The wood beneath me creaked and tilted.
The sea beneath the wood gurgled and slurped.
I pushed myself onto my hands and knees, weak from wearing my goldkeeper’s gown for so long and from how I’d been lying while unconscious.I was painfully cold as well.The boat beneath me rocked as I stood and, in my panic, I shuffled away from the dark, roiling sea.The weight of my dress tilted the boat further, and I spun, sensing the shift through my slippers, finding just as many hungry waves behind me.My head swirled.Every way I looked, there were only black ravenous waves.My breaths grew quick and ragged.None of the air I sucked in was able to soothe me.
I’m going to drown,I thought.I’m going to drown.I’m going to drown.
The boat itself was small—perhaps four paces by nine paces, with eight rowers packed along its sides, though they were quickly rising and shouting as I was very close to tipping the whole thing over in my panicked roving.They near-surrounded me, and since I took a step back to match each of their steps forward, they were herding me into the middle of the boat, where the large beam that held the sail sat.My back pressed against the smooth wood.
I recognized the pink-bearded one even though much of the blood in his beard had been washed out since I’d seen him last.He held my gaze, his hands out in front of him as he made gentle, shushing sounds, sprinkled with “Nidr.Nidr.”He crouched, nodding to me, and somehow, I knew he was urging me to crouch, too.
“Please,” I said, my voice hoarse with terror.“I can’t swim.My dress is too heavy.I’m going to drown.”
“Nidr.” His voice was soft, like someone speaking to a spooked horse.
I nearly vomited, but, not knowing what else to do, I obeyed his gestures, slowly sinking to my knees, my hands resting on the boat’s boards.The boat didn’t stop tilting, but the angle at which it leaned grew less severe and easier to manage.
“Ah,” said Pinkbeard with a small grin.“Ah,betri—” He continued talking, but I couldn’t distinguish anything he was saying into individual sounds.He had to have known this, though he kept speaking to me, and there was something in his tone that was maybe the slightest bit soothing.There is a lot a person can understand from the flow of words, from the tension or ease with which they’re said, even if the person doesn’t understand the words themselves.
He pulled a skin from beneath one of the rowing benches and crawled forward hesitantly, setting it on the boards before me.I didn’t know it at the time, but this was a gesture with great meaning.In his country, the most powerful among them are not handed objects.Everything is placed on a table or floor, as no one would dare try to absorb some of their power by contact without express invitation.Yes, he’d slapped my hand when we were back in the carriage, but that was a matter of self-preservation on his part, something entirely different among his people.He was being deeply humble and respectful of me, promising not to absorb any of my strength.This was particularly kind and symbolic, seeing as I was a woman alone among what I thought were enemies.
Of course, I didn’t understand it.I thought of being eaten uncooked by them when they grew hungry.I thought of rape.Of course I did.I thought of screaming when they finally realized what was inside my gown, and one of them lunged at me.I thought of slipping into the sea and sinking, sinking, sinking.
I reached for Pinkbeard’s offering on shaky limbs, not at all comfortable with the way the boat seemed to sway beneath my every shift.When I raised the skin and opened the stopper, the strong scent of alcohol rose to meet me.I shook my head.Was he hoping to get me drunk?Because that would make whatever they had planned next easier?
I set the drink back down without having brought it to my lips, all too aware of how thirsty I’d become.How hungry and sore I was, from the weight of my gown, which I’d been wearing for days, and from however I’d been moved onto the boat while unconscious.I had no idea how long I’d been asleep for, only that the Speartoothed one had cursed me somehow with a sorcerer’s cloth.For all I knew, I could still be under the spell, falling asleep again without notice.I had no idea—other than moving to the boat—what had happened while I’d been unconscious.My lungs heaved with anxious breaths as the sea dogs made their way back to their oars.How ferocious they looked with blue marks staining their skin and their mismatched furs with leather straps on their wrists and chests, with choke-like words coming out of their thick throats, their lids painted the same colour as the dark waves around us.How vile Speartooth’s pointy smile was.How groggy and cold I was.The sea wind seemed to cut right through me.The metal around me felt frigid as it dug into my joints.
“Please,” I said again, tears threatening to push their way out of my eyes, my focus mainly on Pinkbeard as I felt him—for reasons I couldn’t explain—I felt him to be the most inclined to pity.“Please.”
He said a few soft words with his mouth and a thousand with his eyes.Keeping low to the deck, he shifted to one side of the boat and dug through a leather sack.He produced a lyre—mylyre, the very one I’d had in the carriage with me—and crawled forward, setting it on the deck before me, looking up to meet my eyes once more.
I felt… struck.
Flung.
Falling.
Stung.
Awakened.
Spun.
Witnessed.
Like the full force of a vault was buzzing through me.Like my eyes were made of lightning, and my skin was the crackle sound that a hearth makes.
So the man was a thief after all.He’d stolen my lyre.But he’d also given it back, and with his gaze he’d made me a promise.I knew, with the utmost certainty, that he meant me no harm.
As we pushed through salty waves and fog as thick as cloud cover, I learned to sit imperfectly still, leaning one way and then the other to keep a sense of steadiness in my bones.I learned to press my back against the mast of the boat so no one could sneak up from behind me.I learned to watch people as I had never watched them before, suspicious and wary and noticing the most intimate details.I gave them names in my mind.
Pinkbeard.Speartooth.Wolfhead.Twobraids.
Blueears.Farwatcher.Loudlaugher.Maybewoman.
The air grew colder and Pinkbeard and the others laid furs before me which were much appreciated even if they did smell of the sea.Each new layer around me felt like it was staving off death itself.They left seaweed and raw fish near me which made me gag as another torrid spell of fear spiralled through me, and I thought again of being eaten alive.Finally, Pinkbeard thought of water.I made a mess of drinking without touching my mouth to the skin for fear of touching something too intimately which had been touched by a sea dog in the same way.
I fought my fatigue, my eyes burning, my stomach churning the longer I was at sea.Sleep felt unsafe to me, but finally, I learned exhaustion was stronger than fear.
