"Rise and shine, lassie. We're here." Ceren felt a nudge in her shin and immediately opened her eyes. She was greeted by the sight of crewmen bustling around the ship, each one carrying crates of all sizes.
Ceren glanced up at the source of the gravelly voice. Boris looked exactly like a man who has spent all his life out at sea and treats chain smoking like it's a full-time job, which he was currently doing. The ashes from his pipe identical in color to his unkempt hair and beard.
"Color me surprised. I've seen men twice yer size shittin' their pants and reciting final prayers from a little roughin'. Them pussies." He spat. Ceren decided to keep her mouth shut. To call the past seven days a little roughin' was like calling Boris eccentric. It was simply inadequate. The man was nothing short of a lunatic. They passed through three storms, met fifteen meter waves head on, almost capsized twice and all the while she could hear Boris's cackling from the helm amidst his men's frantic shouts.
The only thing that prevented Ceren from shittin' her pants and reciting her prayers as Boris so vividly put it, was that she had been in far worse situations before. Deciding dying at sea was better than being mutilated and eaten for breakfast by a twenty-foot beast, Ceren chose to sit by the corner as she watched the men do what they do for a living. There were a lot of shouting, cursing, slipping, and falling, yet not a single one showed even the slightest fear in his eyes. Probably more afraid of getting thrown out the ship by Boris himself. If there's one man who can get through an eye of a storm with his cigar still afire, it was him. At least that was what Jecht told her when she first met the old captain years ago.
Standing up from her post, Ceren turned and caught her breath. It was as if the past week never happened. The dark stormy clouds now gave way to clear, blue skies that stretched over the horizon and towering waves now replaced by calm, glittering, and even bluer waters underneath. It was a sight she thought she'd never get to witness again. Are you seeing this, Jecht? And if he did, she wondered what he could be thinking. Will you tell me to fly or will you ask me to turn back?
She watched, enamored, as the green tip in the horizon soon surfaced to a sprawling mountain range of lush greenery and snow-capped peaks. Ceren never thought mountains could look so, well, green. Temperatures in Thronbeq were simply too low, the ground too fosted, for grass and trees to turn anything but dormant. This wasn't the first time she's witnessed such marvel. Nonetheless, she still can't help but be surprised every time.
Seeming to read her thoughts, Boris stepped beside her and tipped his head toward the view.
"Never gets old, eh?" He inhaled and let our a puff of smoke. "Ya've been here a couple of times, haven't ya? The first time, ya were only seventeen, I think. A wee lassie, still skin and bones but already have grit in ya, ya have. "
"Eighteen." Ceren corrected. "I was eighteen." Jecht decided as her rite of passage to adulthood, his words not hers, it was high time for Ceren to understand what being an adult meant ----- which basically entailed getting piss drunk she could barely walk without planting her face on the ground and, in Jecht's inappropriate but well-meaning intention, losing her virginity.
"Why?" she asked him then, after being sat down and having to endure the most dreadful conversation she's ever had pertaining men and women and how love between the two brings about life was nothing but horseshit people delude themselves with. Ceren would never mistake him for a romantic, that's for sure.
"Why what?"
"Why do I need to go somewhere else for that? There are plenty of men here."
"Don't give me that look. And unless you want a schoolboy who still wets his bed or someone old enough to father said schoolboy, then by all means." Well, aren't we laying it on thick now. Ceren prayed for patience.
"There's Aran or Oskar." She argued. "They're the same age as me. They might agree if I ask."
A snort. "Oh, I bet they would." Jecht waved his hand. "Don't even think about it. That Aran could barely count past twenty. He keeps on losing his sheep because according to him, he doesn't have enough fingers to count them with. And don't get me started on that Oskar boy.
"What do you have against Oskar?" Should she be worried they were talking about a man who'd potentially take her virginity like they talk about the best stonehoof to hunt and take down?
"I saw him the other day carrying on a conversation," Ceren opened her mouth, "...by himself." and closed it just as fast. Ceren knew Oskar had his eccentricities, but aren't they all? They have no right to pass judgement. He must have read her face because he added, "I know what you're going to say. And I do talk to myself when I'm lost in thought. Mostly when I'm trying to figure out the best way to kill something. What I do not do is punch and kick air because it suddenly decided to trip me with a fallen log. So yes, I have something against Aran and Oskar. And they better keep their hands to themselves if they even have the smallest desire to have their own children in the future."
