Chapter 1
You do not know me. I am not your friend, nor your enemy. I am no one’s business. I have no care with anything. All feeling is buried with me, you cannot make me cry, nor laugh, nor strike you in anger. I will tell this story myself. I am called the scarred goddess. You shall know me by no other.

Gods and goddesses are not invincible. They are immortal, but this only serves to create feuding and pain as time goes by.

I was once rather comfortable. My father had a large palace in the center of a lush, fertile valley. My mother was an excellent manager, and managed to get from the servants what no one else could. I was the eldest, Shifa being only 2, and Thosu being 12. All was pleasant, since the Wars had recently ended, and the arguing gods had arrived at a tentative truce, but we all knew it would not be long until our father, Keste, found something new to quarrel about.

If Tukwe had not been sitting with his bottle that night, many things would be different now, but as it was, he came into my father’s study that night, staggering from drunkenness. The next day Tukwe was executed for sedition, and no one knew precisely why.

Rumors flew like daggers: Tukwe was supposed to have angered my father, and my father was supposed to have sworn to have him executed on the morrow; they said it was done in answer to a challenge, the rumors never ended. One even suggested that Tukwe was a goodwill sacrifice from one god to another.

It was true that Tukwe came from the household of Mahye, but he was apparently not a gesture of goodwill. At the time of the execution, I turned my head. I had no wish to see someone die. (It strikes me as ironic that I have seen many people die by my own hand, and stranger yet that I took some strange pleasure at watching them die.)

My brother Thosu asked if I was well. I nodded, though in truth I could feel tears struggling to get out. He walked me out of the crowd assembled for the execution.

When I was fourteen, and upset, I would often go away to a little tree that my older brother had planted before he died. Thosu seemed to know that this was where I would want to go. I hadn’t been here in nearly two years.

Brenf’s tree had grown to be nearly as tall as I. I leaned back against the tree and sighed. I wasn’t deeply torn, simply bewildered at what Tukwe had done to deserve this and fearful of what would happen when Mahye discovered the truth.

I sobbed, my cheek pressed against the short trunk of my brother’s tree. Thosu never said a word. He simply put his hand on my shoulder until I had calmed myself enough to go back.

The crowd was just breaking up by the time we got back, and no one even noticed that we had been missing. Late that night, I had many things on my mind, and the death of Tukwe was not the least. But foremost was the fear that there would be another war.

The soldiers were sighted after midnight, although I knew nothing of it until Tatha, my mother, came into my room and shook me.

“Darling, wake up, there’s trouble and you must get out of here. Even with my sleepy eyes I could see her fear. The candle she was holding cast shadows on her face that danced over the hollows under her eyes, showing that she had not slept well, or at all. She instructed me to put on warm robes and be ready when she came back. Of course I had no idea when she would come back, but it seemed best to simply hurry and not ask questions.

This happened every time a new war started, and I was not terribly scared, having gone through it so many times. What worried me was the destruction of the country, and in turn, the way my life seemed to change, as it had after every war.

My mother came in holding Shifa, my baby sister, and handed her to me. Thosu was behind her. He had a pack swung over his shoulder, and he looked a little nervous, but not scared to death. This had happened to him too. “Go quietly, and keep eachother safe. Do not return until I send for you.” My mother hugged us all one last time and sent us out the side door in the kitchen.

I knew that she would begin arming herself for battle as soon as we left, as she always did. My mother was an excellent warrior.

Thosu followed me as we swept towards the woods. We did not stop running till we were at the edge of the forest, where we waited to watch the war party leave the palace. At first we could see nothing. Then a long, thin flicker of light showed, and we knew that the doors were being opened. Then the marble gates opened as well, letting the first war horses dance through.

Anyone could see they were eager for battle. Their ears were pricked up, and they lifted their hooves in impatience.

In the distance a cloud of dust rose, easily visible in the moonlight. Mahye’s warriors were coming swiftly. They were closer, and closer. Then, led by Keste and Tatha, our soldiers charged. Neither I nor Thosu had seen this much before. I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but I was and I couldn’t make myself leave.

They met with a clash, and our party was instantly driven back about fifty yards. I heard Thosu gasp beside me. “Shhshh,” I said, “they’ll be fine.” Nevertheless, I crushed Shifa closer to me, and heard her sigh. I did not know how she could sleep; the noise was nearly deafening.

The noise! It had not been that raucous a moment ago, but our troops had fallen back farther, and the battle was nearly on top of us now. Arrows flew past; it was a wonder that none of us had been hit. Thosu grabbed my hand and woke me from the spell of the battle.

He ran away as fast as he could, and I ran beside him. Then a whoosh – a cry – and Thosu was lying on the fir needles, gasping, with a feathered arrow sticking out of his back. I couldn’t even think; I didn’t know what to do, and I stood staring at him while blood gushed out of his heart and he breathed his last breath.

That’s when I screamed. I threw myself over him and screamed until my breath gave out, and then I drew it in and screamed again.
Then rough hands grabbed me, and tore my sister away. Shifa! I should have known they would hear me. Even in my shock I felt fear for her, and I tackled the brute who had snatched her. His friend pulled me off of him and held my elbows behind me.

They heaved us up onto their horses and galloped back onto the battlefield. Then the horse my captor was riding reared and I saw my chance. I slipped out from the man’s arms and fell off the horse.

I hit the ground heavily, but I stumbled to my feet to find Shifa. Her captor was nowhere to be seen. I turned around, my sense of direction entirely disoriented.

A mottled grey warhorse screamed defiantly, at me, I thought. Sharp cries and groans arose all around me. I got the breath knocked out of me with the hilt of a sword, but no one came to help a goddess-child in a battle.

I stood up dizzily, too shocked to cry or be scared of what was happening. For in front of me, the goddess Tatha sat astride on the grey I had seen earlier. I could not think of her as my mother; she looked wild and fierce, ready and eager to kill.

She did not see me; her eyes were on her opponent. She threw herself forward at him and plunged her sword clear through him. I heard his cry of anguish as he writhed in his saddle, and then he slumped over onto his horse’s neck. The horse whinnied loudly and galloped off, his rider bouncing and slipping down in the saddle until he tipped over to the side and hit the dirt with a sickening sound.

A scream split the noise and made everybody look up for a split second, and another followed the first.

Mine. My mother sat with her back arched in the saddle, her head thrown back, blood flowing down her front where the leaden tip of an arrow showed through. Her eyes focused on me, her face contorted with pain. She strained in another breath as I started to cry. She shook her head, and said weakly, “Go.” She repeated this several times, and each time her voice grew softer. Then nothing came.

Her face relaxed, a cold, waxy, blue color. Blood still streamed out of her chest. Her horse nudged her with the tip of its nose, obediently standing still for his next order. He didn’t move till he was stabbed with an enemy dagger.

I didn’t watch, I could do nothing but run. Now, I would have died before leaving, but then, I couldn’t do anything but cry, and covering even that, I feared for my life.
So I turned my back and headed for the woods.
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Chapter 2

Everything happened so fast. I couldn’t believe that everything and everyone I had cared for was gone in the space of four hours. I tried to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. Every time I did, I saw my mother, her grey face slipping lower and lower; and her back twisted in the iron black saddle that she always used. I had to keep them open

I refused to think about what had happened. I was constantly fighting to keep the pictures and the pain out of my head. Where was Thosu, anyway? And then it all flooded back and I lay on my side and sobbed, my sides convulsing, my heart contracting as if someone had thrust a sword through my middle.

Dawn comes early in the land of Keste. The first fingers of grey came shooting over the horizon. This is the part where most people wake up after having cried all night and feel a sense of peacefulness.

I know this, because they have many stories of the old gods and goddesses and their children, and many of them say this. I had been crying all night, however, and there was no relief for me.

I began to walk, aimlessly, wondering what would become of me. A goddess-child is not like a delicious pomegranate that rolls off the stands and is immediately picked up by somebody eager to taste it. The gods and goddesses were no longer respected in the city, ever since Keste started the Wars, and it was not safe to enter the city undisguised. My mother would often go into the city, posing as a simple housewife.

