Blackfridayrule

In Dark Seas We Sail

Rohaan's face screwed up tight like Wheel had just offended his ancestors. Indignantly, he shouted, with his little fists balled up and punched down at his sides, "I WOULD NOT!" He muttered in vokurian under his breath and then put a snarl on his face that was not quite the venomous one he once gave Hana, but defiant and cunning, and there was a gleam in his eyes. He had now been presented with a challenge, and he was more than game to conquer it. When his momentary flash of indignant anger cooled, Rohaan smugly folded his arms and challenged, "Weak as shit, huh?" He snorted, and then suddenly there were two of Wheel, but one with lapis lazuli eyes. And, in a perfect imitation of mannerisms and intonation he challenged, "Say that again." The idea of not having muscle to Rohaan seemed silly. If he wanted muscle, he could simply get it. He did not have to gain it in the same way others did--at least in the short term. What mattered far more, and he knew this very well, was the reflex and muscle memory.

His point made, Rohaan reverted back to himself and watched Wheel scoop up a belay pin and toss it at him. His quick hands snapped out and caught it. He hefted the thing, judging its weight, but he kept giving Wheel a look that very clearly said 'is this supposed to be hard?' Though he understood what Wheel was trying to do, at least to some degree, Rohaan noted that the man clearly did not understand how shifters worked. As a dragon, he regularly carried Wheel's bulk without trouble, and so now this piece of wood, this mere splinter to a dragon, was supposed to be a challenge?

But that wasn't the point and he knew it. Eager to prove himself, Rohaan thought through which form would suit his needs best but would also prove that he had some steel. A cyradan was too easy, but a sparrow or swallow would be physically impossible. As Wheel stalked off, Rohaan nodded to himself and with the pin in hand, took a running start, vaulted over the gunnel, and swept away as an eagle with the belay pin clutched in his talons.

Uban watched him go, wondering absently what it must be like to have no concept of fear of falling or drowning. He was comfortable both at heights and in water, but not like Rohaan, who had them all beat in that regard. There was no risk in it for him, no reason not to push limits. And then, thoughts beginning to wander, he mused about whether or not a vokurian had ever drowned. He was debating this silently to himself when Hana approached him. Uban turned and gave his signature crooked smile. It was almost reflexive for him, though no less genuine. That was simply how he was. "Aye, whatcha need?" he answered her.

---

Berlin was near the bottom of his mug again before he even showed signs of melting. Since the incident with Wheel, Rohaan, and the boot, he hadn't given himself to relaxing and was quite literally waiting for the other shoe to drop. He watched the two argue apparently, though again he saw no signs of escalation and that was the only thing that kept his ass in his seat. A fight between those two could be--WOULD be disastrous. This was a concept Rohaan did not seem to understand, despite the many times Berlin had tried to explain it to him. Either that, or, as Berlin suspected, he knew but willfully wanted to see how far he could push it before it reached a breaking point.

The liquor, consumed very quickly, was beginning to catch up with him now--just a bit--and he set the now empty mug down on the barrel a little harder than he meant to, like the barrel had risen up to meet his hand unexpectedly and was not where he thought it ought to be; it gave a small thud. Berlin let his head rest against the prow behind him and reflected for a moment on how much he liked the sound of creaking wood and rattling rigging hardware. "You know...days like today I complain about the stress of being responsible for a ship, even one so small as ours. But truthfully, I'd get bored without it. Found that out the hard way when I tried retiring some years ago, just before I got the Borealis." He patted the timbers affectionately like the ship was a trusty horse. "Never did tell you much about that short stint on land, did I?" He gave Pieter a smile that was soft but almost roguish. That bloomed into a full grin, and then to a sort of embarrassed laugh. "I had wife once. Did I ever tell you about Adrienne?"

--

Rohaan had been out longer than he imagined he would have been, and it was some time indeed. But he did return, still holding the pin in his talons and did a few circles over the Borealis before finding Wheel in the darkness and sweeping down as if to dive-bomb him. But instead he pulled up sharply and let go of the belay pin, sending it swooshing at Wheel so that it bounced off his back. It wasn't dropped from a height that it would cause any lasting damage beyond a bruise, even to Uban or Pieter, but to Wheel it would be irksome at worst. The bird swept back around, landing on the gunnel where it grew to be a boy; he sat breathing hard but looking quite smug as he pointed and said, "Oi, that way, Uban. There's an island with some animals there that would be good hunting." He had a hungry gleam in his eye--and a growl in his stomach. Rohaan wanted food, and then he wanted sleep, as he hadn't gotten much to begin with the night before and shifting long term took lots of energy.

In Dark Seas We Sail

Uban gave an uncharacteristically icy stare after Wheel. It wasn’t the slight itself that made him scowl—he WAS a farmer and had only been at this for about five years. He wasn’t going to pretend he was the most experienced sailor in the world, or even a warrior. It was the man’s attitude that soured him. Not that Wheel was ever friendly. But if there really was something so awful about the Barizians beyond a taste for violence and a fierce tenacity, then he could have at least answered the question and filled him in. Uban was good in combat. Not exactly traditional, but good in his own way. What were they up against if that wasn’t enough?

He was about to growl something back at him over the woody creaking and the wind, but even before he drew breath he saw Wheel howl at Rohaan in rage. He didn’t need to see to know what happened, and with a sense of smug satisfaction, he laughed out of sight of the berserker.

The boot sailed through the air with all the force of a cannon ball and in order to dodge it, Rohaan rolled over the edge of his perch and dropped, allowing at least 10 feet of freefall before shifting to a hawk and snapping his wings out, sweeping up on a draft and climbing high above even the top of the main mast, where he circled slowly.

The boot collided with the sturdy boards of the Nest with a very serious crack, sending splinters of wood that had burst off the surface of two of the planks showering down. The hardy board stayed true despite this, but it rattled the mast all the way down so they could feel the thud at their feet. If Rohaan wasn’t so quick to dodge, and it had his his head, then the boy would have been knocked unconscious quite badly, and then for the first time his falling from the rigging would actually be a problem.

Berlin, who had just taken his first sip from his mug since coming back, cringed at the whole scene and thought halfheartedly about reprimanding Wheel, when he realized Rohaan had deserved it. As long as it didn’t escalate, he was too tired to pursue it further and simply let it go with a very put-upon grunt and a nonplussed glance to Pieter beside him, who had just been telling him about the need for a training session—a sentiment he wholly agreed with.

Uban sighed. “You know that only makes it worse....he’s looking to get a reaction out of you. It’s why you’re always his target—you always rise to the occasion. Trust me, I had brothers.” And though he thought Wheel deserved it, he knew that kind of behavior from the boy would cause trouble. And, seeing as how Berlin was ‘busy’, it fell to him to deal with. Unless it was a matter of command, in which case Pieter would be the first to step in, Uban usually was the one that dealt with Rohaan when Berlin was either gone or occupied. Being the token friendly one of the crew, Rohaan had warmed up to him easier than the rest and therefore had a better rapport.

