A Pirate's Tale [COMPLETED]

Chapter 4 - "What is it, your lordship?"

The city appeared from the mist, like a mountain top piercing the clouds. From where Isla stood in the crow's nest, it looked as if the city was covered in snow, the white buildings barely distinguished from the swirling gray fog.

As the capital stretched back, it butted up against the jagged mountains, the buildings climbing into the crooks of the ridges and snuggling into the massive summit's arms. The peaks were capped with white like haggard faced old men staring off to sea.

A sharp wind cut around Isla, flicking up the ends up her coat. Even in the heart of the summer season, Talvin was chilly. Her long coat was tailored to her slender frame as was the rest of her clothing. Her father's coat hung in her cabin, waiting for her return. It drowned her when she tried to wear it. Where she was going she could not appear as a child playing pretend. Vulnerability was a weapon against her.

Roland leaned against the narrow railing that ringed the small platform, a bow and quiver hung across his back. This was his domain, Isla was simply a guest. With only the whistle of the wind to fill the silence, they watched as the city took on distinctive shapes. A blanket of gray had been thrown over the sky, dulling the setting sun's colors. When the edge of the port took form, Roland looked at Isla. Amber eyes watched her, questions floating behind.

"The man below," he said. His voice was light and faint as if spending so many years high up the wind had stolen away the strength of his speech.

A coil of frustration tightened in Isla's chest but as she met his gaze, she found patience and calm understanding staring back at her.

"Is the only option we have left."

Roland nodded, needing no more than that.

The roll of the ship was more prominent where they were, the ocean feeling as if it had doubled in strength. Shouts from the docks were lifted on the breeze, reaching the two quiet companions. From above, the motion below looked like tornados of mist as sailors cut through the dense fog. A whistle brought Isla's attention back to the deck. Hawk was looking up at her.

It was time.

As she grabbed the rope tied to the railing, she locked eyes with Roland. He gave a single nod, more words than he would ever say held in that single gesture. Climbing over, Isla held tight to the line and jumped. The deck rushed to meet her, her leather-gloved palm hot with the friction, stomach beating her to the deck. The thump of her sudden presence caused no notice, the men in the throes of docking the ship. No commands were needed, the motions second nature to the men born from the sea.

Isla stepped to the edge and stared out on the bustling port. The Talvish men with their pale skin and light hair seemed to disappear in the fading light and the swirling white. Hawk joined her, his arms crossed, face blank, his lips a thin line. Though he would never say it, Isla knew the pain he felt coming here. It was the same pain she felt, that all the men on the ship felt. Within this city was an anchor that dragged them down. An anchor she was determined to cut away.

The walkway was extended and thudded against the dock. As Isla stepped toward it, the men formed up before her, waiting for orders.

"Normal rotation. We leave at first light."

A lightness came to the crew, their burdens lessened for a brief moment as they thought of the piece of freedom before them. Even if real freedom were not in their hands, they would hold on to a part of it that was.

"Do you have it?" Isla asked Hawk.

He responded in the affirmative. With one final look to the crew, she walked down the gangway. The ports were a storm, men hauling luggage and cargo crisscrossing in front of Isla. The smell of salt, fish, and sweat filled her nose. The damp air clung to her hair and chilled her face. Bass voices echoed around her, the harsh burr of their words cutting through the fog. Pounding boots and the banging of heavy boxes were amplified as if the mist caught the sound and repeated it.