I came to the edge of the birches with tears rolling down my cheeks. I swiped at them with my sleeves. I rested my cheek against the tree, trying desperately to control my sobs. Perhaps I should stay in the woods until I could think more clearly.

I stayed in the birch-wood for three weeks, searching for food, often eating only heona root, and slowly getting used to the idea that I was going to have to make my own way now. I still cried over my family when I thought of them, but I had learned not to think of them, to make my days easier. It was time to enter the city.

I had not washed once during the time I was in the woods, so that was the first thing that came to my mind, but the only place I saw was the public bath in the center of the city. I asked the guard if there was not another place that I might bathe in, but he just laughed and said, “What? Are you too high and mighty to bathe with the rest of us? What do you think you are, a goddess?”

All the other soldiers and guards that he was with laughed and jeered. My face turned red with fury, and I very nearly let it slip that I was practically a goddess, at least the nearest they had to one since the rest were probably dead by now.

Somehow, I kept my words in and climbed into the bath. Three weeks worth of dirt practically slid off. As angry as I was at the guards, I almost smiled as the water wrapped around me. At home, we had a brook that I bathed and swam in, and the feeling was very nearly the same. And it felt good to be clean. I was very much refreshed by the time I stepped out of the bath.

I decided that next I should find a place to live. I thought I could pretend to be an orphan, and maybe someone would take me in. Two hours later, after having gone through near half the city (or so I thought), and after having been yelled at by some, I was entirely disillusioned and very much disheartened. One motherly looking woman had almost decided to accept me, but her husband came home then and said he was sorry, but they could not afford another mouth to feed.

I saw that I might have to work for my food and shelter. I had never had to work before, and I wasn’t eager to start now, but there wasn’t much I could do. I went back to the woman and asked if perhaps I could work for my keep. She called her husband to the front of the little cottage they lived in. She repeated what I had said. He rubbed his beard slowly, nearly crossing his eyes in thought.

“I don’t know that there is anything that you could do that would help us here, but perhaps you could work at the docks with me.” I immediately agreed. When I had lived on the hill I would beg my mother to let me down near the ocean, but she never would let me. “It’s too dangerous for a child like you.” she would say. I had always loved the water. A voice broke into my thoughts. “She mayhap could help with the children.”

Oh no, I was terrible with children. I was impatient and demanding. I tried to make her understand this, but she refused to believe me. Nonsense, it was, any girl could learn to love children, she said.

The way it came out in the end was that I would help Mante on the docks after dark, and his wife Liuna with the children during the daylight hours.

The docks were dangerous; they weren’t very well fastened to the shore, so that the slightest bump could set them tilting, and more than once I lost my balance and fell off. Aside from that, all the lowlife lurked nearby, and it was made worse in the dark. As a girl I had to be on my watch all the time.

My first day, Mante gave me a whistle, a beautiful copper contraption that we had not seen up on the hill. I was to blow it if there was ever any trouble I could not get myself out of. I never actually had any trouble, but it was comforting to have near.

I am ahead of myself. My first night with Mante and Liuna was spent on a cot in the south corner, next to a little window facing the back. Nightingales, perched on the branches of a tree I had not seen before, sang their breathtaking song. Liuna told me that the tree was a jesta tree. It had silvery green leaves, and its slim trunk and branches held a hint of blue. It reminded me of stories told to me of dryads, and mermaids.

Liuna said it would be a long day for me tomorrow, and I had best go to sleep. Mante wouldn’t be home until morning. Tomorrow I would learn to help Liuna with her children, and come nighttime I would help Mante down at the docks.

There were five children. Thia was the youngest, and she reminded me painfully of Shifa. Her jade green eyes, her smile, and the way she cuddled next to her mother when she was scared. Next were Jimte, a small boy not much older than Thia, Lalata, a darling girl in the exact image of her mother and due for her eight birthday within the week, and Domtu, a quiet boy with interest only for locksmithing, it seemed.

Finde was the oldest, and different in every sense of the word. He was quiet, then wild, then nearly dancing for joy. He was impossible to hold down, and entirely unpredictable. I couldn’t help liking him. No one could, for long. He seemed to be, quite simply, from another world. Liuna was correct; I soon learned to love all of them, and for the most part I enjoyed taking care of them, although Finde didn’t need much taking care of, as he was nearly fifteen.

I was also busy down at the docks. Mante taught me everything, from how to carry the heavy wooden buckets so as not to break my back, to making repairs in broken hulls. I soon found it was impossible to work in the women’s robes I wore, and the next morning Mante presented something he had made out of a man’s robe.

It was shaped funny, so that there were two tubes that wrapped around my legs, connected at the top. All the sailors wore them, but I was rather hesitant. “Just try them on.” he said. I put them on reluctantly, but they were so comfortable that I wanted to wear them all the way back to the house. Mante laughed and said that we needed to keep this to ourselves; Liuna would be shocked to see me like this.

From then on I wore my real clothes in the day and my new sailor’s clothes at night. It had been two months since the attack.

Lalata became ill during September, when the air first started to become crisp. It was not much at first, just a cough and a sniffle. After about a week Liuna sent her to bed, much to her protests. The next day there were no protests. Lalata lay in her bed, feverish and shivering at the same time. Mante gave me the nights off so that I could remain by her side and spoon warm broth into her mouth. It was hard for her to swallow.

Mante went for the healer the next morning. The healer pounded a poultice of herbs, none of which I recognized, and placed it on her throat, to draw the fever out, she said. There was nothing we could do but wait. Meanwhile, Liuna kept the other children away from Lalata, so as to keep them from getting sick.

Finde was beside himself. He spent his fifteenth birthday in his room, pacing back and forth, coming out only to check on Lalata. As often as not, Liuna would be in the room with me, and she would shoo him out. I let him stay, though. I couldn’t turn him away. He was nearly crying one time, asking me if I thought she was going to be okay. I couldn’t honestly say yes, and I couldn’t tell him that no, his little sister was dying. I stared at him, trying to find something to say, but he didn’t wait to hear it. He ran into his room with a strangled cry.

Perhaps you may think it strange that a boy of his age reacted like this. As I have said, he was different. No one really understood him, and it didn’t seem strange that he should cry. I suppose you could say that he felt more than other people.

The healer came by again that night. She arranged no poultices on Lalata’s neck. She did not ask for payment. She simply prayed over her, and left. Lalata’s fate was sealed. Nothing but a miracle could help her.

Chapter 3

You mustn’t think I had forgotten about Shifa. Do you remember that I didn’t see her die? I wanted to find her. I wasn’t sure if she was dead or alive, but I promised myself that soon I would find out.

Lalata was not yet dead, but neither was she recovering. Liuna began to prepare the mourning cloths, but they were kept out of the way, to keep from frightening Lalata. Poor child, she did not understand that she was dying, only that she was very sick. More than once she asked her mother if they could go down to the shore once she was well. Liuna would nod and say, yes, they certainly would, but she would walk away with tears in her eyes.

After that outburst, Finde never cried again. He often left the house for days at a time. No one knew where he went, and no one asked for fear he would cry again. An adolescent boy sobbing his heart out is not a sight one often sees, and once you have seen it, you will wish never to see it again. It is truly heartbreaking, for those of us who still have hearts, as I did then.

My curiosity overwhelmed me. I, along with everyone else, kept silent my wonderings of his wanderings. I could contain it only so long, however, and one morning I sneaked outside about thirty paces behind him. He led me in complicated tangles of paths through the city, winding left at this house, turning right at that merchant’s stand. Finally he ducked out the city gates, somehow managing to avoid the guards that watched there.

I had trouble getting past them, but I managed it in the end. I ended up nearly twice as far behind him as when I had started out. I ran on the tips of my toes to catch up to where I had been. I had always been a fast runner. Back when the gods had been at peace, the other children and I would have races, and I would always win. I was rather proud of myself for that. These thoughts passed through my head as I ran.