Uban gave a long, sharp whistle, calling the hawk down to him. When the hawk changed to the scrubby troublemaker, he said in as authoritative a tone he could muster, “oi, cut that out, or Berlin will have at you. Belay that, I’LL have at you.” Uban reached his hand out so that it hovered over Rohaan’s head and, as a soft crackle sounded in the air, he made Rohaan’s wild hair stand up on end like a warning of what he could do to him. But he could see the way Rohaan’s eyes never met his, and he fidgeted where he stood in a way that wasn’t like him, like a war horse pawing at the turf on a slow morning. Uban sighed. He knew this mood. He’d seen it before. It was like anxiety, though instead of drinking or pacing, it manifested in the kid as impish malice. “Look, instead of being an ass, why don’t you go make a round and see if you can spot a nice little sandbar or island or something. We’re gonna do some combat training before we get into this. Give my sorry ass a heading, would you?”
Rohaan nodded, unconsciously grateful for something to do that would expend lots of energy. He bounded away towards the railing, but he stopped halfway with a thoughtful expression and pivoted on his heel towards—Oh no…

Uban’s stomach lurched as the boy went straight for Wheel. They were easily the two most volatile members of the crew and if a fight broke out between them, Uban was hopelessly outclassed. But all he wanted was to give Pieter and Berlin a moment to themselves—a moment much needed. He couldn’t fail them now. Uban made a move to intercept, but hesitated at the scene before him, which was not what he expected.

“Wheeeeeeel….” Rohaan tugged on the back of Wheel’s shirt, already on the balls of his feet in case he needed to dance away from a powerful swipe. But before the man could actually strike him, he blurted out with the kind of breathless urgency that only kids have when they get excited about something, “When we stop, can you teach me how to fight with a knife? Keva’tiiiiiiiiii….?” This was a word that even those who did not speak Vokurian could recognize as ‘please’. “Berlin won’t teach me because he thinks I’ll hurt someone with it, y’know, ‘cause I’m kinda wild and stuff. But, but,’ he continued as he shifted his weight between his two bare feet anxiously, knowing it was very likely he’d get a hard ‘no’. “I can’t hurt you with it and besides, I’m good at…at….” He looked at his hands. He had no idea what the Carisian term for ‘spatial awareness’ was, so he spat out at a loss, “Irah-tena’aisi’e!” And tried again. “I’m good…with…like with my hands and stuff. I’m…cord….c-cordated?” He meant ‘coordinated’, but that was as close as he would get. “We can do some like really advanced flying stuff!” He offered in return. “Like catching you in midair or something! C’mon whaddya say? Keva’ti?” His enthusiasm was so exuberant it was nearly explosive, and it was hard to imagine, looking at the lad, that he’d been antagonizing Wheel just moments before.

In Dark Seas We Sail

Uban looked surprised. “You don’t actually think we’d have trouble, do you? Sure, we’re not fighters the same way you are. I’m not a swordsman. I do fine with a dagger but…” he shrugged, and as he did, he held out his hands as if asking for something and let a purplish arc jump between them with a loud buzz, making the hair on both of their arms stand up on end. “I can kill a man by touching him. And you know I’m reeeallly close to being able to make projectiles. And if you think for one second that Rohaan can’t fight well enough, then you’ve CLEARLY never given him a bath or tried to make him put on shoes. Like, the kid can sink a ship. Just him.” He scowled a little, his confidence waning into something closer to worry. “You can’t tell me that we’d actually meet our match with THAT,” he said pointing up into the rigging, “and as personal as this is to him. I mean…what makes them so special?”

—

Rohaan was beginning to feel restless. He loved being aloft, and he was more comfortable up there than any sailor ever could be, as it was nearly impossible for him to fall to the deck. He’d slipped many times, but in a flash he would flit back up to the yard or the shroud as a sparrow and that was all. This made him bold and very quick in the rigging. But at the moment there was little to do. A few adjustments to the sails here and there at Uban’s call, and then he would wait.

At the moment, with all the day’s adrenaline still coursing through him (though considerably less than it was) this lull was a curse. If he wasn’t doing something, his mind would wander and he didn’t want to think about that anymore.

Whoever once said that idle hands were the Devil’s playthings clearly had met someone like Rohaan. On the Borealis, he was typically good natured and though still a little wild, kept in line well enough under the watchful eye of Berlin. There, he had a purpose. A routine. But boredom brought out something wicked and evil in him, a mischief to rival all the stories of trickster gods there ever were.

So naturally he began hocking spit down onto the deck, aiming for his forever foe, Wheel. He never tired of irritating him, mostly because he could get away with it...if Berlin wasn’t watching. Pieter had been known to call him off this game a few times, but Rohaan did not show the same reverence to anyone the way he did Berlin and would gleefully dance away from his swats. His first few attempts went very wide, and he began factoring in the drift of the wind. Mm, he needed to move further aft. So he swung as a monkey from one line to the other until, stalking his prey, he got closer. Another failed attempt, a quick adjustment and—

“Oop!” He squeaked in surprise victory. He didn’t wait to see if it landed direct, but he knew from its trajectory that it would at least get close enough for him to notice. The boy in the rigging disappeared and fluttered away as a bird, sweeping up to the Nest where he reverted forms and tried to look the picture of innocence. He never did this very well.

—

Berlin looked almost surprised for a moment, staring at her with a subtle frown that was almost severe. “Gentleman? No, I am no gentleman. I might have been as a very young lad but those days are far behind me. You shouldn’t mistake my kindness for good character. I’m not evil, but I’m no paragon.” He said this matter of factly. “We’re all of us criminals, you know. Don’t forget that. Some of us, most of us, before we even became pirates. Uban didn’t lose that finger on the Borealis.” He gave a little laugh. “But aye, I might make a drunkard out of you. The only one of us who isn’t is Rheoaan and that’s only because all hell would break loose if that lad got drunk.” Another laugh. “Keep that flask. I got me a feeling you’ll need it again, and before long you’ll have a real taste for it. Try it with lime.” He offered a smile, smoothing his hair out of his face, which he was not accustomed to having loose.

He watched her try and curtsy, and the subsequent politeness that followed and he laughed softly. He had an infectious laugh that showed as much in his gray eyes as in his grinning mouth, and it was a warm, jovial sound. “You know, I meant what I said when we met. If you wanted, I’d take you to Ramos and leave you be. After all, I owe you a debt. That option still stands. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope you’d stay. Anyway, I have some…captainly business topside to see to…you know. High priority.” He smiled, tilting his fingers back like they were holding a cup. “If the boy gives you any trouble, Uban can help you.” And with that, he returned to Pieter at the fore, sitting down on the crate again with a woody creak.

“Well then, where were we…?”

