Song of Ashes

20: The Captain

The man and the woman both wore their hair in braids. Metal beads winked in the strands. The man, tall and broad-shouldered, was dressed like the others in Horn Harbor: he wore a dusty, dun-colored tunic and pants. Setting him apart, however, were the many golden rings he wore on his fingers, the large chain around his neck, and wide, shining cuffs on his arms.

As Sarka approached, the man looked her up and down briefly, then stared with blunt interest at her scars.

"My name is Sarka. I've come to ask for passage across the ocean," Sarka said. "I was told you are the master of a ship."

"That would be me," said the red-headed woman at his side in a smooth, disinterested voice. She glanced up at Sarka from under sooty lashes, taking her in and discarding her in a glance. "The Crescent does not take on passengers."

The captain wore garments in rich jewel tones. A striped sash crossed her body from shoulder to hip, cinched in place with a sword-belt from which hung a short blade. She did not wear as much gold as her companion; indeed, her only adornment other than her bright clothing was a golden crescent hanging from one ear.

"I will work for my passage," Sarka said.

The woman did not look at her. "You aren't near pretty enough for that, girl. Go away."

It took Sarka a moment to grasp the implication. She opened her mouth to let loose a tart reply-and stopped herself. Instead, she drew in a breath to calm her head. This was her one chance. "Please, madam. I have come a very long way to buy passage."

"You can't afford it."

Sarka opened the flap of her satchel and produced the embroidered handkerchief she had made, the one with the shining, flame-colored fish. She shook out the folds and spread it on her palm so the threads would gleam in the light, showing her work in all its glory.

The captain glanced at it with a frown. When she saw what it was, the frown dissolved-slightly. "Where did you get that?"

"I made it."

"I haven't seen work like this since my father's time." The captain reached for the handkerchief, but Sarka pulled her hand back. The captain frowned. "I'm not going to steal it, wench. Give it to me."

Sarka hesitated, but gave the cloth to the captain, who turned it over in her hands so the light played off the shimmering scales of the fish. For the first time, the captain looked Sarka in the eyes. "And where is it that you hope to go, girl?"

"Anywhere. Anywhere but here."

The captain laughed. "Others have come before you and failed. No one leaves Kogoren. I'm tired of my crew wasting time mopping up your people's blood. You betrayed your goddess and you deserve your lot. If you are too weak to bear it, you are too certainly too weak to leave it behind. I know that now, and I won't harbor any more refugees. The Annari have our own gods to keep." With one last glance at the handkerchief, she gave it back to Sarka-not without some reluctance, Sarka noted. She wondered how much the handkerchief was worth in the world beyond her own.

"I'm not weak," Sarka said. She was angry at being insulted, angrier still at the implication that she and her people deserved the suffering they endured. She had not been born when the events that led to the Cataclysm had happened; she had never known her people's goddess. She put the handkerchief away.

"Not weak?" The woman gestured at Sarka's face. "That ugliness, then-were you born with it?"

"No. I was attacked by a wildcat. I killed it, and I lived." Sarka reached into her satchel and pulled out the knife she had used to slay the wild creature. As a wink of light from the flaming hearth flashed off the blade, the man at the captain's side knocked back his chair and stood in the woman's defense, a dagger in his hand where none had been before.

The captain raised her hand without so much as glancing at the man. "Hold, Jajo." She was looking at Sarka. "You used a kitchen knife to kill a wildcat? A beast like that would be as large as you are."

"Larger. I'm not lying." Sarka set her jaw in challenge.

"In any case, I'm still not taking you on my ship, pretty rag or no." The captain stood up, speaking to the man at her side without turning. "That's all, Jajo. You may go. We'll return in two months. Don't forget-add half again to the price of our Sayorian wine. That damned wasting disease on their grapes has raised prices for every hand that touches the wine trade."

"Aye, ma'am." Jajo bowed to the captain and took his leave. The woman drained her tankard, set it down with a clank, and made to follow him out the door.

"Wait!" Sarka cried. She reached out to grasp the woman's sleeve.

The captain stopped. Without turning, she spoke in a soft, cold tone. "Take your hand off of me, or I'll take it off of you."

"Please, madam. Please. I'll be no burden to you and your crew." Sarka did not like to beg. Now, though, her chance for the future she had conceived was quickly slipping from her grasp, and she knew she had to win this woman's favor, her own pride be damned. She dropped her hand.

The captain glanced at Sarka, and something soft flickered behind her icy eyes. "Do you know what happens to people who leave Kogoren, girl?"

"They go mad. Like Ro's brother." Sarka gestured at the ash-walker, who was still sitting at the table near the bar, talking to Milsa with his foot propped up on a chair. "He killed himself."

"So he did. A decade ago. My father was captain then, but I was there."

"How many men have tried to leave Kogoren, Captain?"

"Six of them that I know of. Two by my ship, others besides."

"And none has succeeded?"

"Oh, they succeed in leaving. Do they make it across the sea? No. Not one of them has made land on the other side. It's demons, girl. You're a prisoner here, and something from the Opal Realm will come and hunt you down. Mark my words."

"No men have succeeded in leaving. Fine. How many women have tried?"

For a moment, the captain did not react. Then, the corner of her mouth twitched. She stared at Sarka for a moment longer before she spoke. "You had best not be a stranger to work. We take no free-loaders on The Crescent. That will pay your passage, along with your pretty rag."

A wave of exhilaration and relief swept over Sarka. It was a physical sensation, nearly enough to bring her to her knees. As the captain turned away, she heard the woman whisper something under her breath. It might have been a petition for mercy, but Sarka was not certain; she was certain only that the captain had not spoken to the goddess Kogoren.