Wheel being quiet and removed, Berlin allowed. That was fine. But he would tolerate no disrespect amongst the crew. Berlin was not a strict captain generally, especially compared to most. He was no admiral, no naval captain, and hierarchy was a loose thing on the Borealis. The only shred of it was that Berlin was the captain, and when he put his foot down on something, he meant it. That, and occasionally he would hand over the reins to Pieter, who was semi-officially the first mate. Other than that, Berlin harbored a sense of equality on his ship. They were a team, after all, and it was his duty to them as captain to trust those under him, listen to them, and consider their ideas and complaints with sincerity. But one thing he was very strict about, and that was the harmony of the crew. Not everyone had to like eachother and be best friends--Wheel and Rohaan had an odd relationship in which the younger of the two found it incredibly tempting to antagonize the berserker at every opportunity for the sake of sport. But respect was another matter. It was required. Period.

Berlin stood, following Wheel as he got up from the table, quietly catching him by the arm with one hand. Berlin had a way with Wheel that most people could not manage without getting killed. For one thing, Berlin was a bear of a man and generally demanded respect, but he also had control over the darker side of Wheel that no one else could--just like he did with Rohaan. Berlin kept the berserker in check when he needed to, preferring to unleash the man's rage and violence when it came to an actual fight with an enemy.

Berlin stared him down. "Hanabaptiste is no passenger. She is a crew member of the Borealis now, just like you. You don't have to like her. You don't have to fraternize with her. But I'll be damned if I let you treat one of mine with any disrespect. Another outburst like that and you'll be pulling double watches and I'll pull your ration of rum until you get the picture. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?" His voice was low. Berlin did not need to raise his voice to be intimidating, as his bear-like physique and cool, confident authority did most of that for him. When Berlin was not trying to make a point, he was akin to a flowing river. Strong, but cool and serene. But cross him, and he turned to a thundering waterfall. "When you're done checking the traps, you can scrub the cannon clean until you can eat off it." It was not a request. With that, Berlin released his arm and coolly strode back to the table, reclaiming his seat like he'd merely gone to return a dropped handkerchief.

Rohaan nodded and began clearing the empty cups and plates, disappearing into the small galley to scrub them clean with some water and the flat knot of old manilla rope that was too worn to be part of the rigging anymore. Woven into a small pad, the rough fibers did a wonderful job of scraping dishes clean.

It was dark when he'd finished. The Borealis sort of shut down and anchored as best they could with the sails furled at night to allow their tiny retinue to sleep and enjoy a couple hours to themselves every night. Rohaan came up on deck to find Hanabaptiste at the rail, looking out at the starry horizon that reflected the pale moon in the distant waves. With the soft padding of his bare feet against the deck came a quiet "I'ada", which was a casual Vokurian greeting he sometimes used, as he often slid between Carisian and Vokurian fluidly in a single sentence or conversation. He kept his distance from her, standing just out of arm's reach. She didn't seem too bad, but Rohaan wasn't ready to totally trust her just yet. Berlin seemed to, and that was something, but he wanted to make his own judgement too. "I stole some cookies from the stores. Don't tell Ca-mm." He grinned wickedly, then said, "I guess you can have one." He held out a long, thick biscuit filled with almonds and swirled with cinnamon. It was a hard, crumbly confection topped with powdered sugar and was probably meant to have with coffee.

The early autumn night was cool, and the tropical-based Rohaan found it chilly, so he wore his black cloak over his white shirt, which still had faint pinkish stains and a tear where he'd been shot. Through the hole, the pinkish scar could clearly be seen. The unlaced collar showed his new trophy, the iron ball on a leather strip, which sat just at his collarbone. His wild hair was also pulled back in a semblance of a ponytail with an old piece of tattered cloth, though a good deal of his blonde curls still sprayed out in little rebellious corkscrews that flitted in the wind.

He looked at her, tilting his head before asking, "Is your head cold...?" But before waiting for an answer, his body changed into a near perfect likeness of Hanabaptiste, only his eyes were still the same shocking blue. He gave a small shiver then returned to his normal form. "It is cold. Why don't you have hair?"

"I ken, Cap'n." Bastard. Wheel left Berlin fuming, a small rage burning in him. A part of him was ready to fling off the Captains orders and tell him to fuck himself, but that was how Wheel felt whenever anyone asked him to do something. But what stung was how the captain was siding with some useless schoolgirl! Fuck them. He stalked away to check the traps.

---

The waves lapped against the side of the Borealis as Hana looked out at the moon rising above the water. When she stared straight out it felt like she was the only living thing in a thousand miles, surrounded by water. But, all she had to do was turn her head, and she'd see the ship. As well as the little blond boy walking up to her, saying something she didn't make out. Then, "I stole some cookies from the stores. Don't tell Ca-mm." He looked as pleased as a cat who'd gotten into the cream, then said, "I guess you can have one." Taking the proffered treat, she took a small bite of the cookie, wishing she had water.

The pinkish looking boy was abruptly replaced with a spitting image of herself. Exclaiming, "Oh!" She stepped away, again confronted with a boy now scratching his golden locks and asking her why she didn't have hair.

"I'm, um, not allowed to have long hair. Highwaymen don't go after bald people traveling cheaply. It's how I let everyone know that I'm a hedgemage. Sort of how the beer girls always wear pointy hats. Brand recognition, and all." She looked quizzically at the boy and said, "Just what exactly can't you turn into?"

Rohaan nodded, considering this and eventually deciding it was reasonable. A cultural thing, he thought. He had lots of those, and he had learned a lot about what culture really was to different people now that he'd been thrust into one other than his own. He himself had a lot to learn about human culture, as Vokurians had different priorities, values, and taboos, despite some crossover. "So you scare 'em off with your bald head? Because you're magic. Huh." Rohaan considered this as well, then nodded his approval. He'd never heard of a hedgemage before, and he wondered what exactly Hanabaptiste knew about shifters. Not much, probably.

She asked what he was not capable of turning into, and the boy beamed with sudden pride. "Not much! Except like...a rock. Or a tree. Or um...estoja. What's the Carisian for that...? Um...oh, coral! Like in the sea. Did you know they're not a plant or a rock? There's an animal that lives in there and the rock part is its shell. I used to watch them come out and eat each other alive! They do that, they really do. But I can't turn into one of those. They don't like...have a brain? Or blood, so no jellyfish either. But like, anything else! Really! I can be an animal or a person, or like, me but older--see, watch!"

The boy transformed in the blink of an eye to a tall, broad shouldered man with the same wild blonde hair, tanned skin, and inquisitive eyes. He had stubble on his chin and thick, calloused fingers, but the same scar showed on his torso. "I'll probably look like this when I'm twenty summers," said the much deeper and yet vaguely familiar voice. "But I've got a favorite form besides my natural one. Ever seen a Cyradan before?"