In Dark Seas We Sail

Rohaan shivered a little as he came up on deck. Under a blanket and huddled in a bed, he was quite warm, but the breeze and the autumn sun that seemed warm enough for Pieter and Berlin felt like a cold hand tickling his body. They were in a warmer region, but still not the far tropics that he knew. The void left by the lack of a story and words to think about made him remember everything all over again, but it hurt less now. He was ready for it this time. Still, he couldn't help a single hiccuping sob and a little hidden sniffle as he assumed his position in the rigging of the mainsail. But he swallowed it down hard, putting on a stony face instead. He would not cry. Not again. Not in front of them. In the dark of night when it was just him up in his hammock aloft, the Nest, he called it, then he might allow it. But not now. He knew Berlin wouldn't blame him, but he'd be damned if he showed that much vulnerability in front of Wheel especially. The man was tough and unflappable--something Rohaan always admired.

But the wind, which did more than shuffle a breeze up aloft, did little to distract him from his thoughts. He kept seeing the town. He kept remembering seeing his home up in flames, wanting to go and help, to fight. But then watching both his parents fall, and knowing this foe was beyond him. And he remembered the dark, dank of the Barizian ship's hold, where they were crammed in there like dead fish, forced to lie on top of each other. Rohaan gripped the nearest rope hard, till his tanned knuckles went white. No. He wouldn't stand for it. Not now. He was stronger now and he was ready.

They would pay. With blood, they would pay.

---

Uban minded the helm while Berlin was away, though there was little to do in such calm seas, so he often busied himself with other little tasks that he could easily drop if he needed to. "Ah give her a break," he chided. "She's greener than me when I first came on. I'd never seen the ocean in my life, but at least I had prison under my belt already to harden me." He wiggled what was left of his missing finger. "She'll get there. She seems like she came from a proper background but nobody comes and joins a pirate crew--especially not this one--if they don't have a reason to want to. There's more to her than I think we yet know. As for Rohaan..." Uban glanced up aloft briefly. "It wasn't good. Apparently he's a survivor of a Barizian raid, and it was on one of their ships that he ended up in Tavalor. I can only wonder how he made it out--seems like they know what to do with a shifter like him. He's never talked much about it except in passing, you know. But he saw their flag and just like, I thought he was gone for a second, you know? Like soldiers do. Just empty eyes. But then he turns on the cap'n as a bear and gets him across the chest. It's lucky it wasn't me, and Berlin's lucky that's all he did. I don't have Berlin's touch, you know? And I don't know if he would have remembered we were friends without a little help. But then he just like, unravels like I never seen before. Just a bad time, all around..." Uban shook his head.

"But you know, now even I want blood. Not just you anymore, I think. We'll all get it and it's gonna be sweet. But before we do, I think we oughtta put Hana through her paces. Do some combat training, you me and Rohaan, eh?"

---

Berlin nodded. "I know. It's...shocking. Especially the first time." He put his big hand through his hair, forgetting for a moment that it was down and his wandering fingers showed this. "I never did tell you what we do. Who we are. Pirates, you knew, but I'm sure you've guessed we aren't typical sea rats. Now don't get me wrong, we do a bit of merchant ship plundering, drinking, and plenty of treason, but if there's one thing we really do, it's track down people like them and remind them that there are more frightening things in this ocean than them. We attack slaver ships all the time, but we haven't had much, if any, encounters with Barizians. They're a special case, it seems. I can assure you, we'll see to it that they get their comeuppance. But look here," he said, his tone getting firm and almost stern except there was a softness in his eyes. "While a fight may come to you, I won't make you enter into combat. That's a choice each of us has made and if you choose not to, I respect that. Wheel might not," he said with a little chuckle, "But that's just his way. I also urge you to be open with me as your captain. It's my job to see to it my crew is taken care of, and I can't help you if I don't know what you need. Aye?"

This sort of thing was what set Berlin apart from other sailors in his legal career. When he had men under him, he not only kept them in line when needed and maintained order, but he also went out of his way to make sure they had what they needed to do their jobs well. To find the balance between strong, hard, and worthy of respect, and to be also empathetic, was a difficult thing to do, but Berlin managed it well. It was something he swore from the beginning that he would do as a captain.

Berlin took out a small battered flask from his back pocket. "Here. You might want this. There's a reason sailors drink, Hana." He gave a little chuckle.

In Dark Seas We Sail

Rohaan struggled. There were two letters he didn't know, and with hands tanned by the sun so that his dirty fingernails stood out slightly, he pointed at them. "What are the names of these letters? I know these, but not those two." As he studied the word, he fiddled with the iron ball that hung around his neck. He still had a very small hitch in his breath if he drew in a deep one, but mostly his mind was filled with the story and the letters on the page. He didn't have the emotional awareness to be thankful for it, but deep down, he was.

--

Berlin gave a heavy sigh. "I know. I know. I forget he's ten. He doesn't always act like it which...now that I think about it isn't really a good thing. He should be climbing trees and skinning knees, not getting shot at." Another long sigh. "I guess I never knew exactly what he went through. He never did tell me everything, but he agreed to tell me more later. He doesn't talk about his parents except in passing, or a mere mention that they're dead. I mean I always knew it was bad but...Barizians." Berlin did not have the experience with them that either Rohaan or Wheel had, but he'd heard plenty of rumors all right. "I guess I knew all of these things were true. That they needed to come up eventually I just...I wasn't ready, Pieter. But something tells me..." He looked up from his mug to glance down to the steps that led to the cabin. "He won't run and hide when he sees them." His tone was dark. "This," he said, gesturing to the superficial but long scratches on his chest, "Is what he did to ME. It was an instinct. Something he did without thinking. And it wasn't until I touched him that he melted. I've seen that look in his eyes before, but not in him..." His gaze drifted to Wheel, who was busy coiling ropes. The two shared a silent, unspoken image of a shapeshifter with the level of bloodlust as Wheel. Berlin actually shivered.

Pieter mentioned Hana and he had a look on his face like he'd just been slapped with icy water. The man sat bolt upright in a panic, and then obvious guilt set in on his face. "Sweet Lady Tevira! I hadn't even thought--I mean, between dealing with Wheel and the villagers, and then Rheoaan I..." He hadn't checked in with the rest of his crew. Wheel was fine, he knew. Uban would be disturbed but fine--he'd seen some things in his day and had faced his share of hard times. Pieter he knew would be fine even if he did see the whole thing. But Hana was new. She was not a pirate. She wasn't even a criminal--or at least as far as he knew. He had the sense she was avoiding something but there were many reasons to run from one's past. Berlin was glad he wasn't drunk yet. He was a big man with a heavy tolerance and it would take more than a couple pours to get him.

Berlin thudded his mug down and rose. "I should go now and talk to her. Stars above, what would I do without you, Pieter?" He shook his head, still bewildered at his own shortsightedness. "Fill that mug and yours till that bottle is empty. And when it is, and I get back, I have a bottle of honest to goodness whiskey I've been saving in my cabin. You and I are gonna see to it that it's gone by end of day." And that was a promise.