It reminded me of my lost friends. Actually, I didn’t know if they were dead; I merely knew that it was likely that we would never meet again. I thought of Coife, my closest friend, and Joyle, the boy I had once found so handsome.

In a way, Finde reminded me of him. The same wild, tangled red hair, the same straight nose, and the same fearlessness that both showed no matter what the occasion.

You may think that Finde was not very brave, but in truth he was. Even now, I do not know how to give a name to bravery; I simply know that he had it.

However, I distract you from the moment at hand. The way Finde had chosen led up the hill towards the woods I had hidden in nearly five months ago. I was wary of returning; I was not sure the memories would leave me alone. They did not. That patch of ground where I had dug up the heona root, this tree where I had often slept against because it was tilted just so towards the ground. All of them flooded back as if to break my heart. Still I followed.

He walked and I followed for a while; an hour or two, I suppose. At the edge of the wood, he stopped. He sat on the spongy ground. I couldn’t look; he was right next to the place where my mother had died. Had been killed. I didn’t want to know whether her body was still there.

He sat there for nigh half hour before he abruptly stood up and turned around. It seemed silly to walk for hours to sit and stare at – I didn’t want to know what it was that he was looking at – for a half hour.

I was hidden behind a tree ten feet away from him, but luckily he didn’t come my way. My face and body were pressed into the birch. I waited until the crackling of dead branches was no longer audible. Then I slowly drew away from the birch and holding my breath, looked at the scene before me.

The bodies had been cleared away, although who had done it was impossible to know. I moved a little closer, until the trees no longer brushed past my head. There was matted blood on the ground. The though that some of it might be my mothers and perhaps my little sisters made me sick. Other than that, the hill looked peaceful, as it had always been.

I followed him more than once in the week to come. The journey seemed to rest his heart as going to the sea rested mine. He never once knew that I followed him. One day he started coughing, and the whole house was in a flurry of motion, and Liuna worried over him terribly, but the next day he was back to normal.

He seemed bitter that he got better while Lalata did not. He worried over her terribly. One day, when he went on his daily trip to the hill, he did not stop at the edge of the woods. He climbed the hill, up to the gates of the courtyard we had lived in, months ago, a lifetime ago.

He wandered around in the room where my father had ruled. At that moment it hit me that I wasn’t sure what had happened to him. I had simply taken it for granted that he was dead somehow. I felt terribly guilty for that.

But, then, what else could have happened to him? He may not have been especially wise (here I felt guilty again for thinking such a thing), but he was by no means a coward. If he were alive, he would not sit around hiding. He would be a prisoner in Mahye’s household, or he would be here, or he would be dead. That meant his chances were not good, since he was plainly not here. He might as well have been dead as been in Mahye’s house. Surely he would not let him live.

Finde didn’t sit down at all this time. He walked down the corridors and through the rooms with a thoroughness that would have made me think he was just an ordinary boy, exploring, but that he showed no interest in anything.
Dust lay over everything. Even if all the gods and goddesses were dead, shouldn’t there be somebody here? A servant or two? The place was dead. Empty.

I felt lonely and almost cold as I looked. Finde didn’t seem to notice the emptiness. He kept wandering about. I gave up following him; he would come back eventually. I wanted to see my old room. There would be memories there, but I needed to be in it just for a little while. Just so I could be around the familiar comforting smell.

As I turned the corner I gasped. This couldn’t be my room. It had been turned upside down, ransacked, torn apart beyond all repair. I couldn’t bear it. I went through my room in a wild frenzy, ripping this rug away from that lamp, trying to find something from my old life. Every precious thing I had owned was broken or stolen. Tears were running down my cheeks as I flew around. Even my bed was broken down the middle. The rich embroidered quilt that had covered me so many nights was gone. I flung myself across the crack and screamed. Sobs racked my chest; I could hardly breathe.

Everything I knew was gone. There was no possible way to bring them back. Mother and Thosu were dead, killed before my eyes. Father was dead or captured. Shifa – I couldn’t even think of her. She was gone, lost. My home was devastated, Lalata was dying. There would be nothing left for me soon.

Finde was gone by the time I had recovered enough to tear myself away from my old room. I was glad he hadn’t heard my scream. I walked back, stopping on the way to pick up some fruit so that my journey wouldn’t be entirely wasted.

Lalata was worse when I got back, if that could be imagined. The small cough had turned into great, hacking, wretched sounds that seemed to come from someplace other than her throat. Her whole body shook with them. She often sobbed in the middle of a coughing fit, frightened of what was happening. With red eyes, wet cheeks, and shaking, convulsing body, she was a pitiful sight.

That night, in one of the rare times when she was not choking and coughing, she asked me to bring Finde. I hid away in a corner after I had brought him. It seemed as if I did a lot of hiding. It was hard to hear what she said, but I could see Finde shaking his head and telling her he didn’t know. She started crying softly, and she threw her thin, pale arms around her brother’s neck. He hugged her back, and for a while sister and brother sobbed in each other’s arms.

The next morning I woke up to a shriek. Mante stood holding his wife in his arms, and she was weeping. My heart stopped. I rushed to the room where Lalata had been sleeping. The sheet was pulled all the way up, covering a small body. Lalata’s body. Sweet, darling Lalata, who was so trusting. Who had such sunny blue eyes. She had died during the night.

She was dead. Utterly and completely dead. I had only known her a few months, but I lay my head down next to her and let the tears fall. There were many.

Finde woke up a little later, as did the rest of the children. While they cried loudly, Finde sat down next to me with a look of anguished pain. Two lone tears made their way down his cheeks. Slowly, he laid his cheek down upon the bedspread and closed his eyes.

Chapter 4

That was the first of the many vivid dreams I had. No, Lalata was not dead. In fact, by the next morning, the fever had broken, and she was improving. I do not know what caused this, but I was very thankful, for this meant I could return to my work on the docks.

The sea smelled wonderful; that salty, seaweed smell. I went back to helping Mante with his work on the ships. I caulked the decks of the ships that were going to go out to sea soon, and I made repairs to the sails on ships that had just come back through many a storm. I would cling to the sails and let the wind fly past my face and tangle my hair.

Once, my hair nearly caused my death. I was repairing the sail of the Scarred Goddess, and Hurh (one of my many friends on the docks) was repairing the mast. My hair was wrapped around my face, practically. Of a sudden, there was a creaking, a shout, and a very near sound of something flying past me. I lost my grip on the sail and started tumbling down, my hair still in my face. I could not think (have you ever noticed how hard it is to think rationally when you’re flying downwards towards you-know-not-what?) except to think I was going to die, and I wondered if it would hurt.

Then a splash, MY splash, told me that I had not landed on the deck. It took me several moments to surface, coughing and spluttering and shivering all over. The water was ice-cold; it was October, after all. I was a fast swimmer though, even when I was cold, and by the time someone jumped in to rescue me, I was nearly at the shore, and by the time they caught up, it was of no good, because I had already arrived.

Hurh told me that the broken mast had cracked at the bottom, and in the midst of repairing it, it tipped over and “swooshed past you”.
Mante insisted that I cut my hair after that, and I willingly complied. I was not terribly fond of the way it flew into my face whenever I was doing something important.

I liked Hurh because he was funny, always inventing new words and games. He was my age, sixteen, plus a little more. Sometimes it seemed that he was trying to get everyone to go as mad as he. I had no doubt that he was slightly crazy. It was obvious, and he accepted it without question.

Despite this fact, he was brilliant, and war was his specialty. He was full of ideas and dreams of the battlefield. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said that he wanted war. Whenever he wasn’t working, he was drawing diagrams with little boxes representing battalions. He was always happiest when he did this, and his grey eyes would flash with excitement as if he saw what was happening from the front lines themselves.

It surprised me that although Lalata was alive and rapidly improving, Finde would continue to leave for long periods of time. I had assumed, like everyone else, that he had gone because he was worried about Lalata.