The man disappeared and in his place was a sleek black dragon-like creature. It was smaller than his usual, since a full-sized one would rock the ship horribly off balance, but the juvenile form was the size of a pony. The graphite-colored teeth and talons looked wickedly sharp and would put a tiger's to shame; he was very careful not to scratch the deck with them. The body was black, the scales a matted satin sheen that made him only a shadow in the dim light of the moon. And like a snake, they were smooth, not armored like a mountain dragon of legend. The wings were somewhat leathery, but also velvety and warm like the end of a horse's nose; these Rohaan spread slowly out to show them off and then, tilting his head back to give a sharp cry, lines of colored light seemed to erupt down his lithe form. They began between his eyes and flowed down his spine and tail, curling around his shoulders and across the structured part of the wing. Other stripes decorated his dark face; they pulsated and flashed a dim, nearly reflective red light rather than a brilliant one, similar to some deep ocean creatures or fireflies that possessed bioluminescent cells. The lights extinguished, leaving him a shadowy slinking figure only dimly visible in the moonlight.

Then, in a split second, he was a young, scrappy boy again wearing a big proud grin, looking to all the world like a ratty but normal young lad no more dangerous than a house cat. But he had a sheen of sweat now, just barely visible in the pale moonlight. "Pretty neat, huh? Just wait 'till you learn how to ride. Everyone here knows how to fly with me--we do it in combat sometimes, especially Wheel and Uban." Deftly, he climbed up onto the gunnel and sat on its edge with his bare feet dangling over the rocking sea. Despite the ship's movement, he had no fear of falling. "I can't change my eyes though," he said, looking up at the now appearing stars. "It's how people know what we are. And our silvery blood. I have to hide them when we go into port or else people find out what I am and try to hurt me," he admitted. "I'm tough, so it's hard to do but..." he looked down at the hole in his still faintly bloodstained shirt. "Sometimes people do."

Rohaan looked out at the dark horizon and crunched his stolen cookie as the wind tossed the free strands of his hair about and carried with it the soft sound of Uban's quiet plucking on his lute. The Borealis had only been his home for two years, but it felt like the best one he'd ever get. He didn't know where his real home was. He and Berlin had looked over maps that spanned all of Carisia from coast to coast like one giant island split into multiple parts, trying to find where Rohaan might have come from. The boy had never seen a map before, so he had no point of reference to guide him. He knew only that he was from the far south where it was always warm, and that he met Berlin quite a ways north of that. Despite being the place he spent most of his young life, it was only a distant memory now rather than something real. But the Borealis was real. Berlin was real. And so was the sea. Wherever he had come from, this was undoubtedly his home now.

Hana rubbed her scalp, wondering when she should shave again. It didn't seem exactly safe to try and shave with the rocking boat, but she could ask Uban or Pieter later how they managed it. The boy transformed into a man, and she reflected on what it must be like to know how you'd look as you aged. When she had been Rio's age, she had stood in front of the mirror, turning and twisting and trying to figure what would change and what would stay the same. Too much and very little, at the end of the day.

The man was gone and replaced by a Cyradan, and Hana stopped contemplating age and instead marveled at the small dragon that was preening in front of her. She laughed in delight at the glowing stripes, taken by the clean geometry of the dragon. She'd never come so close to one in the wild, and the illustrations she'd seen in books didn't do justice to the proud animal that stood before her.

Then the dragon was gone and the boy stood in it's place, grinning. When she was his age, she'd try and impress adults with fairyfire and memorized quips of poetry. Hm. Rio didn't have any peers in his life, and his social circle was obviously restricted to whatever happened to be the Borealis' crew. Which would have been the rougher sort. Not to mention the fact, she realized, as the boy looked soberly at his shirt, that his life has had so much violence and pain in it already. She inhaled deeply. She needed to help this boy.

"Rio, would you like me to teach you to read?"

Rohaan pretended to consider the offer like there was any question at all, despite the fact that he'd definitely come to her for that very reason. "Hm. Okay." Lifting his legs up, he pivoted on the gunnel so that his feet were now dangling over the deck, not the sea, and he faced her directly. "Berlin's tried before. It's hard. See, we don't--Vokurians--We don't have books. We don't read, and we don't really have maps, not like people do everywhere else. We tell stories instead of write them down. So letters are a new thing to me. But I do know how to write my names. I have three."

Rohaan held up a finger, changed to a small bird and flitted into Berlin's quarters, to which the door was slightly ajar. There was the sound of papers, fluttering wings, and then a very surprised and frustrated, "RHEOAAN! Damn it!" Before bird-Rohaan returned clutching a piece of paper and a bit of charcoal. He was a boy sitting on the deck in the blink of an eye, the stolen goods in his hands. Berlin was at his door, not actually upset enough to chase down or reprimand the boy. Besides, he knew what Rohaan was doing and that he and Hanabaptiste were getting along, and that was all that mattered at the moment. Leaning against the frame, he watched as a tiny smile played on his lips. There was hope for that boy yet.

Rohaan took the charcoal in his hand and began slowly, carefully writing out letters. His penmanship was poor, but that was to be expected. He diligently spelled out RHEOAAN ROHAAN RIO JA'AISEN on the paper, then made a thoughtful face. "Maybe I can write yours too." Slowly, he sounded it out under his breath as he scrawled the letters, HAANA. "Is that it?" Rohaan pulled his cloak tighter around him, getting comfortable as he pulled a neat coil of rope that sat nearby towards him to be a seat--his little personal nest. It was not uncommon for him to curl up in a rope coil (especially after combat when he was tired from shifting and fighting) and he'd been shooed away by Pieter many times when the man needed the ropes he napped on. "Okay. So what's this book you got?"

---

Uban didn't play music every night, but he certainly did more often than not. Sometimes he would play and sing loudly for the whole crew, inviting them to sing along in the familiar shanties they all knew. Other times, his fingers would be light and soft on the strings and his voice even softer, if he sang at all. Tonight was one of those nights. Uban felt introspective and thoughtful as he lay on his back on the aft deck, the one just above Berlin's quarters. His plucking and strumming had begun as mindful playing, but now it was just something for his hands to do while he thought. The tune he played was soft and as wandering as his thoughts as he reminisced about the earlier times of his life. It felt like imagining a different person. His hair had been cropped short, his desires were simple, and his hands just as calloused, though not from ropes. He had never left his little home and he always thought he'd take over his father's farm when he passed.

He couldn't have been more wrong. But Uban was not sad. He wondered often about the life he might have had, but it was rarely ever wistful or full of regret. He liked where he was. And now that he'd seen the ocean, now that he had felt her gentle hand rocking him to sleep at night or waking him in the morning, or spraying his face in a storm, Uban knew it was where he was always meant to be.

Hana smiled tightly as the boy pretended to think through her offer. The slow rhythm of these things needed to be respected- she needed to make him want to learn, or else he wouldn't stick with it. And since she doubted she'd be able to force him to do anything, this would have to come from him. Oh well, it wasn't like she had much else to do to keep her entertained on the trip.

When he transformed into a bird and flew away, the shock had begun to wear away. Yes, he was a boy. Yes, he could transform into near any living thing. The fact that he couldn't read was more of a concern to her than the fact that he had the power to raze cities. Hm. Well, he was returning anyway, the bird becoming a boy scampering over, ignoring the rumbling admonishments of the Captain. The boy had a certain flair for ignoring authority figures when it suited him. Well.