With a level of composure that was so characteristic of Berlin and yet so far from the open vulnerability he'd just showed Pieter, he strode coolly across the length of the ship and back down to the cabin below. A shirtless Berlin, hair uncharacteristically down and kinked where the tie had once held it in a ponytail, appeared from the steps. Rohaan looked up at him, fearing his time had come to have a very unpleasant conversation, but instead, Berlin said, "Alright lad, Bithdo's gonna have to wait. We got a ship to run. Wheel and Uban could use you topside, up aloft."
Loathe to tear himself away from the story but relieved that Berlin did not want to have their talk now, Rohaan dutifully hopped up, gave an odd looking gesture that only he ever gave Berlin--a vokurian salute--and with an, "Aye Ca-mm!" he bounded off.

Berlin watched him go, then watched Hana shut the book. "I can't thank you enough for your help back there," he began. "I know you two are just getting to know eachother and with him that can be...daunting. If I was thinking clearly I would have handed him off to Uban, but you were there and I was worried Wheel might do something stupid. When we met, I had great faith in you. But even so, you still surprise me. You've done very well." He offered a smile and lowered himself onto the foot of her bed carefully, showing none of the exhaustion he'd showed Pieter. He was good at that, at keeping composed when he needed to. After a little pause to let that sink in, he asked with the utmost sincerity as his stormy eyes searched hers, "How are you? It occurred to me that not being a pirate before this, it might be your first time...encountering something like that. I'm only sorry I didn't ask you earlier. Are you alright?"

In Dark Seas We Sail

Rohaan watched the big man go. It was hard to describe what Berlin mean to the boy; Rohaan had never actually said it out loud in so plain of words, but he loved him. Berlin knew it. Their bond was strong but unspoken. Berlin himself had known it beyond a doubt when Rohaan granted him the use of his third and longest name. By that time he knew what that meant. The boy had come in on a winter’s night a year after Berlin had scooped him up from the street. Ice formed on the lines and gunnel at night and Rohaan had come into his cabin, shivering. Berlin invited him to sit next to him on the bed and amused him with stories of his swashbuckling youth, including some mischief he and Pieter had gotten into in their younger years. He could feel the boy nodding off, slumping a little at his side with each word.
”Rohaan, you should get to sleep,” he’d said.
“No.” When Berlin was about to chide him for arguing, Rohaan continued. “It’s Rheoaan. My name is Rheoaan.”

Rohaan waited until Berlin’s boots disappeared from the steps and scrambled back to Hana’s side, this time not so tightly into the corner. “Well go on! Tell me what happens! Does he find a dragon?” It wasn’t the first time he’d asked this. Rohaan was convinced that there was a dragon somewhere in this story. There just had to be, he thought.

—-

Berlin sat down with a heavy thud that made the crate he sat on creak in protest. He had his back against the sweeping wall of the prow as he took the mug from his old friend and took a long, heavy pull from the chipped vessel. That was almost answer enough. Still, it took time for the captain to answer. He took off his loose white shirt, set it on the deck beside him, and took out a clean wet rag. As he began wiping the crusted blood off his chest, he looked only briefly at Pieter to mutter, “how do you think?” The skin clean, he dipped his finger in a little jar of cloudy honey, which was supposed to be good for keeping wounds clean and fighting infection in minor wounds; he rubbed the sticky substance into the scratches, but he did not bother to put his shirt back on. The sun felt too nice, and the breeze too pleasant. Another long pull from the mug.

“Ain’t never seen him like that. Ain’t never seen him cry...” He kept drinking. Clearly this had shaken his worldview in a way; he wasn’t sure how to feel about it now. “And I should have known it, too. Since we spotted them yesterday, he was in...a mood. Can’t explain it. But I knew something was bothering him, even if he didn’t himself. I think, deep down, he knew before we ever made for the shore.” Another drink, but it came up short in his mouth. Empty. Berlin put it down on the barrel between them and held it out, eyes quietly demanding it be full again. “He never did tell me any details of how he came to be at Tavalor, that little port city we found him. But it was Barizians who took him, got him in as bad a shape as he was. He saw the flag and unraveled. But he’s alright now. Hasn’t bitten anyone, it seems, and nothing’s been set on fire, so I’ll call it a victory. He’s down with Hana. She’s reading to him and, bless me, he’s listening. She’s good. I’ll give her that. He didn’t warm up to you that fast,” Berlin laughed, remembering the ongoing struggles that at times felt so far away. “He’s come a long way now, though.”

Berlin fished the lime out of his mug, sucked it for a moment, then plopped it back into the cup with a small sound of relish. “But that’s done. And we’ve got a ship to hunt down,” he said darkly, also with relish. “But for now, I see no reason you and I can’t share a drink...er...a few anyway.” His mug was already empty again. “And ‘bout damn time too.”

In Dark Seas We Sail

Down below, Rohaan only let go of Hana's shirt once he'd been set down on the bed and saw that she was going to sit beside him. He couldn't tell if he wanted to be alone or not. On The beach? No. But here, in his home, he felt a little bit like running and hiding. That had always been his fallback. When the Borealis first acquired him, it was not uncommon for someone to go down into the dark hold in search of something, only to hear a low, ominous growl from somewhere in the gloom and turn straight around without coming what they came for. But at the same time, he was recalling now the feelings of being truly alone, and they horrified him.

The Barizian ship had been a nightmare where he constantly feared for his life as he watched other children die. Babies. Older kids. Ones his age that he used to go dive underwater with, crack open coconuts with, learn to hunt with. And like his parents, he watched them die. Some by cruelty and neglect, others...others would be plucked from the pile (he distinctly remembered an actual pile of bodies, some living, some dead) and dragged above deck. They never came back and sometimes he would see silvery blood on the hands of his captors. The troublesome ones, he learned very quickly, got shackled with enchanted steel, and though he'd never felt its sting, he knew what it was and what it did. For once in his life, Rohaan had been docile, compliant, and quiet. He had to be, he knew, if escaping was going to work. He did not know how long it took for him to find an opening. But when he did, he was battered, his wrist was broken, he had infected cuts or scrapes, and he was horribly malnourished. Moving was difficult, crawling across the others towards the one opening. Shifting was only possible by force of will.

When he'd hit the water he had no idea where he was. He could see the suggestion of land somewhere in the distance, but he couldn't make out whether or not it was home. He doubted it. Though he didn't know how far they came, he knew the air and the water was colder there, and it was not the crystal blue he had always known. When he did make it to land, he realized he had never been in the presence of humans before, though he was well aware that they did not like his kind. Though he knew, he did not understand, and that understanding came to him the hard way. He remembered curling up in an empty barrel in a dirty alley, shivering in the newfound chill that he had never truly experienced, weak, pained, and hungry. And so, so alone.

