Leaving my pack in the corner of the room, telling myself I'd unpack and sort through everything later, I trudged up the steps to the deck. Stepping onto the deck of the boat, a wave of glacial salty air washed over me. I was glad for my thick winter clothes, no matter that my back still stung. The gaping wounds, curved and stretching from side to side like mammoth tusks, had closed at least, but were still rimmed with smarting red as if my skin was crying.
I scanned the deck. As Father had said, the boat was well-made, all of the oiled planks locking together neatly to form the clean, streamlined curve of the hull. It was small, but I was willing to bet that the fishermen had taken most of the better crafts—not that this was inferior by any means. Its craftmanship was still exemplary, the glass squeaky clean (well, it had been, before I had half-sunk the vessel) and there was not a piston out of place. I'd heard about ships that were grand and big enough to be houses, speedboats and yachts on different continents on the other side of the world. And then there were places where boats didn't exist, where there were no huge bodies of water to sail on. Where rugged mountains and sandy wastelands were all that existed, broken occasionally by oases of green plains with tiny streams, small villages with archaic people. I'd seen the maps, too. How anyone could live so unburdened was a mystery to me. I guessed I should have gotten used to it.
My head spun from the Branokann's attack. It was a wonder, a miracle that Kaleveh had been spared. For the week, at least (I thought it had been a week, at least). If I had really led monsters straight to a quick meal…it couldn't be. The Branokann was gone. For who knows how long.
The weak afternoon sunlight swept over the open sails, illuminating the deck with dancing shadows. It turned out there was nothing much to be done onboard the ship; according to the recordings of the weather radar, the wind had only picked up slightly as I left the harbour and picked my way south.
I studied the map carefully. It said I should sail off Kaleveh, make my way down the coast of the Northern Lands, or Sereia, and cross the Greman Sea at the easternmost point of Cape Daiko. I couldn't go straight across—the waters were too choppy, the weather unpredictable, the wind too wild. Then I'd have to venture through the treacherous waters of the Iliesao Channel, where coral reefs were common and often lured foolhardy sailors to their deaths. If the winds were good, a week or so navigating the Channel and I'd be across the pond in Szcheguay. The East was a modern continent, my teachers used to marvel during my lessons. A place of interactive screens and easily accessible information, a place where everything was recorded safely on unbreakable devices.
While we in the Northern Lands preferred our rustic but comfortable ways of living, with village tribes and advanced land, sea and sky navigation devices, the East was the ultimate embodiment of technology. In the photos that we had in Kaleveh, I saw images of towering buildings that reached towards the heavens, skylines lining the clouds, extraordinary cities glittering with endless expanses of lights.
In a large photograph Father kept in a frame above his working desk, there was a magnificent shot from the ground of the tallest skyscraper in Szcheguay. Located on the corner of a bustling main road in Fengour, it brushed the gates to the heavens, its multitude of silver storeys stacking up one on top of the other like an immense ladder to the sky. The glass panels of the building reflected the rainbow sunset as clear as a mirror, the vibrant hues colouring the clouds briefly transferred to the grey tower.
In Kaleveh, the tallest building was the clock tower, which bordered one side of the square in the dead centre of the township. It was maybe one hundred and seventy-five metres tall? The Ameory—that's what the skyscraper was called—was at least two times taller than that.
I realised I was pacing the deck agitatedly. I didn't want to rub away at the wood so much it fell around me my first night being conscious on the boat, so I went belowdecks. My stomach growled loudly as I descended the ladder. Food, I thought vaguely. I'd completely forgotten that I had been lying there doing nothing for nearly a week while I healed. Now that I thought of it, I was ravenous.
A world of flashing computer screens and concrete blocks, that's what the East was. But the sure luxury of the East didn't suit me. No, I much preferred the simple but hardly unprivileged lifestyle of a Chieftess in Sereia. And the famously extravagant cities weren't my final destination anyways.
I dug up a measly meal of dried meat, canned sweet potatoes and rice, wolfing it down. Then I made another serving and devoured that too. By Nyoraia, I was starving. It took me so long just to find food in my baggage and make it edible, that I decided to just unpack. The journey would be weeks long, weeks with nothing to do but stare at the abyss of water stretching over the horizon. Nothing to do but mourn the loss of my old life.