Hana watched as Rio dutifully scrawled out his names. He had his letters right, and she'd met Grand Mages with worse hand writing than his. After he had finished writing his name, and giving a crack at hers, she gently took the parchment and charcoal from him. "Goodness, it's dark out here." She remarked. Breaking a piece of charcoal, she rubbed it between her fingers and a ball of light the size of an apple guttered into existence, producing a soft warm light.

"That was very good, Rio. It's good to know that you can start spelling things out that you don't know the words too." Hana began writing with the charcoal, and Rio tilted his head to watch the paper.

HANA

HANABAPTISTE SEUVILLE

MISS SEUVILLE

"The first one is the nickname you gave me, the second is my full name. Seuville is my family name. When I'm instructing you on how to read and write, I'd like you to call me Miss Seuville, as that's what children call teachers in Elbar. Is that alright with you?" Taking the playbook from her vest pocket, Hana handed it to Rio, who studied the slim book's cover before carefully opening it.

"This is a script for a play I once saw. It's a comedy about a carpenter who falls in love with a noblewoman, and pretends to be a knight to win her hand. The names on the side show which character is talking, and the rest of the words show what they're saying. Afterwards, I can read to you from the Midengarium. That's an old story that used to be told aloud like how Vokurians still do. It's about a group of heroes who try and save the world from the forces of evil."

Focusing her gaze on Rio, she saw his mouth slightly agape, brain rushing to process everything she'd said and make sense of it. Perhaps she shouldn't overwhelm him like that. He blinked, focused on Hana and beamed at her.

---

Pieter listened to the soft notes float around the tired girl. The soothing melodies vibrated against the polished wood. But even as Pieter sauntered across the deck, pipe in his mouth, he felt a small knot settle in his chest. He didn't know just how Uban would react to Pieter's request. Although Pieter probably had children all over the world, none of them could be his heir. Not really. A man needed someone to carry on his legacy, and the only one who could do that would have to be a sailor. And Uban, well, he hadn't been a sailor long. Frankly, Pieter worried that life at sea was only temporary for Uban. He knew plenty of folk who returned from bouts of piracy to live relatively peaceful lives on land. Uban's eyes were closed, and he soundlessly mouthed words to himself as he plucked the strings. Pieter recognized the tune. It was a nice one, coming from a place not too far from where they were. A place of lush green grass and gentle summers. It was a popular song, and he'd heard it played in taverns and markets since he was a lad. But Uban played it kinder than most, he gave the almost tired tune a touch of love to it, giving meaning to the performance. Pieter tapped out his pipe on the railing, letting the ash fall into the sea. The embers winked out without a sound as they hit the water. The music stopped, then began again, softer and slower, letting time hang before each note and chord. Uban was listening.

"Uban... I.." Pieter began, pausing. He said, "Uban I ask if you will become my apprentice and if you will enter the service of the Gods of the Sea. I ask this of you as the Borealis' minister and as a Priest of the Salt."

The little light bloomed to life between Hanabaptiste’s fingers and a change appeared in the young lad almost immediately. He had been casual—distanced, but at ease—and his eyes were inquisitive and searching. But as he jumped back, bare feet spread apart in a defensive stance like he was about to fight, that feral glint came back in his lapis eyes. He hadn’t shifted yet, but he seemed every bit the snarling wolf with ears back that she’d first seen. But he silently watched the little light float there, stay there, emitting only a soft glow. It took him a moment to understand, but then once he knew its purpose, he looked at it with a little more appreciation and slowly settled back down into his seat of rope.

He studied her letters. He hardly knew any of them, except ones that were in his name too, or the one B that he knew belonged to the first part of “Berlin”. He had no qualms with calling her something else for their sessions—names and their personal uses, he understood completely. Prefixes, however, he did not.

“Does that mean you call me Miss Ja’aisen when you teach?” His question was genuine, head tilted. He had absolutely no idea what Miss or Mister meant, much less that they were gender specific. To him, it was some kind of honorific added to the name to show respect. Like Ca-mm Berlin.

He opened the book and looked at it, a confused, glassy stare in his eyes. There were so many! He looked at the first word. SCENE. “What’s that first one mean? The first letter? Is that ssssss like Seuville? And the next one? I know that one there makes a nnnn sound. I have one in my name. See...” he looked down at the book in his hands, “I know how letters work. Like, each shape has a name and they combine to make a word. I just don’t know what all of them are called...”

—-

Ding da da dee ding dum...

“Uban, I...”

Da dum ding dee ding da dum...

“Uban I ask if you will become my apprentice and if you will enter the service of the gods of the sea.”

Dee da dee DONG.

Uban sat up almost as abruptly as his off note. “Say what?” He wasn’t sure what he was expecting the old man to say, but it sure wasn’t that. He set the lute aside. The younger man looked around as if there was another Uban for him o be speaking to, then back to Pieter, blinking. “You mean me? A priest...?” He had never thought of himself as the religious sort. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe there was something out there, he just had other things to concern himself with. But he couldn’t deny the sincerity in Pieter’s eyes; clearly this meant a lot to him.

“I mean, I’m honored that you’d pick me but...what...what does that even mean? I don’t know anything about....the Salt? I mean I know Berlin talks about the mermaid spirit Tevira, but....well really I don’t know anything. You....really want me as your apprentice?”

Hana watched the boy react and adjust to the light. He was very aware of the space around him, and she wondered if she'd be able to sneak up on him. Probably not. Once he understood what the light was, however, he accepted and ignored it. He wasn't an idiot, he just hadn't had a chance to learn. He had a very rudimentary understanding of the Common alphabet, and a willingness to learn. The boy studied the letter's Hanabaptiste had written, furrowing his brow.

"Does that mean you call me Miss Ja’aisen when you teach?" He asked, looking up at her. Hana stifled a small smile and replied, "If you'd like, I can call you Master Ja'aisen. In Elbar, students call their teachers by their last name, and if they're an unmarried woman, Miss, and Missus for a married woman. Boys and men are called Master. People do this to be polite to one another, and to show respect to their betters. Since I'm your teacher, it's polite to address me by my title of Miss. If the Captain didn't have a ship, he'd be called Master too. If you meet an ordained mage, you would address them as Magister. In Elbar, it's very important to follow these rules."

Hana clicked her tongue when she saw the boy struggling. It's not very fair of me to start throwing a book at him right away! "Don't worry about not figuring out how to put the letters together right away, that word's a tricky one. And you were close, it's scene." Flipping the paper over, she handed him the charcoal again, "How about you show me all the letters you know, and what sounds they make. Take as much time as you need, it's not a race."

--

Pieter winced when the discordant note twanged. Mmph. Well, it had been a shock to him too when he had been asked. Pieter let Uban stammer a few questions before falling awkwardly falling silent.

"Ha! Don't worry lad, I'm not asking you to cut off your balls or shave your head and pray ten times a day. The name priest's kinda stuck to the profession, and while there are some who're devout to the Salt and the gods, I'm not one of them. You've been at sea for some time now, and you've seen some of the strange happenings that go on far from shore. And we, the priests. Well, we're the ones who make sure those happenings don't sink the ship. Berlin knows a little about what we do, but not much. Men have been Priests of the Salt since the first fishermen went onto the water. You have a love for the sea, and you're relatively quick, too. I'm not asking you to sign your whole life away, I'd just like to introduce you to the role, and see if you're cut out for it. I've thought on this for a long time, now."