And that was how Ceren, who'd never set foot out of Thronbeq since she and Jecht arrived in the snow town eight years ago, lost her virginity at the largest whorehouse in Duneburgh at the tender age of eighteen. Turned out, Jecht was friends with the mistress of the House of Revelations. Why it was named as such, she was yet to uncover.
Ceren was jolted out of her memories by loud coughing to her left. "You should quit, Boris." Her brows furrowed as she watched Boris try his best to hack out a lung. "You're too old to be chainsmoking like this."
Finally catching his breath, the ancient captain of The Grantham, a once terror of a warship now turned shipping vessel, gave her a quelling look. "Mind yer fucking business, lass." Boris took another long drag of his pipe before exhaling, "And I'll quit when I'm dead." Ceren was about to remind him that he can't die yet until he took her back to Thronbeq when she caught sight of her destination.
Duneburgh, the capitol of the frosted regions of Wastrall, was easily ten times the size of Thronbeq. It sat at the southernmost edge of The Anderas and served as a city border between Wastrall and Edreon. That and being one of the very few entry ports for easterners explain Duneburgh's prosperous industry of trade and commerce. The wharf ahead was still humming with activity as always. Tanned crewmen aboard ships passing cargos to the ones waiting by the dock, trade auditors making sure goods were really what the merchants say they were, and scantily clad women coquettishly batted their eyes at the curious men passing by. It was all business as usual in the Duneburgh wharf. All except the numerous guards milling about every corner of the pier. The Grantham was now close enough to the dock that Ceren could see each soldier, all twenty-five of them, was all decked out and heavily armed. What exactly is going on here?
"Tighten yer britches, boys!" Boris hollered. "Sven, Fish Lips, secure them lines!" An aye and grumble. "Hockley, go get the anchor ready."
"Roger that, captain!"
"Denton!"
"A-aye, cap'n." Ceren watched the greenhorn shake in his boots as he addressed Boris.
"Try to break something again and I'll make sure tis will be your last trip before I turn ya into shark bait. Ya hear me?" Denton managed a nod and scrambled his way towards the loading post.
"And you," It took a few seconds before Ceren realized Boris was talking to her. He watched her for a moment, not saying anything, then grumbled, "Follow me." Ceren went after him towards the side of the ship as The Grantham finally came to a stop and several men worked on hooking the lines to the cleats and bringing down the platform to the dock. She followed Boris out the ship, stopping when he turned, arms crossed, to glare at her.
"Hornefross, eh? Do ya have any idea what yer gettin' yerself into, lassie?" In the years since she's known Boris, not once has she seen the old captain to be anything but calm and unfazed. The moment she showed up by the docks in Thronbeq as The Grantham prepared to set sail was the only time she saw Boris at a loss for words. There was no need for others to know of her plans, so she simply told him she was headed to Hornefross and needed him to take her to the capitol. But Boris was Boris. He took in her rucksack almost bursting at the seams and Oenmir at her back, and must have drawn a conclusion right then and there.
Picking up that Ceren had no intention of answering him, Boris clicked his tongue. "At least tell me that sly fox of yers know where ya are right now." Ceren had no doubt the news must have already reached Gunnar's ears. She made sure she was already at a safe distance when that happened.
But in the instance that Gunnar does not catch wind of her departure and comes looking for her, "I left him a note." He was bound to visit her cabin sooner or later.
Boris scratched his head and muttered under his breath, "Shi-et. I thought he was only having me on."
The gong from the pier's clocktower reminded Ceren that she had places to go. "I appreciate you letting me tag along, Boris, but I have to get going." To repay him for the trouble, Ceren reached for her pouch, "That better not be coin you're pulling out if ya don't want me kickin' yer ass into the water."...and swiftly changed the course of her hand to tighten Oenmir's lace.
"I owe you one." She nodded.
"Ya owe me nothin'. I wouldn't be where I am today if it wasn't fer Jecht. Not even a hundred trips from yer town to Duneburgh is enough to repay what he did fer me. That man," Boris cleared his throat. I owe my life to that man." As with each time someone mentions Jecht's name, Ceren found it hard to breathe. It was one thing for her to recall the times she had with her father. But it was another when other people gave her glimpses of the Jecht she never knew and how he'd touched their lives. Like he did hers.
"No one's gonna fault ya if ya decide to turn back, lassie." Not realizing she'd looked away, she turned back to Boris, surprised by the sudden seriousness in his voice. "It's two weeks' time gettin' to Flamehollow from here, three days from there to Hornefross. If ya even think the past week we had was brutal, you're gettin' in over yer head with this one."
