The quarters were as quiet this day as any other. Dago and Sirth didn’t speak. Since they had first met, they had spoken no more than fifty words, and it had been more than fifteen days. Dago would not give in to Miss Puzzle’s demands. He would steer them wrong in Yarik, and they would all end up bloody refuse in the red sewers or as revenant slaves for the masters of the city. Continue reading Dago 5
Across the arid sand slid four reptiles, their muscular tails guiding them down the dune toward Vaenuth and Banno. Save one with a near-beige complexion, the Slithers’s scales were all a shade of bronze. They had no legs, just the broad serpentine bottom, narrowing to their tail, while their arms were covered in sharply protruding scales. Their sails, long spine-like ridges that protruded from the back of their torsos, were slack like windless banners. Two carried long rods of bone and black glass that dragged on the dirt behind them, while another held only a bundle of papyrus pages bound between two cured leathers. The armed Slithers approached aggressively, while the other two eyed the traders with uncertain and approached gradually. Continue reading Vaenuth 5
Aralim was sunburnt, sweaty, and exhausted, when at last a rainy day forced them to put in to shore, and hide the ship amongst the cliffs of the Great Isle. Captain Angal was in a foul mood and told Aralim he should sleep the whole day so they could all of the next day. This seemed ridiculous to Aralim, and a little unkind. How could the Captain blame him for the weather, when such things were clearly under the control of someone much further along the Path?
He went to find Miresh, and was surprised to find her out in the warm rain, with her feet hanging off the deck. Continue reading Aralim 3
The storm never let up. It was a proper hurricane, and the crew of the Dispatch spent their days rolling in bunks or emptying their stomachs into the sea. More than a few were already showing the early signs of scurvy. Vanci had told them they had to assume this was the Isle of Dusk, and for their safety, he forbade anyone from going ashore, despite the agony of their current situation.
They had enough food to last them the rest of the month, and the voyage from the Isle to Sheld would take nowhere near that length. Continue reading Renado 4
North of Nokire was a dozen mountain passes of varying safety and distance, winding from smooth jungle terrain into the harsh rise and fall of foothills and cliffs. The moss became scarce, and soon a grey sand covered everything, save where rocks showed their ribs in the sides of ridges. Vaenuth’s caravan trudged onward, through the bones of the mountains and onto the edge of the desert.
The south side of the Expanse was a rocky underbelly to the endless dunes of the north. Their scouts plotted a path through the winding crevices and hills and, during the middle of the 6th moon, they began to ride west. Continue reading Vaenuth 4
The smuggling ship was not a large vessel, but it was a fast one. During the five years that Renado had worked on board with his Uncle Vanci, they had outrun at least a dozen ships in pursuit. But, with strong winds and dark horizons to the south, the Dispatch sped across the Grey Sea.
“That’s no simple rainstorm,” Vanci said, for the third time. They were about halfway through the voyage, with another week to the coast. It was always difficult to match their trajectory to the stars perfectly. Sailors regularly emerged in other cities or regions than their targeted destination, so it could take two weeks to reach Sheld if they were unlucky. Continue reading Renado 3
The road town of Nokire was nestled against the gradual slope of a Yurna foothill. Even more than Rainrest, the village was built amongst the forest, with enormous trees rising from between and sometimes within the wooden buildings, casting shadows upon the makeshift dirt streets. Having seen more of the world than many of them, Vaenuth often marvelled that no matter how many leaves were between her and the sky, the heat was hot enough to burn the water out of her. She drank so much, as they rode, that she found herself eager for the next break to relieve herself.
Some of the others drank less than her, and some drank more. Once they began the real journey, she’d manage their supplies and ration drinks, no matter how harsh that was. In the Expanse, control was the difference between life and death. She smirked. It seemed to be so, even on the rainy side of the Yurna mountains. Continue reading Vaenuth 3
How long had Dago been in the dark? He had lost track. He had his own little room, past all of the bunk beds in this cabin. It was likely just a closet, and he was chained to the bars of the porthole. They let him walk around the full cabin once in a while, when all of the gang’s fighters had cleared out of there. His leg was healing, slowly but surely. He was weak still, and he limped, even when he put weight on the splint in his leg.
Miss Puzzle had visited him twice, and both times he had repeated, with varying words, that he’d rather they all die in Yarik than survive, just to spite her. Once, she had put her little knife to his throat, and he had spat on her, a big glob of saliva.
But she hadn’t killed him then. Continue reading Dago 4
The Captain of the Cloud-trader was a tall white-haired man with skin weathered by the sun and salty wind. He was called Angal of Tav Rock. He shook Aralim’s hand, nodded to Miresh, and greeted the other passenger, a tanner who was moving to Bellasa where his family was. The Captain took the time himself to show them to their quarters where they would stay for their month long journey to the port of Bellasa. After he let them put their packs inside, he asked, “Can I speak to you in the corridor?” Continue reading Aralim 2
Dago was surprised that Miss Puzzle was accompanying them. Escorted from his cell, at last, he entered a large chamber in the cellar of a city’s building. His arm was bound stiffly at his side until the bones healed; similarly, his leg was in a splint and a single crutch supported his weight at his armpit. He could hear merchants calling their prices and smiths hammering their anvils, and through the windows, he could see feet at street level. He thought, for a moment, about calling for help, but decided he’d likely be dead long before any help got here. Continue reading Dago 3