“Who knows?”
She studied him, arms looped over the side. “What do you think?”
Pedr chuckled again. He gripped the top of the gunwale and leaned back, elongating his shoulders with a yawn-like stretch.
“I don’t know,” he murmured. “But I like to think they’re just what they are: bursts of energy.”
Several others sprang to life, flinging their loathsome smell and spinning a drunken dance. The air floated with a surprisingly warm current. With every pulse that brushed her cheeks, she scented the same horrid bog again.
“It’s loathsome!” she said brightly. “And I’ve never seen anything like it, which makes it perfect.”
He laughed. “That it is.”
“Have you been here before?”
“Only briefly, like this.”
“Would anyone not stay briefly?”
“I doubt it.”
“How did you know about it?”
He sobered. “My father brought me here when I was ten.”
“Oh?”
A reminiscent smile took her by surprise. Him, too, if the immediate faltering that followed was any indication. “He loved to sail,” Pedr added. “We sailed together often. Actually, we discovered this place on one of our trips. He was my best friend.”
“Was?”
Pedr ducked his head. His toe dragged along the deck. “They died at sea.”
A hand flew to her mouth.
“They?”
“My mother died with him.”
“Oh, Pedr. That’s awful. How long ago?”
“At the beginning of the year.”
She set her hand on his forearm with a light squeeze. The touch imparted fire to her blood. A baptism of something aqueous, new. Beyond affection, deeper than lust. Such small words for what stirred to life from the light touch.
“I’m sorry, Pedr. Were you close to your mother?”
He laughed with real power. “No, definitely not her. Mother was . . . a very motivated and relentless person. Having children slowed her down, which she resented. She wasn’t affectionate or warm.
She loved my father, though. Endlessly, she loved him.
Without him, she would have become cold, ruthless, and brutal.
” Wryly, he added, “She already was all of those things, but he softened her. He provided a buffer.”
“She sounds fascinating.”
“Terrifying, really.”
Mila laughed, and Pedr joined.
“My father was a very patient man,” he said with as diplomatic a slant as one could manage without saying outright that his mother was a miserable person.
Startling, really, that Pedr could have such real warmth and calmness, coming from a woman with that description.
Then again, should Mila be surprised? Her Mother was motivation personified and Mila created a different path.
Mila reluctantly removed her hand from Pedr’s arm to say, “I understand powerful and difficult women,” with a light tone.
“Oh?”
“My aunts.” She paused, added, “I have several. They’ve all had a hand in raising me.”
“Do you know your father?”
“No.”
“Really?”
She shrugged. “Never met him. They say he’s . . . inaccessible.”
“I’m sorry. I had a wonderful relationship with my father. I’m sad that you can’t experience the same.”
“You said you have siblings?”
“Two.”
“Tell me everything about them.”
“Everything?”
She swept her arms from side to side. “Everything. Who are they? What are they like? Are they older? Younger? Do you love them? Hate them? How much time do you spend together? What games do they like to play?”
Her barrage came out with greater emphasis on every word. No human could keep track of her fervency and the questions, but she felt no embarrassment. For decades she’d longed for a sibling or a friend. He had two siblings.
Her jealousy knew no bounds.
“Britt is my youngest sibling,” he began with an adoring and bright smile that captured Mila’s heart. “She’s the only girl. She’s a bit like my mom, but more like my dad. The problem with Britt is her spunk. She . . .”
The next hour passed with steady chatter, occasional whiffs of nasty dervish smell, and the gradual easing to different climes.
Mila leaned forward to see better as the dervishes disappeared off the port bow.
“Dervishes,” she mumbled, resting her chin on her palm. “How interesting. Do they do anything else?”
“No one knows.”
They lapsed into a companionable silence, and Mila relaxed more than she had in years. Stinna would slap her across the face and declare her an idjit for trusting a man with her life. There are no creatures so loathsome as men! she always shrieked.
Mila didn’t care.
Like most wonderful things in this wide world, the blanket statements her aunts applied to everything weren’t real. Yes, she had encountered the kind of men that they warned her away from, but Pedr proved that not all men acted like that.
Pedr was . . . different. Gentle. Intense. He didn’t say much and he pondered deeply. She had a feeling he spoke more to her than with most, but the hunch was only that. Thus far, he had been kind, attentive, and careful to allow her distance.
She would travel the wide seas forever with such a companion.
“This island was a perfect choice to visit first,” she said, “particularly because we can sail onward to something new . . . and less stinky.” With energy, she asked, “Where to next, Captain?”
He grinned.
“If you’re not in a hurry to go anywhere else, I know somewhere very special. It’s on the way to my destination, too.”
Pedr sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the ship and laughed. Mila giggled, lips rolled together to control her hilarity. Darkest night rolled away, broken only by arcane torchlight, stars, and a crescent moon.
Simple perfection.
“No,” he drawled, heels gently banging the wall. “I can’t say that I have any experience with spectrals.”
“None?”
“At all.”
She gasped dramatically. “I don’t believe you!”
“Spectrals aren’t real.”
“They are very real! They served my aunts. Thousands of them.” She swished a hand through the air. “You wouldn’t believe how paranoid the spectrals are. Fixated, too. Whatever thought they held onto when they died is what they can’t stop thinking about as a spectral.”