Rohaan's eyes widened as he stared up at her, alight with the kind of wicked joy an arsonist finds watching a wildfire. His little fists curled and raised in the air like a mighty conqueror, he roared, "MASTER JA'AISEN!" Clearly, he approved of that development. His shout brought a curious Berlin to his door, peeking his head out and shaking his head with a faint smile. The captain was wearing only his loose white shirt, not his dark vest, and he wore no shoes. A pipe was in his mouth, hanging from the corner between his teeth; the dark wood was gnarled, showing years of subtle chewing and clenching of teeth. It was encouraging to see Rohaan speaking to Hanabaptiste, and heartening also to see her willingly engaging without any visible fear or trepidation. When he brought the lad on board two years prior, he not only had to convince the kid, but his crew, too. He understood the hesitation. Even he was nervous taking on a shifter. But slowly they all learned that he was quite human after all, and Berlin came to understand why he was the way he was. There was a lot he didn't know, but he could sure guess as to what kinds of hardships brought the boy to such a fierce existence.

Rohaan accepted the paper and charcoal and began scrawling out each letter that he knew, softly sounding them out as he made sure they were the right ones. He wrote R, O, H, A, N, I, J, S, E, B, and after a long time of scratching his head and trying to remember, he wrote L. Essentially, he knew the letters in his names and Berlin's. He pointed at each in turn, showing her the pronunciation as best he knew. Of course, his idea of pronunciation was based wholly on how either his name or Berlin's was spoken, and it did not occur to him that letters like E could have multiple pronunciations.

"That's all I know," he said. "How many are there anyway?" He studied the other letters on the paper, then circled all the ones in her names that he didn't know. "What are these ones? I know it says Miss Seuville, you said so. But what are the names of all the letters? And where's the eeee sound at the end when you say it? Because it's got one, but you don't say it. Right?"

-----

Uban visibly relaxed. "Good. I like both of those as they are," he chuckled. "I mean...yeah. I s'pose there's no harm in seeing what it's about, eh? You'll have to really start me off at the beginning, but uh, aye, I'd be honored to learn from you." And he was. Uban loved both Pieter and Berlin, but there was something about the older sailor that Uban saw in himself, or perhaps something he wanted to be--he wasn't exactly sure. Besides, his father, when he was still at home, was a lousy drunkard who left working the farm to him most of the time. He had not been a kind man, but Uban loved him anyway--he was still his father after all. But when he'd killed Torvin, that sense of familial kinship was torn away from him. His sister no longer wanted to speak to him, and his mother just cried whenever he tried to talk to her. He was sent away, and from that moment on, they were gone. Uban felt like an orphan until he joined the Borealis, where at least he felt like he belonged. Now, for Pieter to see something in him worth cultivating, to take him under his wing and share with him something that was so important to him...well...it almost felt fatherly.

"Does this mean I'll get me some fancy tattoos like you got? That's what those are, ain't they?"

The boy leaping to his feet cried out, "MASTER JA'AISEN!" his face had such an intense look of feral pride on it that Hana thought he'd transform into a lion and roar. Instead, he became calm again and sat down, studying the paper and carefully sounding out each letter on the parchment. Every time Hana felt that she had a clear grasp on the boy, he did something that completely surprised her. He certainly wasn't the sullen child who had practically refused to serve her food. She didn't know quite what he was, but at the very least, he wanted to learn. And she could work with that.

"You do know a good deal of the letters, which is good. May I?" Taking back the parchment, she traced a spiral on both sides with a finger, then lightly blew on it. The charcoal which had been smudged onto the paper floated away on the wind. "That's a trick I learned early on, nice parchment is too expensive to waste on practice work." Shaking out her wrist, Hana carefully wrote out the alphabet, writing upper and lower cases. "Let's start from the top, shall we?" She smiled, "Letters will have different sounds in words based on where they're located, but we'll get to that in a bit. Normally though, letters will make one or two sounds, and all you have to do to read is memorize those sounds and figure out how to sound them out. So we're going to work our way through the alphabet, and when we're done, I can maybe read a bit and show you just how it'll sound once you've got it all. Deal?"

--

Pieter smile came easily this time as he slapped Uban on the back. "Don' even worry, lad! I was dumber than a block of wood, and I came out the other side alright. He had his apprentice. His legacy was secure, and everything would work out like it should. Maria had been right when he told him not to be concerned about finding an apprentice. Now he just had to keep him alive. Hmm. "Aye, most of my tattoos come from the profession- which is what we call priest-ing work around those outside the ke-ack!" A cloud of dust had floated directly inside Pieter's open mouth, and he bent over coughing. When he straightened, he resumed in a subdued tone, "Er, anyways. If you follow me as an apprentice, you'll get your tattoos. And those'll open doors in places you've never heard of. All this talk has made me thirsty, ye got rum on yah lad?" Pieter propped himself up on the banister, drawing his pouch of tobacco and contemplatively packing a bowl into his pipe.

--

Wheel stretched, glad that the cannon was finally clean. If that stupid witch hadn't decided to tag along he'd have been in a better mood. He could hear her now chatting away at Rohaan, trying to fill the scamps head with reading. Wheel couldn't read, and all the better for it. Who wanted to waste time bent over a book anyway, when you could be doing so many other things? The night was calm, and outside of the noise and light of the small ship, the sea was empty and quiet. But. Without knowing why, Wheel felt the curse kick itself up, pushing him to fight. Balling his fists, he surveyed everything around him. Nothing had changed aboard. Straining his cursed eyes, Wheel could make out a faint shadow moving against the black. It was a ship, coming from the opposite direction of the Borealis. Pirates? Navy? They were far out of cannon shot, and Wheel doubted the other ship knew they were there.

Still, it was something to tell the Cap'n about. Wheel turned and strode quickly to Berlin, who was still watching Rohaan and the idiot girl play school.

In a soft voice that told Berlin everything, Wheel muttered into the captains ear. His eyes widened, then narrowed. He didn't move, but his grip on his pipe tightened ever so slightly.

The boy's blue eyes widened as the charcoal drifted away from the page and floated off into the breeze. It was not a threatening magic, nor something like the light that he thought could be threatening. Still, he wasn't sure what to make of it. Rohaan did not consider himself to be a magical being. He was...him. And there were others like him. Instead of magic descending upon him at birth or by some curse, what he was able to do was a part of his very physiology. Therefore, magic was a little strange to him sometimes. Not all of it--particularly the abilities of his crew. Uban's magic was very straightforward and obvious. What he could do with that ability ranged, but he could manipulate one element, and one only. Berlin's was subtle and hard to really watch or detect, but Berlin had been upfront with him about what he was capable of doing. Wheel also had a somewhat straightforward ability centered around combat. But Hanabaptiste...Rohaan wasn't sure just what she was capable of. And that troubled him. Sure, he looked relaxed and friendly, and for the most part he was. But Rohaan had not survived as long as he had by being unaware.