On the bed, Rohaan clambered to the far side, the one corner against the wall, and drew his little body in like he was trying to make room. He was not shying away from her specifically, but he liked the security that corners offered. Rohaan snatched up the blanket, too, practically burrowing underneath it as he clutched the fabric in tight hands. His blue eyes, now glossy with tears, looked up at her as she spoke. He didn't understand what she was talking about--places and languages he did not know existed. But the idea of a story seemed at least sort of appealing. Anything that would let him forget again, even if just for a moment.

She read on, and page by page, his shuddering breaths began to soften into something more controlled as he sniffled. The language was more advanced than he usually used himself, and he was forced to spend time thinking about the various words and what their translations might be in his own language. Hanabaptiste came to one word after a while that he did not know and couldn't guess from context, so his small, quiet voice asked, "what's that word mean?" After the first time, he began to ask more questions, mostly about language but occasionally about the story itself, and they became slowly less quiet and shy. Even his body posture began to relax, and instead of having a death-grip on the blanket wrapped around his tight ball, he had his legs semi-outstretched and his toes peeking out from under it, fingers fiddling with a loose thread.

---

Berlin sighed. He wanted to say that he had very little idea of how to go about it, but he was the Captain, and if he could even pretend to be collected, he would. The man thought--or tried to. His mind was pulled in multiple different directions all at once. "Well..." he said at last, "We know which direction they're headed. And assuming they don't drastically change course, we'll take them soon enough. The Borealis is fast, but with Hanabaptiste giving us strong, favorable winds, I fail to see how we can be outrun. I'd like you to keep an open eye for them." And by that, he meant that if the curse pulled at him in such a way as to let him know bloodshed was near at hand, Berlin wanted to know. He thought also that he could send Rohaan on patrols every so often to cover more ground from above, but after what he saw on the beach, he wasn't so sure that was a good idea.

The two returned, and before long the crew had the ship fully afloat again and shooting off in the direction they'd last seen the galley go. With the ship underway and the crew busy, Berlin went down below to see how his young charge was holding up. He was preparing himself for another hurricane when he saw Rohaan and Hana seated on her bed, the woman with a large book in her hands as Rohaan watched her lips move intently. Both were in one piece. Berlin let out a huge sigh.

"Berlin!" The boy exclaimed, leaping out of the bed to anchor himself to Berlin's side once more. The big man went to one knee, drawing him in. Rohaan never wanted anything more in his whole life, it seemed.
"Hey. How are you?" The question was gentle but deeply sincere.
Rohaan just nodded. "Hana is reading a book out loud." A pause, and then, "Are you mad at me?"
Berlin blinked, taken aback. "Mad at you? No! Why would I--" He followed Rohaan's gaze to the red-stained rips in his white shirt and the lacerated skin beneath. "No," he said, understanding. "We talked about this. You didn't mean it, and frankly I've had a lot worse. This doesn't really even need bandaging--a little cleaning, maybe a balm, I'll be good as new." Growing more serious, Berlin brushed the boy's wild hair back with a stroke of his hand. "I would like to talk with you later. Not now--I think you could squeeze in another few pages with Hana if you want to. But if you're willing, I want to talk to you about what happened. I want to understand, Rheoaan," he said softly.

Rohaan looked at the floor, at his dirty toes. He didn't want to talk about it, not really. But he could see Berlin wanted to know. Wanted to understand. That was something Rohaan appreciated about the man--even though they were so different, and Rohaan's way of life was so foreign to him, the man only ever wanted to understand. Hesitantly, the boy nodded.

"Good lad." He stood, giving Hanabaptiste a silent glance that said everything. Thank you. "Hanabaptiste, when you two are finished, I would like it if you could draw up another wind for us. We'll see to it they can't outrun us." With that, he returned to the deck, letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

He needed a drink.

In Dark Seas We Sail

Uban caught the look and approached softly, putting his weapons away. He softly put his hand on Hana's shoulder and motioned with his head towards the ship as he softly began to sing like it was any other night on the Borealis.

"Fare thee well, to you my own true love
When I return, united we will be
It's not the leaving of this here shore that grieves me
but my darling when I think of thee..."

Uban's voice was casual, soft, and easy like the gentle breeze of a quiet summer day. He was not Berlin and did not have his charm, but he had a voice like a songbird. He led the two back to the ship where Pieter was still waiting at the gun. There was a question in the old man's eyes as the saw only the three--not the five--and one still hitching Rohaan in, of all people, Hana's arms.
"Why don't you take him below? Maybe...show him some mag--actually no, don't do that. He bites. Ah...you got books, eh? Read to him, maybe? He likes stories."

Uban went to Pieter, letting a breath of air go that he didn't know he'd been holding. "Barizians. The sacked the whole place, I mean, just wrecked. Wheel managed to get himself taken hostage by some really upset locals and Berlin's putting out that fire. Rohaan..." He glanced to where the two had gone. "You remember when we found him. What he looked like. How he'd lost his family and home to some kind of raid? Barizians, apparently. He saw the flag and lost it. Really lost it. Enough that he's letting Hanabaptiste touch him. And ooh, you shouldda seen the look in the cap'n's eyes." Uban whistled. "Seems we got a ship to hunt down."

--

Berlin moved forward softly, feet crunching against the sooty stone. He put a hand out and placed it on the withering man's shoulder gently. He imbued the touch with nothing but his deepest sympathy. "Aye. We will go. Mourn your dead. Rebuild your homes. And know they will pay for this. For this and more." Berlin moved slowly, reaching into his pocket for a little leather purse of coins. They would all easily fit in the man's palms, but they were solid gold. "Take this. It's...not much, considering. But it will help you rebuild. Take it and my sympathy. And...oh..." he pointed with his thumb back towards Wheel. "Don't listen to him, eh?" One more pat on the shoulder, and he turned, heading back towards the ship. "Wheel," he barked in a firm tone, motioning for him to follow. 'Back to the ship."

In Dark Seas We Sail

A brief Ja'aisen family history...

------------------------------

Ithai’an Ithir Iaan Khelir did not often leave the island, though he ventured out more than most. He knew it was practically a death wish each time he made contact with a human colony, but the temptation of the wide world beyond his secluded home was too great. It called to him, the adventure. If he was honest, he even enjoyed the aspect of danger that came with each visit, too. He could not take part in the daily activities of those that plodded along their daily business below him as he sat perched on a clay-tiled rooftop, but he liked to watch them anyway. Like watching a colony of ants, he thought. Each one with a mission and purpose. Ithir did not know the language either, or at least not very well. He knew a couple words, but nothing that would suffice for conversation or even doing business. Not that he could do that either. One look at his eyes and, at best, he’d be shooed away. At worst, the soldiers would come.

None of that mattered today. He had a mission of his own and nothing would keep him from it.

