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62. [Uicha] Cursed
🕑 Added 2024-08-30 20:35:23 +0000 UTCAs the days ticked down to the First Granting, not all on Emza had yet accepted the new order of things. There were some who were not ready to exit the First Age, or to lay down their arms from the Final War.
In the woodlands to the southeast of Infinzel, a great host of Orvesians gathered. They had been banished from the walls of the pyramidal city, and from conquered cities like Noyega and Cruxton. They trudged toward Penchenne in the hope that the city of diplomats would remain open, and that they might return home to Orvesis by sea. Some flinched with every step, nervous that the gods would once again rebuke them.
Meanwhile, from the northeast, came the mercenary army of Endpass. A nuisance to all sides throughout the war, it would take a second volume to catalog the number of times the Enders switched sides and to unpack their reasons for doing so. Suffice to say, they had run out of battles to fight on the northern continent, yet had stockpiled plenty of enemies. A culture born in the shadow of a volcano for whom combat was a way of life, the army of Endpass had a more difficult time adjusting to the gods’ peace than even the Orvesians. Here was a contingent who lived for challenges, steeped in codes of battle honor, and now found their beliefs outlawed by the gods. The men and women of Endpass were thus frothy with rage, believing still that they could battle the will of the gods if they simply tried hard enough.
And finally, from the east, came the last host of Infinzel. The battered army had survived despite being cut off from their home for years, a feat largely owed to the chicanery of the General Bel Guydemion. Some described Guydemion’s host as nearly savage by this time, known for their guerilla tactics and brutality, while others argued that this reputation was cultivated purposely by the general who sought every possible tactical advantage. Regardless, Infinzel’s army could at last return home.
These three forces met in the neutral territory to the northwest of Penchenne for what would be the last battle of the Final War, colloquially called The Battle of the Bruises. Despite thousands of soldiers from three armies crossing paths and unwilling to cede ground to each other, there would be no casualties, although not for lack of trying. Five days of nearly nonstop skirmishes proved the totality of the gods’ protection. The weapons discarded on the battlefield would remain for years after, rusting in the woodlands, after scavenging locals realized there would be little market for swords and bows.
--Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age
Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis
***
Uicha de Orak, Wildcard of the 5th Renown, representing The Forgotten One, adjusting to life on the sea
Akoni de Emasyn, Captain of the Dartmyth, and his crew, preparing to be boarded
***
8 Trollove, 61 AW
Aboard the Dartmyth, Central Sea
142 days until the next Granting
They were less than a week out from the Flamingo Islands when they came across the wreckage. Jagged chunks of wood tangled in lines and tattered sails bumped against the hull of the Dartmyth. Captain Akoni tossed a net overboard and pulled some of the debris onto the deck where the crew gathered.
“You see this?” Akoni held up a wooden plank that looked like it could've come from the side of a boat. He directed his question at Uicha.
The young man stood with the others, barefoot, checkered shirt open, the bandages covering his crimson Ink freshly changed. Uicha felt sleepy—the sun was high and he had a bit of sunburn on his nose and ears. He probably would've been napping in his small cabin if this little commotion hadn't started up. He'd grown used to life on the Dartmyth. Akoni treated turning Uicha into a sailor like his favorite pastime, but even with those exertions, life was easy on a ship that practically ran itself. In fact, Uicha had begun to dread that the voyage would soon end, and he would once again have to reckon with the fate he stumbled toward. The crew of the Dartmyth were no longer particularly curious about him. Soon, though, there would be new eyes upon him.
Uicha stifled a yawn against the back of his hand. “Wood?” he said to Akoni.
The captain smirked. “Flamteak,” he said. “The trees grow on the islands. Some of our people build boats from it.”
“Cheap boats,” muttered Sheppa, the ship's medic. “Not of the blessed fleet. Heaps only good for the lowest fuckery. Or fishing.”
“No one fishing out this far,” Chamberly, the Dartmyth’s navigator, said.
The waterlogged board in Akoni's hands looked much different from the glossy chocolate-colored planks beneath Uicha's feet. The Dartmyth had been enhanced by years of wishes. Whatever Flamingo boat had been scuttled out here, Uicha could sense the rest of the crew's disdain for it, but also their sense of duty.
Akoni toed the salvage again. “You see this?” He indicated another scrap of ship, this one with scorch marks running down its length.