"Letters have more than one name too??" He was both impressed and disheartened, or perhaps feigning exhaustion. It all seemed very overwhelming to him. But seeing as Berlin was giving him time to learn, he was going to take advantage of it while he could. "And they have two different forms? Are they shifters too?" This was a little joke he gave with a small smile as he watched her write out the letters. They seemed like a lot to get through, but he also thought to himself that he'd get to be up later if he was doing something productive. Not that Berlin really enforced a bedtime--From the beginning, Rohaan either would crawl off to some dark, inaccessible corner to sleep, or would nod off wherever he happened to be perched. Berlin let him.

Rohaan nodded up at her. "Te,...Miss Seuville."

----

Uban smiled. "Do I have Rum? Hah. Like that's a question." He pulled a flask from his pocket and handed it over--after taking swig for himself. He looked up at the stars. "So...you say the tats will open doors for me...I assume there are a lot of you...er...us? Out there?"

---

Berlin was silent for a moment, brooding on the news. He didn't like it. Something about it made him uncomfortable--maybe it was because they rarely crossed paths with ships at night, or maybe it was something else. "Thank you, Wheel," he said formally, taking the pipe from his mouth. He then turned and, in a strong voice called, "Rheoaan."

Rohaan knew the tone. It was the formal one he used when giving orders, and the boy snapped to attention, leaving Hana and their lesson immediately to trot over to the man and give him a small salute. Rohaan was an absolute nightmare to authority and he took great pleasure in spurning it when he could. But he took his duties on the Borealis very seriously. "Aye Ca-mm."
"Wheel spotted a vessel off the port bow. Its impossible to even see a flag in the dark. Find out what colors they fly and see if you can guess their heading or intention. Do not engage."
"Aye Ca-mm." The boy turned, heading for the gunnel.
Berlin caught his shoulder first. "Rheoaan. Be quick. And don't be seen. I've got a bad feeling about this."
"Well...should I sink it?" He asked this casually, as if he were asking where to place an item on a shelf.
"No. Do not engage. Do not be seen. I just want a report back--you know the drill. Be careful, lad."
The sobriety of Berlin's tone finally resonated with Rohaan. "Te. A'ae tana holiaa." ((Yes. I'll do as you ask.))
"Na ithilii." ((Be swift.))

Rohaan hopped back up onto the gunnel, this time getting his feet under him and then promptly swan-diving over the edge. There was no splash. Even the rush of displaced air under his huge black wings was hushed, sort of muffled like something kept it from making as much noise as it ought to. The cyradan was barely visible as a shadow while it was close to the ship, but his scales seemed to consume the light, making him melt into the darkness unseen.

He returned to Berlin; the Captain had called Pieter over to inform him of the news and to hear Rohaan's findings. "No colors," he said, giving Berlin pause.
"None? You sure there wasn't just a black flag?"
"Aye. None. It's a small ship. Bigger than us, but still small. Two men on deck, both armed. The ship...it was...kind of different."
"Different? How? What kind of ship is it?"
Rohaan struggled to find the words and Berlin noted that he seemed less exuberant than usual. More sober. More withdrawn. It was a subtle change, but he knew Rohaan's moods very well and could spot the difference. "I don't know."
Berlin's brows wrinkled. He knew Rohaan was not hiding anything, yet he couldn't help but feel like he was being...evasive somehow. Perhaps without even knowing it. "I taught you the different kinds of ships, Rheoaan. Do you remember?" His tone was gentle now as he squatted down to be at eye level with the boy.
"Yes but...it's got...she'ora," he said, making paddling motion with his hands.
Berlin didn't know the word--he'd never heard it before. "She'ora?"
"Te! She'ora ve radan."

Berlin blinked. Made of wood? Made of--oh. "Oars? Is that what you mean? How many, lad?"
"Lots."
"That's a galley, lad. Galley. And they're called oars." Berlin straightened. "Take your post aloft, Rheoaan. Keep a watchful eye and standby. All hands!" He raised his voice again so that it could be heard from nearly anywhere on the ship. "Standby at your posts. I'd rather not engage if we don't have to, and its possible that it could be a small naval ship...or something else. But they don't appear to be heading straight for us, as far as I can tell. Let them pass, if that's what they're after."

The boy tried to hide his dismay, and Hanabaptiste could tell that it was time to wrap up tonight's lessons. Undil Thraddish wasn't built in a day- it was silly to think the boy would be quoting from Conversations by the fortnight. Still, it was a little disheartening to find out he didn't know the entire alphabet. She had her work cut out.

"Te,... Miss Seuville"

The boy certainly knew how to lay the charm on thick, though, as he looked up at her with his big blue eyes, curly mop of hair framing his cherubic face. If she didn't know he was liable to bite a finger off, she'd pinch his cheek.

"Rheoann." The Captain's voice wasn't loud, but Hana felt the deep rumble from where she rested on the railing. Before she had realized what was going on, the boy was jumping over the railing and flying off as a cyradan. A knot of panic formed in her breast. What was going on?

---

Pieter took a hearty swig, feeling the bloom of warmth fill his chest. Ah. Nothing better. Well, maybe good bacco' for the pipe. He liked the finer things in life. "There's prolly a priest in every damn port in the world, since it's not like there's someone handing out certificates. Most of the ones you meet calling themselves Sea Priests or Priests of the Salt are idiots who'd get you an them killed by a damn selkie. The one's who actually know what they're doing? Less of us, but more than you'd think. Most people ignore us even if they know we exist, thinking it's just sailor supr'stitin or something. Which is fine, don't matter to me what a lan' lubber thinks of the Salt." He fell silent, puffing on his pipe before passing it to Uban.

"Heh, as for the tattoos, lad, ye won't believe what a merchants dau-"

"All Hands."

Without a word between them, Uban tapped out the pipe over the side and Pieter corked the flask. They passed back their respective vices and turned, going in separate directions. They knew what they needed to do.
---
Wheel hadn't waited after the Captain dismissed him, he had gone straight belowdecks to fetch his cutlass and pistol brace. The curse made itself known that it was happy. That suited Wheel fine, the thought of violence was putting him in a good mood too. He ducked his head as he pushed open the door to the weapons locker, reaching to take his sword without needing to look. Strapping the sheath to his belt, he took the musket that was kept on the wall, slinging it over his shoulder. He was ready, now for the others. Moving with startling quickness, Wheel retrieved a brace of pistols along with shot and powder for them and the musket, in his other hand he held a pair of sheathed daggers.
Bounding up the stairs two at a time, Wheel met Uban first and held out the weapons silently, letting him take a dagger and pistol as they exchanged a nod. Wheel went to the cannon, where Pieter had already begun to ready the weapon. Placing the remaining pistol and dagger next to the sailor, Wheel began a slow patrol on the deck, eyes and ears straining the darkness.

---
"Captain, what do I do?" Berlin eyed Hana steadily for a moment, then nodded his head towards the stairs. "Go to your quarters for now, we can discuss what to do in this situation later."
As Hana clattered down the stairs, her thinking only caught up to her when she realized the implications of Berlin's words. These situations weren't uncommon. She had begun to forget that this was a pirate ship. Sage's grace, what had she gotten herself into?