Ithir did not come to the coastal town to watch little human ants, nor did he come for an adventure. He came for a prize. On the rooftops, he stalked his prey, watching the movements of the people below to try and determine patterns or flow, estimate timing, and to visualize a route. Ithir was not a thief typically—at home, he was considered an honorable man who made good on his word and saw to others’ needs. But here, he had nothing to trade, no skills to barter, not even language to communicate or money to spend. In order to get anything here, he had to steal. It was a reality he’d accepted long ago, since he first started visiting human settlements.

There. Ithir saw his target. The timing was perfect, the way was clear. He shifted to a gray and white gull and dove off the edge of the roof, swooping down on outstretched wings towards a tiny wheeled cart with some kind of shade above it like a fabric, artificial tree. Stacked neatly on top were little packages wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, one of which he scooped up with his beak and swept away, ignoring the owner’s disgruntled shouts at what the old man thought was only a bird. Success.

Ithir made the flight home quickly, his prize secured. Today was the day. He’d been plucking up the courage for weeks, but today, now, at last, he was going to ask Y’virianae Y’vira Val Ja’aisen to dance with him. And this pilfered box of sweet chocolate candy would be his offering. If that didn’t impress her, he didn’t know what would. Tonight was the first night of summer, and there was going to be a grand celebration around a fire so large, he imagined its light could be seen from the mainland. There would be food, drink, song, and lots of dancing in general, though for a man to ask a lady to dance with him specifically was another matter entirely. And even if it killed him, he was going to ask Y’vira.

The summer celebration was a communal event and everyone attended. Children of all ages were allowed to stay up as late as they could possibly bear, and by the end of the night it was common for there to be young ones littered all around the beach, curled up beside the fire, slouched against logs, or reclined in a nearby hammock, as they simply slept where they nodded off instead of being carried off to their beds. Stories were told, music was played, and it was very common for young men to finally work up the courage to begin courting the woman of his choice. So common, in fact, that young women who suspected that they might have a suitor approach them would make necklaces of shells or carved stone and leather and would bring them to the event, keeping them close at hand to give as a token if her favored man approached her. Ithir hoped that there would be a necklace for him.

In his natural form now, Ithir concealed the box close to his bare chest as he moved quickly to his little shed of a home, stashing his prize underneath a blanket. Right. Now all he had to do was wait for the set of the sun. Wait, and overthink, he thought to himself. He couldn’t imagine his embarrassment if she didn’t accept his invitation. Or, just as awful, if someone else came to her first. It took a lot for the more withdrawn man to come out and speak his feelings plainly and vulnerably in general, but he’d had his eye on Y’vira for a long time now and knew her well. There was no doubt in his mind that he loved her. But if she didn’t feel that way about him…?

“Ithir!”
He whirled, taking in a tiny gasp.
“Well? Did you get it?” His best friend, Tonivan stood in the narrow doorway, holding the woven curtain aside. The grin on his face was brilliant, enough to make Ithir feel self-conscious and gawked at.
“I did. But you can’t tell anyone! I want it to be a surprise.”
“Yeah? Or are you just saying that so you can leave yourself the option of backing out?” Tonivan laughed, giving his friend a playful shove. “I’m not going to let you. You haven’t stopped talking about this for a whole week, so I’ll make you do it.”
Ithir sighed. “Well, you might have to. What if she says no? Or worse, what if she’s got someone else..?”
“No no, none of that. Look, I got you a present. Actually, more US a present.” Tonivan grinned wickedly, taking a worn bottle with a dark liquid inside from behind his back. Both men smiled as Tonivan stepped inside, letting the curtain fall over the doorless entry.

The bottle was gone by evening. By then, they were feeling warm, giddy, and a little dizzy—ready for the merriment that was to come. The smell of woodsmoke, stronger than usual, flooded the air of the whole island, mingling with the toothsome scent of roasted meat. And the whole island was a buzz of activity as they congregated around a huge fire on the widest section of beach. When they arrived, already there was music playing—bamboo flutes, big drums of pig rawhide and wood, and the soft chanting of a few singers.

He didn’t see her yet. He was scanning the crowd for her, picking a set of pork ribs clean when a soft voice spoke to him from behind.
“You seem even quieter than usual, Ithir.” It was the elder, an ancient woman with long white hair and wrinkled, leathery skin. “Got something on your mind...?” Her tone was playful. Knowing.
“Sorry Ama, I’ve um, had a bit to drink...” he said, struggling to give a respectful salute by touching his fingers to his forehead and dropping them to his chest.
“Yes,” she smiled. “Haven’t we all. You know, rumor has it she’s been hoping you would ask her to dance this summersday. Are you?”
Ithir nearly jumped out of his skin. “Wha!? I uh, she....she has? You know...?”
The elder laughed. “I know everything that happens on this little island, Ithir. And you should know, I approve. You’d be good for each other. She needs someone strong that can tame her spirit, and you need someone wild to ignite yours....anyway....seeing as how she just arrived, I’ll take my leave...” she was grinning mischievously as she sidled away slowly.

She was right. Ithir looked across the fire to see her curly blonde hair reflecting the dying sunlight as she, chatting and laughing with her friends, joined the throng. Sun and stars, she was beautiful. She stood taller than most, and her skirt and the band that covered her chest were simple, unadorned, and even a little worn. Others had beaded tops, or dyed patterns in their skirts, but not her. There was a simple elegance about her that he loved. An unpretentious, diamond-in-the-rough kind of air that made her feel genuine at all times. And the elder was right—she was wild. Bold, outspoken, courageous, and always sought to seek new limits.

His feet moved. His mind raced with exactly what he would say, but she found him first and threw her arms around him. “Happy Summersday! Where is Tonivan?”
And with her words, he felt his tension melt. “Oh you know, eating too much, drinking too much—the usual. Oh, so I went to a human town today and I brought something back I thought you’d like.”
Her smile was brilliant and her eyes lit up curiously. “Did you now?” He held out the box of chocolates from behind his back and she unwrapped the tiny package. Inside was a hefty chunk of dark chocolate with a candied cherry embedded on the top.

“Is that...?”
“I guess they call it Cho..colate..?”
“Yes! I hear this is a rare thing! You got it for me?” When he nodded, Y’vira broke it in half and handed him one chunk. They smiled and ate, relishing the bittersweet, creamy flavor.
“Come!” He said after a moment. “There’s food to be had and drink to be drunk!” He led her away to where the barbecue pit was gently smoking, trying to ignore the expectant stares of her friends as they walked.

For a while, Ithir forgot about his nerves. They enjoyed the company of both each other and the people around them, ate their fill, watched two talented shifters tell a story or two, and most of all, they drank. Ithir was feeling even more lightheaded than he was, but he was happy beyond reason. And then, when the darkness had fully set in, the ever present sound of flutes stopped, and around the fire, drums pounded even louder. Circles of dancers formed, stomping their bare feet to the rhythm and clapping their hands. Closer to the firelight, individual pairs slowly began to form. His time had come.