His carefully-curated question of, “Served your aunts?” sent her defenses on alert.
Oh, no.
She’d done it.
Her mouth snapped shut. A flush of heat filled her cheeks. He laughed, head tilted back, as if he thought her joking. She thrilled to the sound, relieved to be off the hook. If she’d created suspicion, he hid it well. He rarely displayed this bold of an emotion.
Pedr pointed to the distant horizon, both hands spreading wide. “Where would I find a spectral out here? There is too much water and not enough creepy, haunted places for them to linger.”
“Well,” she drawled, “I suppose you’re right. Trust me, you’re not missing out on anything.”
Only the rhythmic thud thud thud of his banging heels interrupted the quiet. She almost set a hand on his arm, surprising herself with the idea, before realizing how stupid that would be. Pedr had invisible emotional guards like daggers. She couldn’t believe he sat this close. It thrilled her.
“Why were you at Erevast island?” she asked. “Did the marketplace draw you in?”
Frowning, he replied, “You know? I can’t remember. I was . . . having a hard day.” His response died a too-quick death. The speed of his words seemed to indicate that he kept something from her. She felt his eyes staring into her, and wondered why they didn’t talk about the really important stuff.
Why didn’t he eat or breathe in the way of humans? Why did he appear cagey and tense about everything, but mostly his own arcane ship? Didn’t he sense it responding to him?
Her only conclusion was that he’d stumbled into the arcane life recently, or perhaps she was just making hearty assumptions.
What did she know about humans? Next to nothing.
With her sharp ears, she listened for his breathing, but heard it only before he spoke.
Confusion crossed his expression too often.
She didn’t want to ask why he seemed so uncertain, because he’d clamp right down, and talkative Pedr was too delightful.
“Why were you at Erevast?” he asked.
Her eyes dropped. “Oh. That’s . . . that’s a fair question. I had just brought my ship in to look for food, and wanted to see a market. The market.” She cleared her throat. Close call.
The words brought my ship in made her discomfort increase tenfold. She hadn’t brought anything, anywhere. That had been the Arcanist of the Sky. To explain it to him would take too long, and felt too fraught. Did either of them know who or what he was?
She doubted it.
He asked, “Did you find what you wanted?”
“Not unless you count an awful, smelly man named Branstead.”
Pedr laughed.
“Were you seeking something specific?”
Lightly, she whispered, “Freedom.” Realizing her mistake, she rushed to say, “I wanted to see what they sold in Erevast. I didn’t have any plans to buy. That is . . . I didn’t have any, ah . . . what’s the word?”
“Monies?”
Snapping two fingers, she cried, “Yes! Monies. I didn’t have any monies to purchase with, or goods to trade. Humans do that, right?” Blushing, she scrambled to say, “People! I meant to say people.”
Non-plussed, he shrugged. “We trade, yes. Depends on the island. That market has a lot of variety, but most island markets have the same things. Food, alcohol, and resupply necessities, like fresh water barrels or clothes. On an island like Erevast, where Branstead focuses his monies and products on alcohol, the market is meant to be a lure for other businesses.”
“Like what?”
“Enslaved humans, sex trafficking, that sort of thing.”
Her eyes widened. Stinna breathed constant nightmares about humans and their foul intentions against each other, but Mila thought they were dramatic lies to keep her frightened. She forced herself to look away before he caught the innocence on her face.
Deciding it was time to change the subject, she asked, “Do you often go around saving women in these marketplaces?”
“Not routinely.”
“That’s too bad. You’re very good at it. And handsome.”
He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Thanks, I think. Where are you from?”
She gestured west. “That way.”
“What island?”
Puzzled by the question, she managed a slow, “Ah . . .”
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said quickly, “I was just curious. Lots of people don’t want to reveal where they’re from.”
Her rising shoulders swooped back down.
“Thanks.”
“You’re a private person?”
“Very private.”
“I understand.”
“Where are you from?”
“Kapurnick.”
He mentioned this place earlier, when describing draguls. She repeated it slowly, as if savoring every vowel. “Kah-puuur-niiiick. Tell me about it.”
“You haven’t heard of it?”
Lips pressed, she shook her head.
“It’s beautiful,” he admitted ruefully. “With Dragul Mountain and gyllene and the outer islands. The water is very blue, especially toward the barrier chain.”
“It sounds lovely.”
“Do you like to travel?”
A hand pressed to her heart. “I love it very much, but I haven’t seen many places yet.”
“Where do you want to go?”
Spreading both arms, she said, “Everywhere! Anywhere. It’s all new.”
The words echoed with an immature and foolish hope that she’d never regret. Pedr stood and offered her a hand. She hesitated, looking at his palm, and then him, with rising eyebrows.
“Come,” he said softly. “I have a map. Let’s look at it together, and make a list of islands you want to see. As long as they’re on the way to Kapurnick so I can see my brother and sister, we’ll go.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean it?”
“Unless you had another plan?”
“N-no.”
Her hand slid in his, and a thousand strings slammed through her body. Invisible connections tugged her heart, her soul. The moment she felt his willing touch, she knew she had been utterly and eternally changed.
Pedr held her fingers tight and murmured, “This way.” His voice rolled and rumbled like distant thunder.
She kept her hand in his and followed.