Rohaan's stomach twisted. That was a new feeling for him in a situation like this, as he usually relished a good skirmish at sea. Not like Wheel did, where it was a flood of pleasure and relief, but he liked the chaos. He liked seeing the faces of overconfident naval captains crumble into fear. He liked feeling important, useful, and part of the crew--like he finally had a place in this crazy world. He loved showing arrogant, hurtful people why it was foolish to ever cross a Vokurian. And most of all, he loved ripping apart slaver ships. Whenever they came across them, Berlin did not restrain Rohaan as much as he usually did. Fire was fair game. Tearing holes in the ship was fair game. Or, if the ship appeared to carry recent slaves, Rohaan would infiltrate while Wheel wreaked havoc above deck and free the prisoners, allowing them to have a fighting chance at escape. Once, there were so many that Berlin actually let the prisoners board and carried them to shore. They didn't do that often, as they often didn't have the room or stores for them.

But this time, Rohaan was nervous as he perched up in the crow's nest, cloak unclasped and gathered at his feet. He wished he knew why. He didn't want to admit it to anyone either. He was young. But he refused to be weak. Maybe, he thought to himself, it was because the last time they engaged, he was shot. Rohaan had been injured many times before, though never like that, and he'd never come that close to death. Still, he was glad no one could see him up there, little hands gripping the rope net and metal hoop that formed the structure of the crows nest until they were white.

Uban tested the dagger he was handed with a quick spin, then inspected the pistol routinely. Clean, dry, loaded. Good. He had half a mind to go put on his boots before a potential fight, but decided he didn't want to be caught lacing his boots when the fighting happened. He'd do without. So instead, he paced along the gunnel, feet barely making a sound against the well-kept wood.

Berlin could not see the approaching ship, and neither could Uban. It was a dark night, and he did not have curse-aided vision or Vokurian eyes (which were much sharper than his even without turning into a hawk or an owl). But soon he could hear them. The distant slap of oars hitting the surface of the sea and the muffled banging of a cadence drum. A galley was about the only kind of ship that could out maneuver the Borealis if the wind wasn't favorable, but that hardly mattered to Berlin. If they could not out-maneuver, they would attack. And no one to date had fared well against a seaward attack from the Borealis and her deadly crew. Still, something held him back. Instinct, perhaps. Galleys were sometimes slaver ships, but not always. On some occasions they were passenger ships for the wealthy, using manpower instead of just the wind to ensure speed. Sometimes they belonged to ambassadors, or even various navies throughout Carisia. Berlin might have been a pirate, but he was a discriminate one and did not attack every ship he came across. Some deserved it, others were better left alone. He wanted to know for sure that this one was a slaver ship before attacking. Besides, it was late, and if this ship wasn't going to engage, he didn't feel like it either.

The crew watched. Waited. Paced. The unmarked vessel paddled past them maybe a hundred yards away, never once turning toward them. And then the sound of the drums faded, as did the white reflection of the moon in their wake. Finally, Berlin gave the call. "All hands, at ease. We could go after them...but I'd rather not. Not right now. But...Even though we just docked, I'd like to head landward again, but from the direction they came. I've got a gut feeling that some information might be helpful. Rheoaan! Come down from there, I don't want you hauling on ropes just yet. Uban will take your place. Hanabaptiste!" His voice projected well without being a shout, and she was able to hear it from below. When she came, he asked, "This seems as good a time as any to practice your skills as a weathermage. Can you summon a westerly wind? I'd like to make good time."

Hanahbaptiste felt the attention of the entire ship shift towards her. Despite the chilly predawn air, Hana began to sweat. "Aye- I mean, yes, Captain."

She turned and went to her cabin, opening the massive trunk that held the materials she needed. Rummaging through the chest, she withdrew a small sachet of cloves, dried figs, and most importantly, rose petals grown on an island in the Sea of Bariz. She had bags like this for every cardinal direction, each with different materials in them. A proper weather mage would have been able to manipulate the winds without needing props, but Hana would take all the help she could get. Standing in the doorway, she wondered briefly in a rapid fire checklist of why she felt wrong. notshoesnothairnotsachetnotwordsnotbladdernotnosenotha-Its Hands what?

She needed her staff, it balanced gave her something to do with her other hand while holding the sachet. Rushing the stairs with frantic haste, she stopped and slowed down just before she emerges, feigning bored practicality. She'd done this for real before. Totally.

Making her way to the stern, she turned her back to the ship and faced the sea. Here goes.

She began by scanning the sky, deducing what fancies the wind had taken up today. It seemed promising. They had already been taking the trade winds past this point anyway, so it wasn't like she would have to struggle to bring the wind together. The westerly would have started blowing sooner rather than later. She was just speeding up the timeline. It was at this moment, as she brusquely untied the sachet to bring out a palmful of the contents to burn, that she realized how relaxed and unstressful this was. What the hell, she had been faking it! Jerking her head back, she looked frantically behind her, trying to see what the rest of the crew was doing. She was alone. The rest of the crew trusted her to do her job. So she'd do it.

She turned back to the sea. Closing her fist tightly, she pressed herself and a spark ignited the magical supplies clutched in her hand. The smoke started to trickle out, wisps at first.
As it burned, the smoke lifted from Hana's hand, and an intense aroma settled across the entire ship- all smells brought by the Westerly winds. To smell it was to have false memories of life in other lands. For a few moments it held sway, the crew felt like they were looking at a strangers ship, and that they had been transported to a different land. It shortly passed, and Pieter felt a strange shudder of recognition as he seemed to realize that he had been looking at the mundanity of the Borealis.

"Damn, that one had me knockin." He croaked, his throat dry and his eyes inexplicably watering.

There was a long silence after. Everyone stayed at their posts, hesitating, not sure. They strained their ears, trying to hear the first rustle of wind over the creaking of the sails. Hana's heart thudded so loudly in her chest she swore that it'd drown out all sounds of the wind.

It started gently, at first. But soon the almost unnoticeable tugging at the sails had become a steady breeze pushing the ship. It was lined up near perfectly, and their speed would put them in by sunrise. After some brief adjustments to the sails, there was a temporary pause in the work of the crew. And though they hadn't slept, Berlin decided they would have breakfast.

A scent wafted on the air and for a moment, even Berlin forgot where he was, like he was thinking hard upon a dream. But he blinked, snapping back into reality and looking up to see a very tense Rohaan come down from the crow's nest. He hadn't seen him like that in a long time. Body tensed, coiled, withdrawn. Head hung low but looking outward like a cornered dog, and he walked without his usual slap-slap of bare feet against the deck. Instead he padded, stalked, like he did not want to make noise or draw attention to himself. But whatever made his stomach turn or put his neck-hair on end was not clear or directed at any one thing, it seemed. It wasn't Hanabaptiste, he thought. He was doing very well with her earlier. And though he watched her perform the weather magic with some suspicion, Berlin could see the wheels turning in his little head, knowing that what she was doing was just for the wind.