Ithir stood, his eyes sparkling as they looked into hers. She was still seated on a piece of driftwood, looking at him with an expression that was almost...wolfish and hungry. How fitting. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up, drawing her in until he could feel her breath on his face. His voice was low. “Dance with me. With me an no one else.”
Y’vira grinned wickedly, leaning in to kiss him hard; she caught a bit of his lip in her teeth playfully. “I thought you’d never ask, you old bastard.” She reached out and fastened a necklace made of leather, a carved stone, and two shells around his neck, then bounded off closer to the fire with the grace of a doe. He followed even as she turned back to face him, stomping her feet to the drums and sending sprays of sand up with each step.

The world halted. In that moment, there was nothing but the sound of the drums and his pounding heart to match, and her. Her golden hair flung out as she spun, her hips swayed hypnotically. He was chanting, she was chanting, and others nearby joined in their song like a form of applause—they all knew what was happening here. He was out of breath but it didn’t matter. All that he cared about was matching her movements, swaying with her and pounding the earth with his feet like it was a fire to be put out. Their bodies were close. He could feel her heat and she his. The night air felt toxic in the most beautiful way, and he had lost all hesitation, inhibition, fear, and doubt.

“Come and dance with me, Ithai’an.” She used his third name and he thought his heart was going to explode. “Dance with me, and I will make you a Ja’aisen for all eternity.”
She did not mean dance like the kind they were doing now, and he knew it. His heart pounded harder. She was his, and he was hers. “Y’virianae...” he breathed, and in a flash, the two were a pair of swallows that leapt into the night sky and flew tight circles, chasing each other into the sea, where they plunged below the waves, only to surface again as a pair of nimble seals darting through the water. They were dragons. They were great-winged albatross. They were snakes and lithe black jungle-cats, wolves and dolphins, shifting effortlessly from one form to the next in perfect unison, their fluid movements seeming almost choreographed and liquid. And as they flew as cyradan further inland, bioluminescent stripes flashing and pulsating bright, festive red, they did not hear their friends below whooping and hollering at them excitedly. Everyone knew what that meant.

—

Ithai’an Ithir Iaan Ja’aisen. Her sister, her only living family member, and the village elder had given them their blessing the following afternoon, and neither of them had been happier in their whole lives. She moved from her hut shared with her sister to Ithai’an’s and would help him whittle wooden tools and utensils while he would help her dry, pulp, roast, and grind coffee beans—both of which they traded for meat, metal tools, fabric, and anything else they needed. They’d created a life together, and everything seemed perfect.

That is, until a ship was spotted on the horizon.

Everyone on the island knew that meant trouble. Nobody came there to trade or to resupply or rest, though once they had a survivor of a shipwrecked vessel drift onshore, and they fashioned him a quick raft and sent him away despite his terror of them. It wasn’t that vokurians were unfriendly, it was more that the world was not friendly to them. Visitors meant violence, and they were good at responding in kind. They had time to prepare, unlike other times in the past where ships came in the night. But this one played its hand too early, and that spelled death for the incoming ship.

Y’virianae swung in their little woven hammock, sitting up with her legs straddling the fabric. She’d been like that for some time, staring out at the slowly approaching ship. Ever the warrior at heart, Ithai’an was pacing. “What if…” she mused, tossing a braided lock of hair behind her shoulder. “What if we met them at sea? Fought them there. Stopped them from even coming here?”
Ithai’an stopped, considering this as his eyes drifted to the horizon. “Maybe. But if they’re a wayward merchant ship that doesn’t know we’re here, I’d hate to call attention to ourselves. There’s currents out there that cause them to drift—we’ve seen it before.”
“Yes…” she said, her eyes still fixated and a dark edge to her tone. “But last time one came, I lost my family. You lost your father. Is that the kind of life you want for our little girl?” She traced a finger along her belly, which had not yet begun to show signs of pregnancy.
“Girl!?” This brought a smile to his face. “Who says it will be a girl?”
“My sister thinks so. She’s got a feeling.”
“Well Vanei told ME it would be a boy. But…no. No, that’s not what I want. I want to watch HIM grow.”

Y’virianae kicked the sand and a spray of it leapt towards him, pelting his ankle gently. “I want to watch HER grow too. So why don’t we get over there and take that ship down before it comes?”
Ithai’an shook his head. “Vanae wouldn’t approve. That’s seeking out a fight, that’s not our way. That’s not my way.”
“Well, it’s mine.” Y’virianae stood. “We don’t need to tell her. We go on our own, quietly. And no one else needs to engage. No one else here needs to die. At the very least, come with me to back me up, and I’LL do the dirty work.”

That convinced him, and the two slipped into the sea, shifting in unison to a pair of dolphins so they could traverse the distance without being seen by anyone. But when they got there, instead of shifting to a huge whale that could ram a hole in the wooden hull or a dragon to burn it down, Y’virianae shifted to a seabird and quietly boarded the ship, leaving Ithai’an alone beneath the waves. She found the captain’s cabin and, changing to her natural form, she walked straight in like she owned the place. The captain was inside, studying a map with a man in a plumed hat and they both looked up at her, stunned. Surely, she had to be a ghost. After all, there were no women on the ship. But then he saw her eyes, and his own widened.
“You…turn. You turn or death.” She didn’t know many words in Carisian, but she knew those, her accent thick.
The man yelled something, pulling out a large, thin sword and advancing on her. She shifted to a black wolf and snarled, head lowered, ears back, but she was backing up, looking for room to maneuver. Her ears twitched, and she turned to see a score of men with swords and one with a loud stick—gun, she thought it was called— closing in on her from behind. Y’virianae calculated her next move, but she didn’t need to.

There was an explosive splash of water off the starboard side of the ship as, from the sapphire depths, emerged a large and very angry Cyradan. Water rolled off the smooth matte black scales like droplets of water dancing along hot steel as the momentum gained from underwater kept him rocketing skyward. The droplets glittered in the sunlight around him like thousands of tiny diamonds. The bioluminescent stripes along his body pulsed and flashed an angry red, strobing wildly as he let loose a chilling, angry cry. The sound was both deep, thunderous and resonating, and shrill, piercing, and ear-splitting, like two different discordant instruments voicing at the same time. Ithai’an folded his wings and leveled, coming to land hard on the gunnel of the ship with his black talons splintering into the wood. The whole vessel rocked, throwing many of the sailors off their feet, though he still saw one make a charge for the wolf Y’virianae.

Anger boiled in him. How dare someone attempt to attack her. To attack them. Ithai’an was a quiet, aloof man, content to go about his own business. But not then. Then, he saw his love, and he saw his enemy, and he knew the two could not coexist in his world. His triangular head snapped out like a striking snake and took the offender in his dark maw. He felt the wet crunch resonate through his dark gray teeth and hot blood spill over the curve of his lips and onto the deck. The taste of blood in that moment was intoxicating. Throwing the punctured corpse into the other crew members with enough force to knock several down, then snatched up the man standing beside the captain, who now looked pale as dead coral. Crunch. He was standing over Y’virianae now, tail whipping, stripes flashing, wings outspread. Another roar sounded; the men on deck clapped their hands over their ears.