There was a harsh line of mountains that cut through the East, the Calbron Mountains, separating the countries of Orinm and Dalrene. In the thick woodland of that region, where demons were said to patrol every night, was a forest keep that was made especially as a stakeout for Gifted in hiding. Hidden in plain sight, its placement toed a dangerous line. There were magical wards around the keep, in case a demon was to stumble upon it, but unless you knew it was there—unless you had a map—then it was practically invisible.
I finished the arduous task of putting my stuff away, discovering a few more useful knickknacks in the process, and climbed back up to the deck. It was strange that the Northern Lands had so many modern technological advancements like a boat's autopilot, but then again, we tribal cavemen chose to not let screens dominate our life. Splendid simplicity, that's what everyone called it. Instead we opted for only things that would make our lives a bit easier in general; ship and plane autopilot, advanced telescopes for seers and astronomers, the most natural, efficient plant fertilisers and clever ways of watering immense fields of crop. Land, sky, sea. To live in harmony with the land, mixing our ancient tradition with the culture of technology that dominated the East.
It's how Saetche tricked us nineteen years ago, how they managed to leech all the water out of Kaleveh's side of the Tyrbery, how Kaleveh's people woke up on the first of April to find an empty riverbed.
But we preferred it this way, I thought.
Out of the corner of my eye, the sun started its never-ending fall, yielding to night. As it cast one side of my face in an orange mask and the other in shadow, I felt a whisper of touch, a memory gleaned of the invisible bond between mother and daughter, between us.
Between the mother who would not get to see her daughter grow up and the daughter who had abandoned her mother's kingdom.
I dangled over the gunwale, leaning into the salty breeze. The air washed over my hair, ripping out strands of my messy bun. I didn't know if it was because I know knew magic truly existed, or if it had been there all my life and I hadn't noticed—the song of the wind. It whistled through the air, carrying with it a melody, beautiful, ancient and wordless. Soothing my wounds, no, not soothing—dulling the pain of loss to a consistent ache.
In the middle of the ocean, floating on the way to a new life, I stood with my arms spread, the sky and sea both the orchestra and the audience. How silly I felt, and how absolutely free. How I revelled in the glorious aloneness yet missed my parents more than ever. Bathed in the open darkness of the night, and missed the sun, a shadow of my mama's gentle kiss.
The Branokann, in one way, had helped—to chase me away from the place I loved. To remind me that my task was to get myself to safety far away, to secure my homeland.
Propping my hands back on the edge of the boat, I fell into thought.
My mother hadn't approved of fairy stories. Not fiction books, but the stories of princesses and knights on horses. Now my life had become a fairy tale.
You are already a Chieftess, star, she had said once. What more could destiny give you? And besides…why would you ever want to be a princess fated to be a knight's bride? Star, you could be queen of the cosmos. If you only dared to rewrite the stars.
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The sun rose again, bringing with it light that didn't reach me through the ball of grief I'd enclosed myself in. I thought of Mama, living the life of an undead, who had left.
Three days into this journey, and already I was missing the roaring fields of my home, the sweet perfume of the village smoke, the howling of the wind as it raced the Tyrbery through Kaleveh.
I thought of Narreta, who must be crying her eyes out, who would be holding on to the little statuette of a panda I had left her, not willing to let go. I imagined how she would bring it to meals, carry it even in the streets. Some might be angry with me for still leaving, some might chuck the figure in the bin, but Narreta would not. The Narreta I knew would rise, again and again.
I thought of Ricco, his charming smile and tousled black hair, who was turning seventeen in a month, who, depending on fortune, might leave his sister behind the next year. His girlfriend, Maeven Aranthe, who was not suitable for the crown but brought sunshine wherever she went.
I wondered what awaited me in the East. A trek through the concrete jungle and judgemental society of Central Orinm, a hike through the dusty, dry Nogard Desert, and a climb up some treacherous mountain terrain to the keep? Were there more or less demons in Szcheguay, would my mama be looking for me? Was she still fighting? I pulled myself out of the endless expanse of thoughts I'd dived into—questions were useless unless I could answer them, otherwise they were just planting seeds of doubt that would keep growing until I feared everything and everyone. Would everyone just conveniently ignore me, or would I form bonds only to have them severed yet again?
I did not know. And, I realised, I did not want to know.