Berlin tried to quietly make eye contact with him but the boy avoided his gaze as he made his way below deck to start making food. With the ship steadied and heading swiftly in the right direction, Berlin left his post at the helm and followed the shifter down to the galley. Speaking in Vokurian, he began, "Rheoaan. What's on your mind?"
The boy looked up at his chin. "Mm?" When Berlin repeated the question, Rohaan shrugged, answering also in Vokurian. "Nothing, I don't know. I'm making breakfast."
"And that's all?"
"Yes..? Why, Ca-mm?"
"I know you. You're in a mood, but I can't figure out what sort..." Berlin leaned against the doorframe with his arms loosely folded over his great chest. "Did something happen with you and Hanabaptiste?"
"Hana? No. She's teaching me to read. Showed me all the letters. She seems okay." That was a great admission, Berlin noted. It would seem small for anyone else to say, but Berlin knew him. Hana must have been doing very well indeed. After a pause, Rohaan added, "Did I do something wrong, Ca-mm?"
"No lad! No, you've done well. I just want to make sure you're alright."
"I don't hurt, not really. Just feels like a bruise."
"That's not what I meant, Rheoaan. Something's bothering you, I can tell. Remember, you gotta talk to me about these things, aye?"

Rohaan nodded his understanding, but he followed it up with a shrug. "Nothing. I don't know."
Berlin was silent as he watched him for a moment. 'nothing' wasn't accurate, but the 'I don't know' was. There was something Rohaan was feeling that he couldn't put a finger on, something he would try and coax out of him. In Carisian this time, he asked, "Did you see something on that ship that bothered you? Was that it?"
Again, Rohaan shrugged. "No? I don't know."
Berlin sighed. "Okay." He reached into his pocket and took out a little flask. "Here. I know you haven't gotten any sleep, and you've done well. Have a sip, eh?" Rohaan stopped cooking to take the flask from him, smiling. It wasn't often Berlin let him drink, but it did happen every so often.

The crew ate a good breakfast--seeing as how they'd only recently resupplied, they still had some fresh goods on board and that morning's spoils were freshly scrambled eggs, a wedge of cheese, and a loaf of fresh bread. While ship fare was never luxurious, nobody on the Borealis ever ate poorly. After the meal, Berlin clapped a hand on Hanabaptiste's shoulder. His touch was warm, friendly. "Good work out there. With you on board, no ship will ever outrun us, eh? I'm glad you decided to come with us after all."

The sky was awash with pastel pink and orange that pushed away the fading blue of early dawn. The air was chilly still, the sun not yet high enough to give the world its warmth. Uban was aloft on the ropes when he finally spotted land. In the darkness, they'd come closer than he'd expected. But something seemed off, like the sky was hazier than usual. An early autumn fog, he assumed. But as they drew closer, Uban could see that it was not fog. It was smoke.

Coming down the main yard, Uban found Pieter, who was nearest him and with a folded brow said, "Something's going on in the harbor...there's smoke. A lot."

Pieter lowered his pistol, tapping it against his thigh. He straightened up, head moving to take in the girl in all her beauty. He'd been for a brief moment aboard another ship, one that belonged to something completely different than what he knew. It hadn't been an altogether pleasant experience. But for the moment to pass and the sensation fade? It made him feel.... Weird. He was a priest, and most priests didn't live to Pieter's age by being careless. He liked the girl, he just needed to know what she was capable of.

Ambling towards the galley, he walked next to Wheel in silence. He knew the dislike the man had towards Hanabaptiste, and he was curious to know just what the berserker thought of the recent experience. "We're making good time, aren't we?" Pieter nodded, answering, "Aye. This time of year the trade winds can be a little testy, and we would have been lucky for them to start blowing so early. We wouldn't have been stranded, but it would have taken a time." Wheel was silent again, and Pieter wondered what he was thinking. Entering the galley, Pieter straddled the bench, watching as Uban prepared the scrambled eggs. Despite the strangeness of last night and Hana's magic, Pieter felt good. Uban had agreed to be Pieter's apprentice, Rohaan had fully recovered from his injury, and the Captain's decision to bring a mage aboard seemed to be paying off. The crew was thriving.

The breakfast put Pieter in a good mood, daunting challenges weren't so bad after you had good food in your belly. Tucking in to the eggs, he briefly reflected on the other meals he'd eaten at sea. Biting into the cheese, Pieter decided that he didn't want his appetite ruined.

After the meal, he went to Hana, who was trying- and failing- to keep the pleasure from her face. The Cap'n had a way of making people feel appreciated, and he doubted she'd had much use for stirring up winds on land. Ah hell, he'd bother her about magic later, let her stay happy for now. Leaving the galley to tend to his duties, he strained his eyes to look up at the sails. Another reminder of his old age- he struggled to make out the details of the rippling cloth. It was like the world had grown hazier. More likely, it was his eyes. There's a reason why there aren't many old dogs like me he thought. The sea demanded everything, and he worried that he soon wouldn't be able to meet its demands. He still had it, and he'd have it for a while longer.

Steering the ship towards the shore, Pieter tried to remember what he knew about the port. Not much to remember, truthfully. It was a sleepy fishing town and most of the merchants tended to pass it by. He'd spent a few leaves there, and the only remarkable thing about the place was the peacefulness that held sway. Even when he was young and as rowdy as Wheel, a part of him had known to respect the little port's calm. It wasn't an important place, but it was good and the people valued one another. Pieter wished there were more places like it.

As the sun rose and brought clarity, the haze that Pieter had thought he imagined grew real, until he saw the thick smoke rising from the shore. Uban, up in the ropes, saw it too. The man clambered down and sought him out, puzzlement and concern written clear on his unlined face.
"Somethings going on in the harbor... there's smoke. A lot."

Berlin walked to stand next to his first mate, holding the spyglass he kept in his cabin away from Rohaan. Peering into it silently, he handed it to Pieter. Looking through it, Pieter saw the peaceful town had been torched, but the roiling columns of smoke that rose into the sky came from the fishing boats. Whoever had done this didn't want to be pursued.

"We're far too late." Pieter managed, his throat tight as he handed Uban the glass. He hadn't been able to make out the details of the town, but smoke like that was accompanied by major destruction.

"We can find out what happened. Everyone, to work."

A nervous silence settled over the crew as everyone withdrew, tending to their tasks.

The Borealis carefully navigated into the harbor, anchoring away from the still burning fishing boats. Gathering the crew, Berlin announced "We'll take the skiff to land, I don't want to risk the ship and I'd rather keep a low profile. Pieter will stay aboard- if you see anything unusual, load up the cannon and start firing. Everyone else will come."

Pieter lit his pipe and watched silently as Wheel and Uban heaved at the oars to bring the small boat to land. He stood next to the cannon, tapping a nervous beat with his hand. He didn't know what they'd find ashore.

There was very little conversation amongst the crew as they neared the port town and began to see just what had happened. If anyone spoke, it was merely to give an instruction, as all joy and camaraderie felt suddenly cold and lifeless. Empty. The whole time, Berlin's stomach was twisting. He knew there was something up with that ship, something that gave both him and guessed Rohaan an uncomfortable feeling deep down. He knew there was a reason his gut was telling him not to just let the matter go.

