Arn had to sit down. He had been getting stronger, truly, but a day of helping on the ship’s deck still bent him badly out of shape. He slumped against two barrels near the mast of the ship and let out his breath. Gamden had sat down a few minutes ago. Though the other survivor had recovered a little quicker after their initial rescue, Arn was more driven to get his strength back. He didn’t trust these sailors, but he also knew they were bringing him to an enormous place. Arn had seen several of these enormous watercrafts during his life—if each travelled over the Deep for as long as this vessel… how much larger was the world than Razaad? He once would have faced such uncertainty unflinching. But those were during times when he could have run for all day and night without rest.
“Oh no,” said the sardonic second-in-charge sailor. He had stopped badmouthing Arn to Captain Emrez, but now spoke his leering lines to Arn’s marred face. “Arn and thoeka friend atoh sitting tarak!” He kept walking by, carrying a large bundle of rope over one shoulder. The sailors used a strange twine, sewn together far denser than animal sinew. Arn had no idea how such a thing was made.
If Arn wasn’t gravely outnumbered—and one of the only ones unarmed—he would have shoved the aggressor to the wooden floor. A few kicks to the gut would teach a lesson, or a knee in the neck could put an end to the need for lessons at all. They would not question me when I was strong. They would tremble to see me when I commanded Razaad! he thought.
One of the brown-skinned crew members looked Arn’s way, and Arn steeled himself. Though the crew treated one another the same regardless of their complexion, this man was one of the only ones with a metal sword buckled to his hip. Such an object had been found in the depths of Scoa’s underworld, only to bring Arn to his torture on the raft and, subsequently, the Isle. Though he had felt disappointment when his blade had fallen into the Deep with Shar’s cowardly heart, Arn now counted that as justice served. Unlike Arn’s straight blade, this man’s sword was curved. To strap it to your very body though! Arn had tried to avoid superstition in his life, but he could not see any way that the man’s weapon was a good sign.
This day passed much the same way as any other. They worked on chores for half the day, while Emrez directed the sails and manned his contraption—which they called a rudder. When the sun crossed its zenith, Morlo prepared meals for the crew. To the grumbling of a few men, Arn and Gamden were still fed better than all except the leader himself. Emrez seemed set on the building up of their might. Did he know what Arn might do with such a gift?
In the afternoon, the sailors began teaching Arn how to climb the ropes. Though Arn had climbed many trees in his youth, the precarious positioning they taught him involved relying on the support of lines that sagged under his feet. With the ship tilting this way and that, Arn lost his grip multiple times. There were always other sailors climbing with him, to grab his belt or forearm if need be.
Once, Arn managed to get himself tangled up between the square-patterned rope walls and a strand they had passed him for securing to a part of the mast. As they loosened his sudden captivity, a man positioned at the top of the mast started to shout. “Ship!” he bellowed. “Ship—starboard!”
Arn didn’t recognize the second word, but realized everyone looked the same direction at once, to the right of the ship’s front. He swivelled his head, nearly losing his grip on the netted roped all over again—and spotted a distant sail on the horizon. He remembered thinking of them as distant crescent moons. Now he knew that another ship was out there, navigating the ocean.
“There ullitiran atoh?” shouted Captain Emrez. Even as he waited for a response, he started turning his wooden plank control.
Though he still didn’t understand enough of their language, Arn was getting better. He had asked Morlo about “atoh,” but the healer had been unable to explain it. They used it in most phrases, so Arn was beginning to understand it as a word directing other meanings. He looked back up at the man standing at the top of the mast. The man stood on the wooden platform up there with his feet spread comfortably. He leaned forward, holding one hand to block the sun from his eyes. He shouted back, “A soka kaldo, looks korasora!”
At that, Captain Emrez launched into a rant of a dozen commands. “A ship kovinalo off pek the kabas o Starath it atoh ahn’korsu. Tirith orm we will! The sails naquim, effotam soru-sorumasi! Kimunan on deck!”
Arn made out some of it as he started climbing down the ropes again. Gamden hadn’t even left the deck of the ship. The sailors who had been helping Arn were already scrambling to carry out orders. As he reclaimed his footing on solid floorboards, Arn watched the sail extend even lower and shift to catch the wind as the ship keeled in the direction of the distant sail. “Are we going to meet them?” Arn asked Gamden in his native language.
“I don’t think so.” Gamden looked past Arn and his expression grew grave.
Arn glanced where he was staring, and his jaw fell open. A bundle of nearly twenty swords was being passed up the stairway by three of the crew. “They’re going to attack it…?” he murmured. Is this normal? Is this one tribe fighting against another—Razaad against Scoa? Emrez’s crew was not a tribe though. There were no women or children. From the looks of it, Morlo was the oldest man on the crew.