Uicha remembered his farmhouse—the way the walls had burnt as streaks of lightning sheared through the roof. He shook his head to toss off the memory; he tried to think of the dead archmage as little as possible.
“Lightning?” Uicha suggested, his voice cracking.
“Weather been clear,” said Sheppa, grimacing and shielding her eyes as she turned to look over the leeward side.
“Bolt-thrower did this,” Akoni said. Seeing the look of confusion on Uicha’s face, the captain elaborated. “Merchant gellezza got weapons that sling bolts of fire like arrows. Gadgeteers cooked them up and sell them high.”
Over the last couple weeks, Uicha had picked up a few references to the gellezza ships of Merchant’s Bay. They were the only ships the sailors of the blessed fleet spoke of with any reverence. Great mansions on the water that—while not powered by the gods—were instead financed by the riches of Merchant’s Bay.
“Worth a look, don’t you think?” Chamberly said to Akoni. “Could be a nice score, eh?”
Akoni nodded, twisting his finger in the air. “Lookout stations, everyone. Leeward triangles. Let’s see if we can find any of the fools who tried to mount a gellezza with a dinghy.”
As the crew broke up, Uicha drew close to Akoni. “What did he mean by that?” Uicha asked. “A big score?”
Akoni grinned and patted his shoulder. “Little brother, we been mostly cruising these last weeks, taking it easy on our way back to the islands. But we out here to do robberies, yeah? And nobody better at getting robbed than merchants.”
Uicha wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He’d hoped to avoid danger while on board the Dartmyth. But there was something contagious about Akoni’s confidence. And this had been his parents’ life, hadn’t it? At last, he was living the roguish, seafaring adventures he’d always dreamed of.
An hour later, from his spot leaning against the port side, it was Uicha who first noticed a glint of metal on the horizon. He shielded his eyes and squinted. A flickering shine was there and gone, there and gone, repeating itself in a pattern that struck him as too rhythmic to be a trick of light on water.
“Hey!” Uicha shouted over his shoulder. “Is that something?”
Akoni hustled to his side, whipped out his spyglass, and tracked the shining signal. “Poor bastard,” he muttered.
The captain handed the spyglass off to Uicha, who quickly found the stranded man through the lens. He'd draped his body over a barrel and looked like little more than a pile of rags, his face buried in his arm, while his other hand listlessly turned the coin this way and that way to catch the sunlight. Uicha wondered how long the man had been stuck out there and if he even knew that he was still making that signal, or if he'd gone completely delirious from thirst and exposure.
“Good trick for you to learn,” Akoni said. “Light travels better than sound on the water. Most sailors keep something reflective close to heart.” He tapped his chest, jingling the dozens of trinkets and jewels that hung around his neck. Then, he turned to shout up to Chamberly at the helm. “Hard to port! Man in the water!”
The whole ship creaked and the sail overhead snapped, the Dartmyth turning at an angle that should have been impossible for a vessel its size. Uicha braced against the railing until the turn was completed, then ran to the front of the boat so that he could keep the half-drowned sailor in sight. It felt good to be on this side of a rescue for once.
Within minutes, the beleaguered sailor would be in the Dartmyth's shadow. They would take care of him, like they had Uicha. All he needed to say were the words that Uicha has learned in Noyega. Na flamanga ‘e na—
The man's head popped up. A shaggy mane of graying coils framed a weather-beaten face. Sharp black eyes seemed to precisely locate Uicha, and a crooked grin split the man’s unkempt beard. The man stood up, his attire unfurling about him—a smock of salt-stained rags and silver feathers. At first, Uicha thought the man balanced on the barrel he’d been floating upon.
But then, he started to run.
Uicha gasped and stumbled backward, nearly dropping the spyglass. The man sprinted across the water like it was solid ground, foam spraying upward where his bare feet slapped the waves.
“What-what is that?” Uicha yelped.
Akoni was at his side in a flash, snatching the spyglass away. He spotted the man running across the water and let out a hiss through his teeth.
“Gods damn it, that’s Curse,” Akoni said. He turned to shout at the navigator. “Bring us about, Chamberly! Maybe we can outrun the mad bastard.”