I didn’t follow him much anymore; I had too much work on my hands. Jimte was six years old now, with all the curiosities that age implies. It was impossible to keep anything from him. Whenever he was caught doing something he knew he wasn’t supposed to, he would tuck his head down and tilt it to the side with an infectious giggle. It was hard to get mad at him. He was always poking his nose into the kitchen to see what Liuna was making, while I was in the living room trying my best to keep the other children occupied so that they would let Lalata alone.

On certain occasions I would get time away, when Thia and Jimte were napping. Finde was, of course, away, and Domtu was absorbed with his locksmithing. At these times I would go to the market. I loved to stop by the spice stand and breathe in the pungent scent. These spices were too expensive for me to buy – they came from across the sea, and were apparently hard to obtain – but there was nothing preventing me from smelling them. I would go by the cloth stands, where they would sell fine fabrics, but none of them were equal to the robes I had once owned on the hill. These were rougher, coarser, although by the city’s standards they were the finest that money could buy.

I loved going here. The market was in the middle of the city, but you could see the ocean from its edge. The sea breeze was covered with the scents of the market; the fruits, vegetables, spices, medicines, and baked goods. So this was what drew my mother here, on those rare occasions that she would dress as a housewife (didn’t I mention that?) and make her way through the market. I was lost in memories for the rest of my trip, and didn’t buy anything.

Hurh was there already when I and Mante arrived the next evening. His face was a strange mixture of fear and excitement. He seemed to be trembling all over in anticipation. He was quiet the whole night while the other sailors told jokes and stories and sang songs about pirates of old. He simply worked with that shining light in his eyes – the same light that I saw when he drew his battle diagrams. Only this time it was tinged with something else – I could not tell what.

When the nights work was finished, he pulled me over to where it was dark and pressed a folded piece of parchment into my hand. “Think carefully before you decide.” I was confused. Part of it may have been that he smelled good – like sea air and cinnamon, I decided, which was strangely intoxicating. Part of it was wonderment at what he meant.

I didn’t get the chance to read it until I was back at the cottage. Liuna was sitting up waiting, as she usually did. I didn’t hesitate to go to my small, curtained off area that was considered my room. There I opened the note and read, first with bewilderment, then understanding, and a spark of horror that came suddenly and left before I had a chance to properly feel it.

“The pirates have returned. They are terrorizing the seashores on the East. They call for war. I am going. This is what I always wanted. You know that. All the help we can get, we need. It would also be nice to have a friend aboard with me. That said, it is sure to be dangerous, and not something for a lady, even an extraordinary one like you. I would not ask that you come with me, but I decided that you may want to be informed. It is your decision. Our ship, the Sea Dancer, leaves next Monday.”

Your loyal friend, Hurh.

Excitement coursed through my body, along with the sharp realization that I could not go.
Too many depended on me. But what of Hurh? Could I abandon him to this alone? Yes,
I decided, I could, and I had to. This had always been his dream; to fight and win.

But it was a dream that he would have to fulfill alone. I had my own life. I won’t pretend that I felt no pangs of regret when I decided this. An image cut through my head of Hurh cut open and bleeding on the deck of a ship, pirates laughing over his body. I shook it out quickly and shuddered silently. I undressed with gritted teeth, trying to shut out the pictures that came unbidden to my brain. I climbed into bed and forced myself to go to sleep.

The next evening at the docks I informed Hurh of my decision. He didn’t press me to change my mind, but shook his head sadly. It was hard for him to stay like that all night, though. The dancing light would show in his eyes, and you could tell that he couldn’t wait until Monday. I asked him if he was excited. He looked at me with those silver-grey eyes and nodded. I asked him if he would miss me. Immediately I regretted asking that; it seemed too bold, but he said yes. He was quiet the rest of the night.

I was there Monday when Hurh left. He couldn’t contain his grin, and it spread over his face and crinkled his eyes. It was then that it hit me that he might die. I had seen pictures in my head, but frightening as they were, they weren’t real. I painted a smile on my own face and waved for all I was worth. Hurh looked at me, laughed, and blew a kiss. I blushed to the roots of my hair. Someone might think we were sweethearts, when we definitely weren’t. By the time I was back at the cottage, I realized that I liked it. I also realized the sinking feeling in my stomach, like when you’re returning from a holiday.

I hoped I would see him again.

Chapter 5

Pirates of long ago were a children’s tale, a sailor’s yarn of things that might never have happened. They captured ships, murdered the men, and ravaged the women. I wasn’t all that sure that the pirates Hurh had spoken of were any more real than the others long ago. I asked Mante whether or not he thought any of the pirates, old or new, were real.

“Most assuredly. My grandfather fought in the first wave of pirates. He was captured and killed.” He spoke bitterly. But after that, I no longer doubted the pirates with such certainty.

Hurh wrote me with regularity, short but amusing tales of life at sea. He had yet to fight his first battle, although he hoped it would be soon.

It was three months or so since they had left when a ship came in bearing letters from the pirate-hunters, and also another ship that I didn’t even know of. It had been more than a month since my last letter from Hurh, and I was beginning to wonder if he was okay, so I rushed to the letter carrier with eagerness. He looked through his sack and dug around a bit, finally fishing out a letter marked with my name. He gave me another with Mante’s name on it.

I opened my letter with trembling hands, before I even took Mante his. In neat handwriting that was not Hurh’s, I was told the tale of the pirate-hunter’s first battle. Past the greeting was a paragraph that I had to read twice, and then once again before I understood what had happened.

The battle raged on for some time, before the pirate captain made his appearance. We had all thought he was fighting among us, but now we were certain he was not. He drew out his sword with a yell that would make a veteran cower, and raged through the fighters, killing most in his path, and injuring the rest. Our captain has surrendered, and I know not what has befallen him, other than that he was taken prisoner along with our remaining pirate-hunters. The pirate captain sent me away with a message to the rest of the world. I have been picked up by the Shark and am on my way to Yekha to deliver personally the last of my messages.

My friend Hurh was taken, and he asked me send you this. He says not to worry too much, no matter what, he will be alright; but if I may be frank, I don’t believe he will be. This pirate, Efan, is not known for his mercy. I say this only because I believe you deserve the truth. However, I know that Hurh did not want you to worry, and as such, you must not. Concentrate on your duties, and may you fare well in all matters.

Sincerely, Lej, friend of Hurh.

I read the next to last sentences for the third time with a sinking heart. You know the feeling; when you hear bad news and try to make the best of it, and then learn it is hopeless. I was utterly numb. I slipped Mante’s letter into a fold in my robe, and walked slowly to the place I now called home.

So Hurh had finally fought in his first battle. Was he elated at the start? Was he fearful? And the hardest question of all, was he dead? I couldn’t stand the thought. I couldn’t stand that he might be dead, and that I would be left behind to live life as I had for the last year, pushing on even though I was dying inside.

Perhaps I was a little dramatic about it, for I had lived through death before. But that almost made it worse, for I knew what it felt like now, and I didn’t think I could live it again.

The last sentence of Lej’s letter infuriated me. How did he expect me to concentrate? Was he completely heartless? Did he really care if I “fared well in all matters”? I doubted it.

Despite my feelings, there was nothing I could really do. I considered sailing on the next ship to leave the harbor, but they weren’t sailing for the pirates. None of the ships were. They all feared that they would be next. I cursed them for cowards and vowed to organize another group of pirate-hunters as soon as I got the chance.

I was still angry at Lej, although not as much. I was glad he had seen fit to tell me the truth about the danger Hurh was in. I have always preferred the truth, even when it is terrifying. It was the captain I was truly furious at. How dare he surrender? How could he not know that this would happen? Sometimes I would lie in my bed at night and my chest would tighten and heat up from anger. He had to know they would be captured. There was no other way.

Exhausted, angry, and still somewhat juvenile at sixteen, I concluded that he was in league with the pirate captain, and I would destroy him along with the rest. Someday. Having decided this, I felt as much at peace as I could be, and I drifted off to sleep, and didn’t wake until dawn.