Instead of scaring her away, Boris's warning further hardened her resolve. "I'm not going back, Boris." Ceren will reach Hornefross if it's the last thing she'd do. No. That's not right. The last thing she'd do, even if it meant sacrificing her own life, was to watch Alexios's dead body bathing in his own blood.
"Bullheaded, just like yer father, ya are. Ya do know ya might already be too late to catch the ship to Flamehollow, don'tcha?" Yes, he's already told her ad nauseum on their way here. The ship to Hornefross set sail from Duneburgh every fortnight, as such, seats were limited and oftentimes bought in advance. Apparently, the journey to Von Drakkar was too grueling for the crew to take the risk of overloading. But Ceren could not afford to miss this ship. Waiting for the next one would mean losing her chance to make it to Hornefross in time for the tournament. There was no other choice.
"I won't know unless I try." Was her only reply, earning a headshake from Boris.
"Don't say I didn't warn ya!" He inhaled his pipe and let out a puff of smoke while he fished for something in his left breastpocket. "Take this." Ceren snatched the item he threw at her and found a red tassel attached to a flat circular gold coin the size of her palm. There were engravings around the edge of the coin and in the middle it spelled Duneburgh.
"That's a permit to carry." From her confused frown, Boris clarified, "If ya want to keep that huge stick on yer back and not get arrested for illegally wielding a weapon, make sure not to lose that." Since when did Duneburgh forbid carrying weapons? The mercenary guild's regional headquarters was in this city. Ceren now wondered how the guildmaster took to this decree.
"And before I forget," She almost missed the other item Boris suddenly tossed at her. "Your father wanted me to give that to you." Wait, Jecht? Boris just looked at her as if she was stupid. "Your other father." Gunnar? Does that mean he knew she was leaving? As if reading her thoughts, Boris waved his had and said, "There's nothing that man doesn't know. You of all people should know that." True. "Told me to tell you, once you get to Hornefross, to find a man named, er, what was his name again? Some Ski-Skippy, Skotty, whatever. Yer supposed to show him that. Said he owed Gunnar so he should give ya whatever ya need." Ceren looked at the small figurine. It was only a bit longer than her forefinger but she could easily tell the craftmasnhip in every detail. She could only think of one creature who has that leonine head, six-feathered wings, and jagged horns; Zephyrus, Aether of Wastrall and harbinger of storms and cyclones. Ceren stared at the small sapphire jewels in its eyes and felt something stir in her. It was as if…
"Now git!" She jumped as Boris shoved her to get going. Right. There was only one reason why she was in Duneburgh. She would not allow herself to get distracted now. Nodding her thanks to Boris, Ceren headed for the office of admissions.
"And don't get yerself killed, ya hear me!"
--------------------------------------
Ceren assessed the three men in front of her, each one looking more menacing than the other, and weighed how likely she'd get out of this without getting killed. It was only moments ago when she was aimlessly wandering the streets of Duneburgh, watching the city transform before her eyes. Dusk had settled in, gas lamps started lighting up the streets, some establishments closing for the day while the others just opening up for the night, and there she was completely at a loss as to how she'd board the ship to Flamehollow without a boarding pass.
As soon as she stepped foot in the office of admissions, the ticketing agent took one look at her, and briskly announced even before she was able to get a word in, "Next ship to Flamehollow isn't until the next month. And no, there's no boarding pass left for the ship leaving this week or the week after the next. If a slot opens up, which I doubt there will be," The last bit was surely not meant for Ceren's ears. "We'll make sure to let you know. We apologize for the inconvenience. Have a good day." The agent ended her spiel, clearly not meaning a single word she said.
Ceren's heart beat faster with every word the agent spoke. Now she felt as if the walls were closing in on her. No, no, no. This can't be happening. How was she supposed to get to Von Drakkar in time without a ship? The place was on another continent for godssakes! Taking a deep breath, Ceren willed herself to calm down enough to think. There must be a way. Ceren started to mentally list all possibilities as she left the office of admissions, trying her best not to look as defeated as she felt. Finding someone who'd cancel last-minute was close to impossible. By the looks of the crowd loitering outside the admissions office, she wasn't the only one trying their luck to get on that ship. She could try and buy someone else's ticket at a higher price. But with what money? Her coins were barely enough to sustain her until she reached Hornefross. She could sneak in. Ceren paused. Was she willing to take the risk? Out of all the ideas she thought of so far, this one bore the highest possibility of failing or working out. If it ends in success, she'd reach Flamehollow with no one figuring out the extra passenger aboard. But if she's caught, she'd end up being fined at best or thrown in jail at worst. The more she thought about it, the more the idea, regardless of how ridiculous it was, grew in merit.