Even considering the power of the Dartmyth, Uicha didn’t see how that was possible. The man called Curse had closed the distance with preternatural speed and now he launched himself into the air with enough force that a great torrent of seawater exploded in his wake. For a moment, he was a shadow against the sun. Then, two ropes of energy shot forth from Curse’s extended hands, wrapping themselves around the Dartmyth’s railing as the boat lurched into a sharp turn. Curse floated above them like a kite.
Instinctively, at the sight of those lashes not so different from Ahmed Roh’s whips, Uicha reached for his [Telekinesis]. As Curse dropped toward the Dartmyth, Uicha made a subtle warding gesture with his hand and tried to shove him off course. To Uicha’s surprise, however, a contrasting force responded by pushing back. Uicha ground his heel into the ship’s deck to stop himself from stumbling. Something had rebuffed his [Telekinesis].
Curse landed on the deck with a thud, ran two steps to slow his momentum, and then dropped to a knee to stop himself. Immediately, he sprang back up in a flurry of rags and feathers, his arms opened wide.
“Brothers and sisters, I commandeer this vessel on behalf of the champions of the Flamingo Islands!” he squawked.
“You don’t get to commandeer shit!” Captain Akoni yelled, striding out to meet the shambling man. “The Admiralty made laws against that! Against you, specifically!”
Curse swung about to face Akoni, a fierce grin on his face. “Ah, Akoni de Emasyn, brave captain of the blessed fleet. My luck is changing. You are perfect—perfect indeed! I could not have been offered passage by a better man.”
“We didn’t offer you shit, cuckoo,” Akoni replied. “You tricked us. If I’d know that was you pulling the drowned man act, I’d have let you float on.”
“Too noble for that! My partner in waiting, you’re far too noble for that!” Curse did an excited little shimmy. “Listen, now, I have a story that will delight—is there freshwater? I have much to tell and am very parched.”
As the captain and the stowaway argued, Uicha edged backward, trying to evade notice. He found himself elbow-to-elbow with Sheppa, whose usual grimace of annoyance had been ratcheted up a few notches by Curse’s arrival.
“Who is that?” Uicha asked quietly.
Sheppa made a noise like she might spit. “Curse de Mou. So-called champion of the islands.”
“He’s… he’s a champion?”
“Supposedly. The only one of our four not allowed to captain a ship in the blessed fleet. Or any ship, for that matter. Very bad luck that he’s here.”
Uicha watched as Chamberly brought Curse a canteen of water and then hurried away. Only Akoni seemed courageous enough to get close to the man. A champion who walked on water and stank of brine was one thing, but Uicha was more curious about his attire. The rags and feathers reminded him of the Orvesian Witnesses. And then, there were the intricate tattoos that ran down his bare arms—images of blackbirds plunging underwater, their beaks prying open treasure chests.
“Why is he…?” Uicha hesitated, not sure how to phrase his question. “Why is he like that?”
Sheppa shook her head. “You remember the dark waters we passed?”
“Orvesis,” Uicha said. He cleared his throat. “I guess so.”
“Curse been obsessed with diving there. Unearthing forgotten treasures of that dead place. Only reason he became a champion, they say.” She sucked her teeth. “He kept wrecking boats, so now he’s allowed only singlehanders. No one will crew with the bastard.”
While Sheppa said all that, Curse tipped his head back to drink. His dripping caftan fell open and Uicha could clearly see the whorls of his champion’s Ink. He could do more than see the Ink—he could read it as easily as if it were his own.
A couple of the symbols—the summon abilities—were faded. As Uicha wondered about that, he realized that Curse’s sharp eyes had settled upon him.
“Hey!” Curse yelled, slapping his chest. “I see you, boy! I see you reading me!”
“I’m…” Uicha swallowed. “No I’m not.”
Curse lunged toward him. “Take off them bandages, little brother! Who you working for?”
Quickly, Akoni put himself between Uicha and the champion. “Calm down, old fool. That’s Uicha. A farm boy who never seen where he comes from. Probably never seen a champion, neither. That’s why he stares.”
“Uicha,” Curse repeated, a new glint in his eyes. “Uicha de Orak, hey?”
Uicha’s stomach dropped. The hidden Ink on his chest felt suddenly hot, like Parrot II was begging to be released. He tried to keep his face blank as Curse leered at him over Akoni’s shoulder.
“They been talking about you, little brother,” Curse said. “Oh, they been looking for you.”