I should have mentioned long ago that Mante was also a sea trader, the type that stays in port and trades with ships coming in. A month back, Mante had traded on credit with a trusted trader friend of his. Mante gave his goods to his friend, Ulah, in agreement that as soon as the next ship of his came in, Mante would get his goods in return.

We still hadn’t heard from him, but his ship was expected in port any day now, and no one was too worried. I threw myself into my work. In a way, Lej was right. I couldn’t do anything – yet – but I eagerly awaited the day when I could go off to sea. I would go even if I found out Hurh was dead. The sea was where I really belonged; even I knew that much.

About a week later, I was working in the house with the children. Jimte was just starting to be schooled, and I was put to the task of teaching him. Later, in three years, he would go to the school in the city, but for now, I taught him all I could. He asked me the hardest questions sometimes. Ever since Hurh had left, he wanted to know why people went to war. I couldn’t understand it either, despite living with a man like my father for more than fifteen years.

Domtu was so absorbed in his locksmithing that he began to neglect his schoolwork. Mante spoke to him, but I was there, and I couldn’t see anything indicating that Domtu was listening. His eyes were glazed over, dull, as if he was living somewhere else, but not lit up like Hurh’s were when he spoke of war.

Lalata was completely recovered by now, and already acting like a miniature mother. It was obvious that she could not wait until she had children and a husband of her own, even though she was only eight. I myself couldn’t quite understand this. Even at sixteen, when many girls were getting married, I wasn’t thinking about it too much. Oh, I thought about Hurh nearly every hour, perhaps more often, but I certainly wasn’t to the point where I wanted to marry him. But, I thought to myself, there’s no accounting for taste. She would fuss over little Jimte and even littler Thia all the time. Liuna finally gave her the job of getting both of them ready, and giving Thia her baths.

Thia was as bouncy and cheerful as always. She had fat, freckled cheeks, and her hair had darkened a little; it was more of a sandy color now. Her jade green eyes sparkled. She had long ago accepted me into the family and no longer clung to her mother’s skirts when I was around. She was only four, and still had no responsibilities, except maybe being the darling of the family.

Finde worried me. He still left early in the morning and didn’t return until evening. At home he was cheerful and acted as if nothing was amiss, but once Lalata made the mistake of asking him where he went every day, and he struck a blow across her cheek. Her eyes widened; I don’t think anybody had ever hit her before, and tears began to spill down her cheeks. Suddenly she burst into sobs, and ran out of the room. Mante came home early that evening and spoke severely to Finde, but his face was sullen, and his eyes shimmered the way they do when someone is just barely holding his tears and anger in.

After he was done, he went into the kitchen to speak to Liuna. I didn’t listen in this time, but it didn’t matter, because a few minutes later I was called in. Mante said one of his workers had approached him and said he was sorry about Mante’s current financial situation. This was the first Mante had heard about there even being a situation, and he wondered aloud why the mail carrier had nothing for him. He then looked at me sideways, in that way grownups do when they know that you are guilty. I had forgotten about the letter with Mante’s name on it! I had intended to give it to him, but I had forgotten when I read my own letter. I confessed I had forgotten, expecting a beating, but Mante just told me to get it.

I found it in my room where it had slipped out of my robe. The family gathered in the kitchen, even Finde, while Mante slit the letter open with his fingernail.

Chapter 6

I never saw the contents of the letter. Mante told us to pack up; we were leaving that night. Later I heard him talk to Liuna in hushed tones, but I could only catch fragments of what they were saying. However, after they were done, Mante went out the door and walked out with his head low, as Liuna sadly closed the door behind him.

She pulled me aside and told me that I would have to stay here. Mante was making arrangements for me to live with another family by the sea. Her eyes were bright with tears as she said this, and I hugged her, for she had been like a favorite aunt to me.

Mante came back with a short woman who was rather plump and expressionless. She eyed me carefully. “She’ll do, I suppose. Come with me, child.” I stayed where I was. I didn’t particularly like the looks of this woman, and I didn’t like being called ‘child’.

“Come on, I said! Don’t stand there staring like a flippertigibbet!” she screeched. I looked at Mante; he couldn’t be giving me away to this hag.
“Go on, child.” he said softly. ‘Child’ took on a different meaning when he said it. I continued to look at him in disbelief; could he not see the woman in front of him? Had he gone blind and deaf?

He pulled me out of their hearing and laid his hand on my shoulder. “It wasn’t the first choice I would have made. But the work is no harder than here, and you will not be working under Tatla.”

“Is that her name? Why couldn’t they have chosen a cruel sounding one, like Gipthut, or Jorp?” I whispered.

He chuckled quietly. “Partly because those are boys names. I agree, she’s not terribly sociable. But she’s agreed to pay you well if you work hard. You can continue working nights at the docks if you want to; she won’t care.”
I stared at him sullenly. I was still a goddess-child, no matter what had happened to me! I still thought things should be done my way. I had had visions of a cozy family with a fire at night, and good meals, and a few children to look after.

He looked at me searchingly and said, “You’ll do fine. You’ve had troubles before. Now that I think about it, I don’t know anything about your past life. You need to tell me that someday; that will give me extra incentive to visit you.” He reached down and hugged me. “Godspeed.” he whispered. I extracted myself and walked towards Tatla, head high and jaw set.

My first week with Tatla was not as bad as I expected, although by no means was it as nice as it was with Mante and Liuna. It turned out that I was working under Tatla, although this was arranged at the last moment. Tatla was loud and grouchy, but she was a late riser, and I usually managed to have a few hours in the morning to myself. I often wondered about Finde and the rest, and what was troubling him. I wondered how Thia was, and I remembered how much she looked like Shifa. I remembered Shifa. I remembered my vow to find her. I remembered a lot of things.

My chores in the kitchen were mostly carrying out slop pans to feed the pigs, and cooking. I thought I knew how to do the latter, but apparently I had much to learn. Tatla confirmed this, in no uncertain terms. She would hover over me whenever she was teaching me, and when she was not. I was constantly under her watchful eye. I didn’t have time to go to the docks until the second week. When I did, everything was changed.

Actually, everything was the same. But it seemed different, without Mante directing, and without Hurh to drive me mad. The docks seemed empty, quiet, even though they were teeming with people. I wondered how I could be lonely with people all around me.

Other times I stood there, dreaming dreams that would have been laughed at coming from me, a girl. But still I kept dreaming.

By the end of the third week, I had managed to settle into some sort of routine. Tatla seemed to think she could leave me alone in the kitchen now, at any rate, I only saw her for about an hour a day. The place where I was working now was the home of a rich statesman named Jhykop. I almost never saw him; he was busy most of the time, but sometimes I caught a glimpse of him as he left the house. He was tall, gray-haired, and had the air of a self-satisfied businessman. He made me feel uncomfortable, as though there were invisible insects crawling over my skin. Sometimes when I was watching him go out the door, he would look back at me with a strange hungry look in his eyes. Those times were the worst. But nothing came to a head until his wife left to stay with her parents for a fortnight.

His wife, Junia, was a young woman – more like a girl, actually, with black hair and black-blue eyes. Her features were beautiful, and rumor told that she had been the most beautiful woman in the country, until the plague hit, and ruined her skin. Now it was pitted, scarred, and lumpy. She would come down to the servants quarters often, and visit. Her husband was busy and ignored her often.

At this point, I was sixteen and beautiful by most standards. I was full about the hips and chest, and slim about the waist. My blond hair was soft and hung down just below my waist. My cheekbones were well defined and my forehead was high and my skin was smooth. My eyes were bright blue. I couldn’t find anything to compare them too. I couldn’t say they were as blue as the sky on a summer’s day, but I would be wrong; they were bluer than that. The sea was nothing to compare to them either.

