The Firefarer

Part Three: Warvum / Chapter One: Artemesia's Studio

Muna's arms screamed from the exertion of rowing. She leant back into the stern of the coracle, allowing the tiny craft to drift and bob over waves which seemed gentle and playful after the terrifying crash and fall of the open sea. Pensive, Hori huddled in the prow looking old beyond his years.

She had told him nothing of his uncontained, destructive fury, of the incineration of Taua and her warriors, or of their father's death. He had slept for an entire day until she finally dragged the boat up onto the shingle of the Source Isles. At last, as she wrapped him in seal furs, he stirred. She raised his head, trickling sweet water into his mouth before he passed out for a second time. When he finally came round they were out to sea once more, and now he seemed watchful, sealed within his own thoughts, as if he were somehow aware of what had passed and was struggling to reconcile himself with their fate.

Seagulls bleated and cawed. She watched as they swarmed above the deck of a small fishing vessel which was sailing alongside them. Leaning on the boat's rail, a boy of the Pagi peered down at her, his skin wind-tanned, his eyes a liquid brown. He blew her a kiss and she looked away, her face hot with embarrassment and confusion. Picking up the oars once again, she twisted around to observe a small harbour that was busy with boats, its quays lined with colourful squat dwellings. Drawing on her last dregs of strength, she rowed to shore.

Muna steered the coracle through the medley of four-masted carracks and small barques, avoiding the curious gazes of fishermen and sailors, aware of men shouting and speaking a fluid, melodic tongue which was not her own. She brought the small boat up beside a sea-battered flight of stairs which led to the quay above, their surface slimy with sea-weed and plastered with barnacles. Hopping out, she uncoiled a tattered stretch of rope and secured the boat to an iron ring. Hori stood stiffly, his eyes wide and uncertain. She offered him her hand, lifting him onto dry land before gathering their few belongings in a rough, hessian sack ˗ a leather skin containing fresh water, a pair of seal skins and some fish hooks. Then she climbed the steps with Hori in tow, unsure as to where to go or what to do. At least she could catch some fish, and perhaps a stream would provide fresh water. Other than that, her one hope was to get far enough in land to hide from the Ahi.

And so it was with shock and near despair that she caught the gruff tones of men and women speaking in words she recognised as she neared the top of the stairs. "Keep down!" she whispered to Hori who shrank below the wall, pale and fearful.

Muna risked a single glance at the quayside and saw all she needed to. As many as ten Ahi stood grouped in a loose circle clutching axes, nets and broadswords, their faces and upper chests blackened with tattoos, their lower bodies swathed in fur and seal skins. They appeared to be arguing amongst themselves, pointing in different directions, shouting and yelling, ignoring the sailors and ships' clerks who passed them on the quay. Two burly Pagese fishermen lumbered over to them, gesturing back towards an Ahi long ship which, Muna now saw to her horror, lay anchored just beyond the harbour entrance. The fishermen were greeted with rough shoves and slaps and eventually they backed away, too intimidated to risk a public brawl.

Muna slunk down out of sight, taking in the chaotic traffic of fishing vessels and sailing boats below. She was being watched, she realised. An old sailor peered up at her, his watery, sky-blue eyes set deep in a weather-tanned, wrinkled face. Slowly coiling a length of rope around one arm, his gaze passed to the Ahi above her. She shook her head, raising a finger to her lips. The old man grinned, revealing a mouth bereft of teeth, and then nodded. After a while he laid down the coil and tiptoed his fingers along the rail of his ship in imitation of walking. Muna turned and risked another glance onto the quayside. There was no sign of the Ahi.

She smiled at the old man who winked back in return. Then, hauling Hori to his feet, they made their way up the steps. Sea folk thronged the wharf: fishwives crying out their wares, young boys crossing barefoot with rods and nets slung over their shoulders, mariners and merchants bartering and bragging. More people were gathered in one place than she had ever seen in her life. Instinctively she threaded an arm around Hori's shoulders, drawing him close. Here, she was certain, there would also be cutpurses and thieves, or men who might seek to harm for pleasure. And of course there were her own people ˗ the Ahi, whose intent she could only guess at. But no one seemed to take any notice of either her or her brother as they wound their way amongst the rippling pools of people. Perhaps, she thought with some relief, the best place to become lost was amongst crowds such as these.