The wolf beneath him was now a woman, and she deftly rolled out from beneath the shelter of his girth and swung herself up onto his back. She was still snarling. “TURN.” They both saw the captain nod, realizing he’d been outgunned. Seeing them, Y’virianae determined they were not prepared for a raid, as many of them lacked The Sticks that were so common to raiders. She guessed they were either lost, or they thought they’d come upon an uninhabited island. Lucky for them, she thought. If she had any inkling that they meant to attack, they would all die. But these, if they turned, she would let go.

The captain began giving what she assumed were orders to his men, because they all started moving and puling at the ropes. Both of them felt the ship lurch, list to one side, and turn about. The moment they did, the two intruders were skyborne and gone. They had escaped death today. Or at least, most of them had.

The pair returned home, avoiding anyone who looked like they wanted to ask what they’d done. Ithai’an had blood on his face, smearing his chin and neck still. Inside their little hut, he began to clean himself.
“What was that? I had it handled just fine. You didn’t even want to go!” Y’virianae asked him, hand on her hips.
“I don’t want you fighting anymore.” His tone was hard. Cold.
She snorted. “You do not own me. What’s changed?”
Ithai’an looked up from the little basin of water where he was scrubbing the blood off. “You,” he said, his eyes directing towards her belly. Despite his earlier tone, his eyes were pleading.
Y’virianae melted. She’d been building up her defiance, ready to argue whatever point he made. After all, who was he to tell her she could not fight? To defend those she loved? He couldn’t ask that of her. But when she followed his gaze, understood what he meant, she had no words of challenge. She sighed. “And I suppose you’re going to be the one protecting me? ….Us…?” She was teasing him a little.
Ithai’an stood, face dripping with cool water as he took her face gently between his two wet hands. Her azure eyes had such fire to them, even now. He liked that about her. “My Soul,” he said gently though his face was grave. “This world will have to kill me first if it wants either of you.”

——

The village elder, Vanei, slowly lowered herself to a kneel onto the woven grass mat where Y’virianae reclined beside the still form of her (finally) sleeping son. The toddler lay spread-eagle on his back, breathing rhythmically in the comfort of the shade and the breeze. Vanei laughed softly. “You look exhausted, Y’vira. Wishing you had a girl, now?”
The younger woman gave a soft groan, letting her head hang. “Yes. He’s a nightmare when he gets tired.”
“I wasn’t aware he ever did,” Vanei replied with a smile.
“No. Not really. He just gets even wilder when he needs a nap. Do you know, he bit me while trying to get him to lay down, just now?” She showed off the red marks on her hand in exasperation. “Esiah’s boy is a lamb—why’s mine got to be a demon? Is this my punishment for my wild youth?”
“Yes.” Both women shared a soft laugh. “He’s got Ithir’s steel and your fire. Have you decided on a name that fits him yet?”
Y’virianae pursed her lips in thought, absently stroking her little boy’s pale curls with one slender hand. “We’ve been thinking about that as he’s gotten older…but we can’t decide. Maybe you can help. We’ve debated between Istavienn and Rheoaan. What do you think?”

Istavienn meant ‘immovable stone’ and Rheoaan meant ‘the spark that starts a flame’. To both of these, Vanei laughed softly. “Fitting, both of them. But I think…” She traced one wrinkled finger over the boy’s arm with a feather’s touch. “I think he’s got too much wild spirit to be Istavienn. He is a Rheoaan, to me.”
Y’virianae’s lips played in a delicate smile, and as she said the name again to herself, it felt right. “Yes. Rheoaan. Rheoaan…Rohaan…Rio Ja’aisen. That will be his name.”

In Dark Seas We Sail

Uban stood on point, figuring it was best to leave the hostage situation to Berlin. He was good at that sort of thing--even aside from his magic, he had two years experience taming a little feral shifter, so he could handle some angry villagers. Rohaan was a mess. He'd never seen him like that and despite the boy's age, it rocked his view of him a little to see him melt down like that. That kid had been through a lot and not once, not ONCE had he seen him lose it like he was now. Uban had heard bits and pieces of Rohaan's sad childhood story, but even Berlin admitted to him once that he didn't know the full story. They all knew his home had been raided, he was taken on a ship and somehow escaped, and they all remembered the state they found him in. Thin, battered, filthy, cold, and fierce. Uban swung his dagger and gently paced, giving the boy and Hana space but also standing guard lest something else happen. He doubted it would, but this whole place set him on edge. It set everyone on edge.

Rohaan allowed himself to be moved, to be held. He gave no resistance whatsoever and instead kept one hand curled around a fold of her shirt and refused to let go. Oddly enough though, he found her presence somewhat comforting and eventually his hysterical sobs became little staggered gasps of breath. She was not Berlin, and lacked both the earned trust and the innate magic he had, but he had not been held like that since he was home. He had so many emotions, none of which he could really put his finger on in his current state. He felt painfully guilty for hurting Berlin, a little worried that he'd even reacted that way in the first place, angry, scared--no, terrified. He was remembering things with clarity that he had not thought back on in any great detail since it'd happened, nor had he ever had the time to properly process what had happened to him. Once he'd escaped, life was all about survival and there was no room for anything else. Until now. It all came to the surface and spilled out like a boiled-over pot.

"They killed everybody," he told her between hitching breaths, though whether or not he was talking about the fishing town or his home was unclear. Probably both. "They got ships and they put kids on 'em...and..." He spoke very quickly in Vokurian, not caring whether or not she could understand him. Then, back to Carisian, "They'd take one per night. You'd never see 'em again. Why would they do that? Why would they do that?" Another set of stuttering breaths, then, "And I hurt Berlin. I didn't mean to I j-j-just..." He put his face into her shoulder. "Don't let 'em take me."

--

If looks could kill, Berlin's icy stare could have slain even Wheel. The big man backhanded Wheel in the chest hard. "Shut your mouth, you aren't helping! I ain't got the energy for your shit today!" He growled between clenched teeth. And then, as he turned his attention back to the villagers, he was all cool, calm smiles again. They came down and plainly stated they wanted them to leave--fair enough. But they didn't need to be so prickly about it--they were obviously no threa--well...he looked at Wheel and reassessed his thoughts. Perhaps it was warranted.

"Easy mates, we'll leave you to your mourning. We didn't come here for trouble. It would please you to know, I think, that we're going to find that ship. I assume they...took people. I can see to it that they find themselves a way home, if its within my power. But one of mine has had a personal brush with these...Barizians. We're going after that ship, and this time it's personal. Rest assured that your dead will be avenged." His tone was dark, angry, and the storm that lurked just underneath the surface showed itself a little, but it was a distant anger. Removed. His rage was not pointed towards them, but the slavers. "Can you tell me, was it just the one? A galley? Or were there others?"