At any rate, they were blue, and I was beautiful, and Jhykop’s wife was gone. One evening after I had just finished up in the kitchen, he appeared in the doorway and asked, “You work under Tatla, don’t you?” I nodded my head and turned away from him. “Come with me, please. I have something to show you.” I walked behind, unsure of what was going to happen, but certain something was amiss here. He led me to a small room, beautiful but simple, and walked about ten paces away from me. There he turned around and cleared his throat. He looked enormously uncomfortable, and silently I laughed, but outwardly I kept my features still. Finally he spoke. “My wife is gone.”

“I’m sorry sir; that must be difficult.” I replied.

“Not at all, not at all. Ours is not a happy marriage. Many men in my situation would have taken a mistress by now.” You may think it strange that I hadn’t guessed what was going on, but I hadn’t, and now I realized it. A great lump rose in my throat, and my heart pounded. I started backing away to the door, slowly.
“No, don’t go. I haven’t shown you what I was going to yet.”

I continued backing away, sure that I didn’t want to see whatever he was going to show me. He came very close and gripped my arm. “I said don’t go yet, didn’t I?” he whispered harshly into my ear. I tore away and made a break for the door, and slammed it in his face. Then I ran for all I was worth to my quarters. I packed my few belongings that I had brought with me from Mante’s house, and tied these up in a large kitchen rag. Then, fearing that he had followed me, I climbed out my window, then doubled back to the kitchen for some food. I wouldn’t need much. Just a little.

Tatla came to the doorway then, with an odd expression on her face. “You too? I’m not surprised. He always did want what he couldn’t have, that pitiful excuse for a man.” I stood there, trying to understand what she meant, and then it dawned on me. “I’m leaving. Thank you for – for…” and then I stopped. What was I thanking her for? “For taking care of me here.” I said stiffly. She nodded and turned back into the hall. She came back just seconds later and pressed a few coins into my hand. “Wherever you’re going, you’ll probably need this.” Now I stared with my mouth open. What on earth had come over her? “Shut your mouth. You’ll catch flies, and there’s plenty of them about, the little pests. Go on now!” she said, with her old vinegary tone. I smiled a real smile at her and ducked out of the side door in the kitchen.

At home, I would have been a full-fledged goddess by this time. And that’s what I was here. I could take care of myself easily. And I knew exactly what I was doing. I sat down and pulled out a knife that I had helped Mante make when I first came. Holding my hair in one hand, and my knife in the other, I hacked at it. The knife slid as if through butter, and my head was suddenly lighter. I tossed it back and forth. It felt so strange! I loved it. I loosened the tie around my robe so that it was hard to see my shape. Later, I would trim my hair more carefully, and find some way to flatten myself, but it was dark now, and hard to see, so it didn’t matter as much.

I strode down to the docks and walked up to the ships. Only three were getting ready to leave. One was leaving in the morning though, and I couldn’t wait until then. Another was a new one, with sleek lines and smooth wood. It was called the Harp’s Song. The last was an old one, and it looked familiar. The name on the side said Scarred Goddess. Now I remembered it. That was the one I had fallen off of! Most people would have recognized that as a bad omen, but I welcomed it. It was like meeting an old friend. I walked towards the plank leading up to it, and was stopped by a voice. “Halt!” A tall figure walked towards me in the dark.

Chapter 7

His feet clapped the wooden plank down towards me. “What be your name, boy?” Frantically I thought. “I don’t know.” I don’t know! Why had I said that, of all things?

“What on Sila’s earth means that?” he asked.

One thing I haven’t mentioned yet is that there are two types of immortals. One type is the gods and goddesses that take care of things. Opul is god of food and drink, Jetta is the god of war, and Sila is the goddess of the plants and the earth, etc. That was what he was referring to. The second class of immortals does not belong to anything. I am one of these. We live in the hills, but the only difference between us and the mortals is that we live forever.

When I didn’t answer, he asked, “Where come you from?” That one was easy enough. “From here, of course.” I answered.

“What be your business at the docks at this time of dark?”

“I want to join the crew. Do you need anymore?”

He paused and scratched his chin. “The captain wants a sweeping boy (that means cabin boy),but manage he can without.”

Did that mean no, I couldn’t come, or was he just stating facts?

“I’m strong. I can lift heavy crates and eat little.” I said, hoping to get him to let me. It was actually true; having worked at the docks before, I developed muscle, and was as strong as most boys my age.

“The captain may be wanting to see you. Sleep you here in the storage room until morning. He will look at you then.”

Oh, no! I needed dark to be let on. Wouldn’t they be able to see I was a girl in daylight? After a pause, the man continued. “And since you don’t know your name, we’ll call you Kantula.” Kantula was a girl’s name. He must have been making fun of me. He thought I just wasn’t saying my name.

I didn’t sleep much that night. Instead, I hunted through the storage room without light, hoping to find cloth, or something else I could use to bind my chest flat. I found nothing, however, and went to sleep reluctantly, with the meager hope that I could awaken before everyone else and search with a little light.

I woke to a loud, incessant banging on my door. “Awake, Kantula! The illustrious captain must insist to see you!” (Captains are always called ‘illustrious’ when they are present, and sometimes even when they are not, if they are famous enough.) I thought I heard some mumbling, about why was there a girl on the ship, but if there was, the person must have been informed that “Kantula” was a boy with a kitchen rag full of personal garbage and no name to speak of.

Groggily I pulled on my robe and kept the tie loose. A wave of panic hit me as I realized that I had nothing with which to flatten myself, but it was drowned out when the man knocked again and shouted at me that if I didn’t wake up I would be dismissed before I was even hired!

I pulled my hood up so that it covered my forehead and shaded my unusually blue eyes. Then I opened the door. The man from last night stood before me, and behind him was a slightly shorter man. His face was lined and weathered, tanned from the sun and wrinkled from the tan. His hair was dead black. His eyes were unreadable and greeny-gray. I stood straight, hoping against everything that I wouldn’t be discovered as a girl. “So, Gevin, this is Kantula? He has a girl’s face as well as a girl’s name.” My heart skipped a beat. I stood straight as a measure.

The captain walked around me, examining me from all angles, and my heart beat in my throat. Suddenly he ripped my hood back, so that my entire face was exposed. He showed no shock, only amusement when he saw my hair. “I pity your barber. He will be turned out in the streets by his unhappy customers.” By which he meant that my haircut was terrible. “I pity you too. We’ll have to get Yuru to cut your hair later. Even a sweeping boy must look presentable.” So I would be staying on! I had passed!

He paused. “Well, you heard me! Go down to Yuru – you’ll find him in the galley arguing with the cook, most likely – and tell him his illustrious captain has taken on an unkempt sweeping boy. Hurry now! There’ll be no slackers on this ship!” I mumbled a ‘thank you, sir’ and ran off pell-mell to the galley.

There, I found two men arguing about dinner choices, and one was wondering loudly why must they have fish now when they would most likely be having fish all the rest of the journey. One man was fat, with very little hair and no beard, and the other was fatter with no hair at all. The mostly bald one was yelling loudly at the other while chopping fish with vigorous strokes. The completely bald one was yelling just as loud. I guessed he was Yuru. Neither of them even noticed me.

“Excuse me?” I said. They continued yelling as if I weren’t there. “Excuse me?” I said a little louder. This time the cook turned around. “Why, Yuru, it seems you have a customer!” he said loudly, as if it were a joke. Yuru scowled. “Come along, lad. This way is my cabin.” He led me up the stairs and into a small room. It had two berths in it, one on either side of the room. There was a porthole at the end. I could see pale blue sky and hints of pink and peach, and I knew it was just after dawn.

“Sit here. By Yalosh, who cut your hair?” Yalosh is the god of the sea. “My blind grandfather.” I answered. I was beginning to see a little humor in the scene in the galley. “Why were you two yelling at each other?” I asked. I wished I hadn’t, as Yuru began a whole list of complaints, peppered liberally with words you wouldn’t want your horse to hear. By the time he finished, my hair was done, and he seemed happier, almost jolly, in fact. “Listen here, boy, if I grouch at you, it’s because of that blasted cook, alright? You’re about to embark on a trip of madness, and you’ll soon find that the captain and I are your truest and only real friends here. Don’t forget that. Now go upstairs and find the captain.”