By the time she gained consciousness of her surroundings, it was already dark out and the streets teemed with folks ready to wind down after a hard day's work. Best to look for an inn to settle the night in. A familiar marquee several blocks ahead caught her attention. For a second, Ceren contemplated on stopping by the House of Revelations, just to say a quick hello to the ladies. But then thought better of it. It would have been her first time showing up again at the House after Jecht's death. The last thing she wanted was to endure their pitying eyes and endless cries. God, the crying. And there was no one better at spilling tears than the courtesans of the House of Revelations. They even train for that shit. Even so, Ceren knew the tears they'd shed for Jecht will be nothing but genuine sorrow for a lost friend.
She turned and started for the streets lined with inns when she heard raised voices not from afar. A normal person would have missed it amidst the noise. But Ceren's never been normal. She was about to pay it no mind if not for the sharp cry of an obviously distressed woman. Before she knew it, she was already walking along a darkened back alley towards where the voices were coming from. Turning a corner, the sight of three men pulling a woman against her will, greeted her. At least that's how it looked like to her judging by the struggling and the pleas of the woman to let her go. Which brought her to the present.
Ceren watched as the one on the right sneered at her. "Who the fuck are you?" He was twice the size of his two companions and seemed to be the most easily provoked with how he was ready to charge her. The one in the middle raised an arm to stop his friend before giving Ceren a once over.
"Now miss, with all due respect," the thug on the left snorted. "this is none of your fucking business. So why don't you go on your way and pretend you didn't see this. You see, little Donna," a pointed glare at the woman behind her. "and I were having a nice chat before you interrupted us."
"Didn't look pleasant to me." Ceren replied.
"Leave me alone, Rick! And I won't come with you. Tell that to your boss." Huh. The voice sounded familiar. Ceren wanted to check but she can't afford to let her guard down, even for a split second. Rick's seemingly perpetual smile vanished.
"Look, miss," The scrawniest of the lot addressed Ceren, completely ignoring the woman's retort. "Bitches have to stick together, that's cool, I get that. Thing is, our boss really wants to talk to Donna here by all means. You get me?" Oh, Ceren got it, alright.
"This lady clearly doesn't want to go with you. Why don't you let her go for now and I'm sure she'll come around once she's more willing to meet your boss." Her attempt at diplomacy fell on deaf ears as she watched Rick take a step forward. As much as possible, Ceren wanted to avoid hurting anyone. But if they attack her first, then she could pass up their deaths as self-defense. She had a witness with her. This Donna woman can attest to her innocence. Her chances of getting out of this without a hitch was looking better.
"Let me tell you how this will go, miss. I'll count to three," He made the mistake of putting his hands on her shoulder. It was all Ceren needed as she burst in action. Grabbing his wrist, she twisted his arm behind his back and kicked him, propelling him forward as his face slammed on the wall.
"You bitch!" Ceren was suddenly gripped from behind. She jerked her head back as hard as she can, hearing a satisfying crunch before she was tossed like a ragdoll towards a nearby dumpster, her back bowing before she dropped to the ground. Ow. She ducked in time as the scrawny one charged her. Putting all her strength on her right shoulder and the sole of her feet, she sprang up, and slammed her palm up his chin knocking him out. She assumed her stance preparing for another assault but nothing came. Rick and his scrawny friend lay unconscious on the ground and the burly one kneeled in the corner cradling his "precious" nose.
Ceren sighed. These men clearly had more bark than bite. A miscalculation she refused to be guilty of. Picking up Oenmir, her raven hair spilled out when her hood came down some time during the fight.
"Ren?" A shaky voice called out. Ceren shoved her hair away from her face to take a look at the woman and felt her brows furrow.
"Donnatella? You're Donna?" Of course she was. No wonder her voice sounded familiar. Donnatella was one of the courtesans at the House of Revelations. She was a sweet woman who always had freshly baked cookies for Ren whenever she and Jecht were in the area. Donnatella managed a weak nod and a sniff. Ceren's eyes moved to the visible bruise on her arm she was currently cradling. Must be from that time Ricky was pulling at her when she first saw them. Stifling a sigh, Ceren secured Oenmir on her back. So much for avoiding the House.