Emrez pointed toward Arn and shouted, “Morlo, the pirriva faram below deck and komam there!” Arn tried to gauge the level of malice in the man’s expression, but the captain was more concerned with driving his ship towards their adversary.
“Arn!” Morlo called, striding along the deck from near the captain’s raised deck. Someone behind him was lifting a large hook, fastened to a rope. Perhaps that was how they could manage to attack men on a different ship. The thought of it seemed bizarre and immensely impractical to Arn. He had never thought of fighting on one of his rafts. “Arn, below deck!” the healer ordered.
Arn started to follow him, but paused. “What about Gamden?” he asked. He didn’t know the words though, so he repeated it in the only way he could: “And Gamden—below deck?”
Gamden looked at Morlo with wide eyes. Arn had far more experience with fighting, as far as they had discussed.
“Yes,” Morlo snapped, impatiently. “Gamden iri!” He grabbed Arn by the arm and pushed him toward the stairs below deck.
Gamden hurriedly got out of Arn’s way, and the two led Morlo down the wooden steps. After the rays of sunshine on the light blue water, the row of bunks under the deck felt dark as night. Arn stumbled forward, while Gamden nearly tripped into someone’s empty bed. Their eyes adjusted quickly, and Arn turned to face Morlo with raised eyebrows.
“Itoh not kikukam. Down here we atoh safe,” Morlo said. Arn’s mind pieced together the words he said as quickly as possible. Though he had often spoken slowly for him to comprehend, the healer had gradually grown impatient with it. Morlo stepped over to one of the tables tucked beneath the staircase. He invited Arn and Gamden forward with a wave of his hands. “Lykir sit and merdam.”
Arn glanced at Gamden and stepped slowly closer. “What is going on?” he demanded.
“He won’t understand,” Gamden said.
“I’ll make him,” Arn growled. He advanced forward slowly, trying to think of words that Morlo would understand. “Want ship? Take ship?” he asked in Morlo’s language. He mimicked two fists pushing against each other.
Morlo nodded. “Lykir sit,” he said. “Calm.”
“I don’t think he understood,” Gamden said. Gamden’s head looked squarer without the locks of half-rotted hair hanging around his face. His gaunt jaw worked for a moment and then he glanced at Arn again. “Or, I don’t think that was an answer.”
Arn nodded.
“Talk to us,” Gamden said, in Morlo’s language. “Where sailing? Time?”
Arn rested his hand’s on Morlo’s table and tilted his head. Gamden’s disjointed words fell on deaf ears, as Morlo locked eyes with Arn. “Answer him,” Arn growled, in his own language. He was tired of these people speaking about him to one another, or giving him half-answers when he asked for the truth. “Answer him, now.”
Morlo sprang to his feet, pulling out a short metal blade from one trouser leg. He glared at Arn across the sword, his eyes full of a strange type of fear. He was willing to fight Arn, not knowing if he would win or lose. On Razaad, that meant he would lose. On Razaad, fighting to win was the only way to win.
But Arn was still so weak. He could kill Morlo, probably, but then what? He glanced at Gamden; his fellow survivor had picked up a large mug from the table, as though ready to break in Morlo’s teeth with it. Gamden met his eyes for a moment, and then looked down. He slowly put down the cup with a clunk. He knew what Arn did. The two of them would not survive fighting the entire crew.
“Sit!” barked Morlo, waving his short blade at Arn. Arn slowly sank into one of the chairs. Morlo repeated himself. “Sit and komam!” Gamden joined Arn at the table, looking at him with disappointment and defeat.
Morlo didn’t put away his sword. He found a seat on a large wooden barrel on the other side of the sitting area, and rested his metal blade across his knees. He watched Arn and Gamden with narrow, wary eyes.
They spent the next hour quietly waiting for Captain Emrez’s orders to turn to the sounds of bloodshed, but they never did. Eventually, Arn felt the ship sway in another direction and the crew brought their bundle of sinister weapons down into the guts of the ship once more. They were hidden under a folded segment of canvas sail. Morlo sheathed his sword and the taunting second-in-charge ordered Arn and Gamden to get back to work. They had not managed to catch the other ship.
That evening, under a pink sunset, Arn found Gamden standing near the railing of the ship.
“I don’t like this one bit,” Gamden told him, quietly. His friend seemed to have lost his hope. After all that time on the island, this was the worst Arn had seen him.
Arn put his fists on the wooden railing and looked out at the waves of the Deep, stretching as far as the eye could see. They had passed all manner of rocky islands the last few days, but none were much larger than the sandy beach where they had been stranded. He glanced once more at his friend and said, “We’ll be fine. Fighting is the way of life. They are making us strong, Gamden. They are fools to make us strong.”
Gamden squinted toward the sun until Emrez belted out a few more instructions.