I stumbled out of the room and up the stairs, most disconcerted. I found the captain as ordered and was given a piece of parchment on which were listed my new duties. They were to be done at a certain time of day, not a minute off the schedule, and they were all written in ocean time, which is similar to the way you would assign watch on your ship, with a few more complications and intricacies.

Early in the morning I was to sweep the captain’s quarters and generally tidy up in there. Later on, I would bring him his breakfast. Other than keeping his cabin clean and bringing him his meals, I would have been free to do what I pleased, except that the rest of the crew seemed to look upon me as a sort of errand boy, and I was constantly being called upon to fetch this or that for someone or another. I was exhausted by the end of the first day. One thing I especially remember was when we finally put out to sea. Everybody rushed out to the deck, and watched as we pulled away. I thought that the docks would be full of people saying goodbye, but this was a cargo ship, not a passenger ship, and there were very few besides the dock workers.

The anchor was lifted, the ship was untied, and we were off. I watched the dock drift away with the strangest feeling in my stomach. Even after I had left my home on the hill, I had stayed on the land, the same land as before, where I could go back to see my old home if I chose to. Now I was leaving everything behind. It was exciting and mournful at the same time.

I stayed next to the rail until everyone had left, forgetting my duties. The captain came up and called me back in to finish sweeping. “You’d best not do this often, boy.” he said. I nodded and went to his quarters to finish sweeping.

We had been at sea for maybe a month, with not much changing. I had become friends with Iope, one of the crew members. He was young, not much older than me, and he reminded me somewhat of Finde, before he changed. He was quiet for the most part, but occasionally he would erupt with something, an idea, a feeling, a goal, that would shock the crew and make them reevaluate everything they had thought before.

Once Kat, a big burly fellow with much sailing experience, started insulting Diota, one of his friends, and before he get another insult out he was assailed by Iope. He was out of Kat’s reach before Kat even knew what had happened. He shook his head and charged Iope. Iope darted out of the way, then slipped in and hit him again. The whole fight went this way, with Kat charging or swinging at Iope, and Iope ducking or twisting out of the way before Kat could get near him. The captain heard the fight and came up, but by that time the fight was over and Iope had won. After that, the crew had a newfound respect for him, and Diota was left alone.

Iope and I were next to each other in rank, me being the sweeping boy, him being the youngest crew member, and we got on well. I was sometimes worried that he would discover my secret, but he did not, and everything was as it should be.

Chapter 8

Life at sea was hard. Not that I didn’t like it, however. I was used to hard work by now, and life as a beloved goddess-child was a memory, and a vague one at that.

The men still called me Kantula, for a nickname more than anything else. I had my own berth, which was uncommon, but some of the men refused to bunk with me in defense of their friend Kat. It wasn’t large, necessarily, but it was private. I couldn’t believe I had gotten so lucky. It seemed everything was going my way so far. What my way was, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t have a specific goal in mind. I figured I would just be a sailor for the rest of my life. I really should have guessed I would be found out before too long.

I was a sweeping boy for about a month before the captain called me into his cabin and asked me if I wanted a little more responsibility.

Now, that’s a hard question. If you say no, you’re liable to miss out on something big, and if you say yes, then, obviously, you get more work. You lose either way. But I said yes.

“Good. You can do a little extra in the galley. I want Wilom to teach you how to cook some. It’s fitting that our ‘girl’ should learn to cook, don’t you think?” And then he laughed uproariously.

So after that, I spent the time when I wasn’t cleaning at the galley with Wilom, the cook. He was nice enough, but set in his ways, and would blow up in the most extraordinary way at the smallest things. If I were to drop the fish on the dirty floor, he would tell me gently to pick it up and be more careful next time, but if I were to cut it just a little bit differently than he had taught me, he would go into a rage, stomping and yelling at me. Five minutes later he would be sweet and mild as a lamb.

We usually had fish and hard crackers for supper, and mid-day meal was always a mystery. Even I couldn’t tell what it was, and I helped make it. But anybody who refused to eat risked Wilom’s fury, and that was really not advisable.

After I learned to cook well, the captain removed me from the galley, and told me I was going to stand night watch with the rest of the crew. Dryl was the helmsman, fifty or so, gray, with a lined face and a love for stories. He would tell stories to himself when there was no one else to tell them too. Most of the sailors dismissed him as crazy. The captain thought the same, but kept him because he was an undeniably good sailor, and knew the sea backwards and forwards. I kept him company many nights while I was on night watch, and gave him someone to tell stories to. We were both lonely, and we had good times on those nights. He would tell me stories of when he was younger, about sailing to the great ports of Calamas Bay and Toiu City.

He told me tales of the girls he had met in port, tales that made me blush and tales that were so sad they almost made my heart break. He told me once that he had been fighting three pirates at once, and another one came at him, screaming like a wild animal. The rest of the pirates made way for him, and he came at Dryl with a fury. Dryl was driven back to the edge of the deck. Then, he said, somehow, the pirate disarmed him, pushed his sword against his throat, and laughed. Then the pirate took his bandanna off. Long, wild black hair tumbled out. He, said Dryl, was a she! The girl pirate removed her sword from his neck, and drew an X on her chest with her finger. Then she took the sword and cut an X on his chest. She wiped the bloody sword on her clothes, stuck it in her belt, and walked away, tossing her hair. Dryl never saw her again, but he never forgot her. He told me that he had kissed hundreds of girls, and forgotten them after a day, but the one girl who kept his heart was the one who had cut the X into his chest all those years ago.

That tale fascinated me. I asked him to tell me the story again, and he obliged. I listened close, absorbing every word. Every night, he would tell me stories, and when my watch was almost finished, he would finish with that one.
I never forgot it. I memorized every word until I knew it by heart.

It was around this time that I realized I didn’t know what we were doing. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought to ask before this. I remembered Yuru telling me that I was “embarking on a trip of madness”, but I was too shocked then to ask what he meant. I asked Iope, but he didn’t know, and when I asked Dryl, he looked sad. There are some people, he said, that think everything that happens was meant to be, “but there are some things that should never happen, and couldn’t have been meant to be.”

I never got another word from him on that subject. I was wary of asking the captain. I couldn’t help wondering about him. The way he laughed, the way he talked; everything about him told me to watch my step. I didn’t ask Yuru either, because of what he said in connection with the captain. “The captain and I are your truest and only real friends here.” If I couldn’t trust the captain, I wasn’t sure I could trust Yuru. And so I didn’t say a word, and I wondered instead.

My wonderings took me everywhere.

Right now, I remember another tale that Dryl told me, and it should be set down before I go any further. In his own words:

Once, on one of my trips to Calamas Bay, I happened upon a trial in the middle of the city. This young boy was on trial for murder. He was standing up real straight and tall in front of the trial master, and when he was asked why he did this thing, he said, “I haven’t admitted my guilt. How can you ask why when you don’t even know if?”

The trial master laughed and said, “Nobody else could have done it.”

Boy: “Don’t I have the right to plead my innocence? Does the law not require you to ask the accused if they did it?”

Trial master: “Very well, for fairness, I ask you: Did you kill your father?” Everybody expected him to deny it, of course, but he straightened, looked the trial master in the eye, and said, “Yes.”

The trial master had to call the guards to get everyone to be quiet after that.

Trial master: “I see. And why did you do this?” The boy didn’t say anything.

Trial master: “Very well, since you won’t answer, you will now accept the customary punishment for this kind of crime: apology to the family members involved, in this case your own, and death by beheading.”

Boy: “I’m not sorry. I would do it again.”

Trial master: “It is customary, and you will do it.”

Boy: “I won’t. I don’t think you can make me either. What could you do? Behead me twice?” The trial master was a bit quiet after that. He wasn’t altogether a bad sort, but I think he was used to having his way, especially at trials, and he wasn’t sure what to do with this headstrong boy.

It wouldn’t have mattered what he said though, because that’s when the arrow got shot, and next thing everybody knew, the boy fell down clutching his blood-soaked shirt.

I didn’t see him after that, and I don’t know the story behind the whole scene, but it always struck me strangely, because it turned out that his older brother shot the arrow.

It struck me the same way, but I felt a bit different, because I wondered if it was better to have no family, or one who hated you? I know the choice seemed obvious, but I couldn’t understand how you could really hate your family.

Then I thought of some of the things Keste had done, just to prove his sovereignty, or even just to hurt someone, and I realized it was because of something he had done that I was here; his fault that my brother Thosu was dead; his fault my mother was dead; his fault Shifa was gone. And I understood.

For a drunken insult, most likely, my father killed someone, and set in motion everything that had happened. And who knew what would happen now?

Chapter 9

Dryl taught me everything, from steering the helm to reefing the sails. The sea was relatively smooth. For three even days, there was actually no wind at all. The captain was furious that we were becalmed, and ranted at everybody within a thirty foot radius. (Our ship was thirty feet long, or thereabouts. Rather long as most ships go.)
During this time, Kat approached me with the offer to train me in sword fighting. I almost decided against it; at the time I thought very little of Kat, but in the end, I accepted. If you are a girl pretending to be a boy, sailing on a ship with an unknown mission in pirate-infested seas, you do not easily refuse an offer that could save your life.
We would practice near the stern of the ship, away from the people who so often got in our way.
“Every time you thrust, you leave your body open to attack. You need to stop turning towards your opponent. Keep your body turned to the side. Kantula! Did you hear me? You’ll get yourself killed that way, you thickheaded infant!”
I always responded to this kind of verbal attack by throwing myself and my sword at him (actually it was his sword; he was once taught fencing back on land, and he always kept a few extras), and in reward, getting disarmed and tossed to the ground like an empty goblet. Kat would place the end of his sword at my throat and whisper, “Victory” whenever this happened. I would lay back, weary and wary, breathing hard, until he finally lifted the point away. Then he would help me up, and pretend nothing had happened.
I still had my chores to do around the ship. In addition to being taught by Dryl how to sail the ship, I helped in the galley once in a while when Wilom was especially tired, and of course I had my chores as sweeping boy.
One of my chores as sweeping boy was to take food to the few prisoners in the brig. When I first went down there, I was surprised at how small it was. It seemed hardly half the length of the deck. But it was darker down there, for one, and hard to judge distance, and for another, ships always get a little smaller the further down you go.
It stank in the brig; of human waste, human suffering, and inhuman treatment. The one guard down there was a drunkard who denied them food on a regular basis, telling the captain that this or this other prisoner had tried to strangle him through the bars of their cell, or something like that.
I hated the brig. The guard, whose name I never discovered nor cared to discover, would leer at me with foggy, bloodshot eyes, and laugh like a demon. “You shcared, li’l boy? Try a bit of a drink, lovely shtuff, you know. Makessh me happier than a clamfish, and you’ve got too much innoshenche yet. You won’t keep that long here, no, you won’t.” And he would go into one of his horrible laughs.
Also, the prisoners were something awful to see. Skin and bones, practically, sometimes with a little muscle left over. I didn’t recognize all of them; I wondered if some were there leftover from the last voyage. They certainly looked emaciated enough to have been locked up that long. The look they gave me when I hurriedly thrust their food though the bars was a mix of fear, hope, and jealousy. Whatever they had done, it couldn’t have been bad enough to deserve this.
By the time Kat had started giving me lessons, two of them had died. Their bodies were stripped and thrown overboard, without a hammock to wrap them in, without even a prayer to send them on their way.
There were more to replace them, though. Other sailors ended up down there; no one that I knew closely, for which I was thankful, but no one who deserved such a punishment, either. Otil, one of the men who frequently went aloft and repaired sails, was sent to the brig for stealing half a loaf of bread, for which I could not blame him. Food was sparse in the brig, but it was not too much better on the deck. I grew thinner by the week.

When I had lived on the hill, I was careful of how I looked, maybe even a little vain. I gave it up now. It was impossible to keep clean on a ship, with baths only when you had enough free time to swim off to the side (which wasn’t often, and I preferred to sleep whenever I had that much time), and the almost never-ending breeze which blew dust into your hair and tangled it very nicely and thoroughly. I had cut it only two months ago, but it seemed my misfortune to have hair that grew faster than our firra trees back on the hill.
Again, I cut my hair myself, not wanting anyone staring too long at my face if I could avoid it. I used the sea as a mirror of sorts, and it turned out worse than last time.

My fencing lessons with Kat slowed down to twice a week soon after that. I was given two watches per day, which was half the regular, but I was younger. I was glad that the lessons didn’t stop altogether though. I’ll admit, I didn’t find much pleasure in them at the beginning, but after a while, I enjoyed them. I looked forward to them as I did nothing else. I liked the way my muscles ached after an especially vigorous round, and I liked the feeling of matching each attack with a flawless defense, and of giving quick counterattacks.
My teacher still grated on my nerves, but sometimes I felt he was proud of me, and I felt respect for him because of his skill.
I clearly remember the first time I beat him. I was lying in my hammock when the door to the forecastle opened. The bright sunlight streamed in, hurting my eyes. “Come, Kantula. There’s a storm coming; if we’re to practice, it has to happen now.” I reluctantly dragged myself out of my hammock and took my sword from its place under it. When I got outside I stared in disbelief. The sky was completely clear. It was pale blue and almost white with the light from the sun. “Kat, there’s no storm coming. Look.” I waved my hand across the entire breathtaking sweep of the empty blue dome above us. “Now, for the sake of all humanity, let me sleep!” And I turned around and headed back to where I thought I belonged.
But a rough hand clutched my wrist, and didn’t let go. “Boy, there’s a storm coming, sure as Yalosh. Now come out here and fight. I’ll give you no peace if you go back, and you might as well have practiced.” Kat usually meant what he said when he sounded like that, and I sighed heavily, to let him know how exasperated I was (as if he cared!) and followed him to the stern of the ship.
“Now, on guard.” I lifted my sword to its position. “Begin.” he said quietly. I began. But he began first. He started on an offensive, thrusting quickly, then twisting to the side and slashing at my head. I parried, ducked, and counterattacked. I wanted him on the defensive, for that was his weak point. He refused to let me get that far, though, and instead rained a flurry of blows which I could hardly keep up with. I was sure he would end up by cutting my head off. I yawned, trying to keep my eyes open while doing so, and my side stung as I got poked between the ribs. A little spot of red showed on my tunic. Seeing my own blood like that made me mad, and I slashed at his neck, but he moved to the side and blocked it. I almost stopped thinking then, and when he thrust at me again, I parried automatically and thrust back. Without stopping, I did what he had done to me, delivering blow after blow, not even giving him a chance. He was red-faced and sweaty. Finally, he pulled himself back, readying himself for a final attack. I ducked in, pushing the point of my sword into the intricate work around the hilt of his, gave a slight twist, and listened with pleasure as his sword clattered across the deck. I pressed the tip against his heart, and watched him flush and squirm as I had so often done. Then I pulled it away, and a laugh bubbled up in my throat. I couldn’t help it. I saw him look at me with embarrassment, and something a little unfamiliar – admiration, I dared to think. I almost gasped about then, though, because the look, while unfamiliar since I had been on the ship, was extraordinarily familiar from somewhere else. I couldn’t figure it out. Probably he just resembled somebody I once knew, because the captain had once told me that Kat had been at sea all his life.
Kat went and picked up his sword, wiped the little blood it possessed on the shoulder of his tunic, and pointed up at the sky. Gray clouds were closing in, shutting out the blinding sunlight that had shone on our swords not too long ago. “Storm’s coming, Kantula. Didn’t I tell you?” And he walked away as the captain gave the order for all hands.