The ship pulled up onto the beach with the soft scrape of sand giving way beneath the dark wood hull. The rocking that Uban felt so accustomed to stopped, and somehow he felt robbed of physical sensation. Uban made sure he had his pistol and dagger with him, though he didn't see much point in drawing either just yet. Pieter was right. They were too late. The damage had been done and anyone still left in the little town would now be trying to pick up the pieces of their shattered life. He noticed, too, that Rohaan clung uncharacteristically to his side. Normally Berlin had to reel in the boy, keeping him from wandering off too far when they went ashore. But Rohaan stayed directly behind him, even coming close to stepping on his heels with his bare feet as they walked slowly, numbly onshore.

"Shit..." he breathed, taking in the desolation in disbelief.

Berlin was also swallowed up by feelings of shock and confusion, but even then he didn't fail to notice how Rohaan clung next to Uban. If Berlin thought he was tense before, he was near rigid now. Distantly, Berlin wondered if Vokurians had senses that humans did not--sort of in the way that wild animals will flee before a natural disaster strikes. He wanted to ask someone what had happened there, but there was nobody. Bodies, for sure. But no living souls--not even a wailing widow--lingered in that place. Were they all dead? Hiding? Had they fled?

As the crew slowly began to fan out, Rohaan suddenly stopped dead in his tracks even as Uban moved on. He stood frozen, staring at something Berlin could not pinpoint. From the look on his face, something was very, very wrong. Very softly he took a few steps closer to him and asked, "Rheoaan..?"

---

"Rheoaan! I said go!"
"But...Ada! Ama!" Even as he spoke, the eight-year-old boy reached his hands out for his parents, but neither reached back for him.
"Rheoaan, my boy, listen to me. You have to go." There was a violent, anguished scream just down the beach; his mother grabbed his little wrists and gave him a firm but gentle push away towards the sea. "GO!"
"NO!" Rohaan screamed, tears streaking down his face now. "I won't leave you! I can help, I can fight!"
Another cajoling push, his father this time. "Rheoaan, I know, you're so strong, so brave, but you have to GO. Trust us. We'll find you when it's over but you have to GO NOW."
"Ithai'an, they're coming!" His mother cried, causing her husband to tear himself away from his son to sprint down the beach, shifting to a huge cyradan as he did so. Rohaan's feet were frozen, legs unwilling. He saw his father collide with a mob of torch-bearing outsiders. Four died in a spray of blood and their screams mingled with Ithai'an's thunderous roar like an orchestra of gore. But more were there to replace them. Some had odd looking sticks; they pointed them at his huge reptilian form and, with what sounded like a crack of thunder and a puff of blue smoke, the strange weapons seemed to strike his father without even touching them. Silvery blood sprayed, but he held his form. Six intruders went up in flames.

"Ama..." Rohaan's voice quivered now, racked with terrified sobs.
"Rheoaan, you can't fight them. Not them. Go, child." She hastily kissed his forehead, then turned and, in the form of a massive black wolf, bounded down the beach to the front line of the bloody battle before them. Rohaan was left alone, shaking. He knew he was supposed to run, but his legs wouldn't work. Not when he was watching his father, covered in blood, slowly succumb to his accumulating wounds. He saw him fall, his man-shaped body lying in the wet red sand. Still. Lifeless. Dead.

Rohaan ran then. He had no idea where he was going except the vague notion that he should reach the water and dive deep where they wouldn't find him. Right. He had to get under water. He veered left, plunging himself into the small waves. He just had to get deep enough that he could swim, turn into some kind of fish and he'd be alright. He'd be--

A tight net came over him that weighted him down and in his panic, he struggled against it and only got more tangled. Seconds later, viselike hands were on him, and there was an explosion of pain in his head. Then darkness.

---

The little town was quiet, but in that moment, Rohaan could still hear the screams. He remembered the ship that carried him away, being starved and given only enough water to keep him barely alive. He remembered being packed in the hold with other children. Children he knew and grew up with. Some of them had been bound with Khitas've--shifter steel, some called it. He remembered being beaten until his vision went black. Remembered the stench of sewage and the smell of blood, the reek of death. He'd tried so hard to forget. And in that moment, as he stared at a crude, tattered flag staked into a half-burnt body, it all came slamming back to him.

Berlin took a step closer. "Rheoaan...?" He was not prepared for what happened next. The boy turned on him, shifting to a great bear as he did so, and aimed one mighty swipe of his huge claw at Berlin. The captain attempted to step back, but he wasn't fast enough and the claws raked the right side of his chest. The wound bled, but it was still only superficial and he seemed surprised by it but not concerned about the wound itself. His focus was on the bear. Displaying teeth and rearing back on his hind legs, it looked like the feral boy had finally just snapped. Still, Berlin moved closer, hands outstretched like a festival lion tamer.

"Rheoaan, hey," he said, his voice even and cool. "It's me. It's Berlin. It's alright." Another step. Another. If he could just put his hand on him... "It's just me. You know me, you know I'd never hurt you. Kay?" Another step, then he slowly, carefully, reached out his hand and poured into him feelings of calm and trust. The moment he did, Rohaan's conjured form broke and he was himself again. Only now he was sobbing. Berlin had been through a lot with the young shifter, but in the two years he'd been under his care, Berlin had never once seen him cry. No one had. As Rohaan buried his face into Berlin's bloodied chest, trembling and sobbing, Berlin's face was a mask of equal parts pain and lost bewilderment.

In Vokurian, the boy began to wail, "It was them! It was them! And now they've come for me, they've come for me, they're gonna take me. They've come for me!"
"Listen to me, Rheoaan," Berlin began, his tone strong but also soothing. "Ain't nobody gonna take you from us. You're a part of the Borealis and her crew protects their own. You're not going anywhere."
"I cut you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it! I just thought--"
"I know you didn't mean to. It's just a scratch." Berlin's magic forced the boy to take a few deep breaths. He wanted to ask what in blazes had caused him to break down, and who 'they' were, and was about to, when suddenly it clicked as he saw the flag fluttering somberly beside them.

Barizian slavers. Barizian slavers had sacked the town, and Barizian slavers were responsible for the destruction of Rohaan's home. He couldn't believe he didn't see it sooner. It made so much sense. Berlin's gut wrenched. They had not come for Rohaan at all, nor would they care. But in the boy's mind, they were still looking for their escaped prize. "They're gone, Rheoaan. And you're with me now. They're not going to have you. No way in hell." Berlin hoisted the boy up (as there was absolutely no force in the world that would make Rohaan let go of him) and walked back to where the rest of the crew was standing, watching.

"Barizian slavers," he explained. "It would seem...this is not the first time Rheoaan's seen them do this to a place..." He sighed. "He recognized the flag."

A flash of stony anger crossed his visage; a barely concealed volcano of rage boiled up and finally came to a head. His voice was cold, even, measured, and somehow that made him all the more intimidating. "I think we have a ship to catch, mates."

Dragging the small boat onto the beach, Wheel helped Hanabaptiste off the boat. She was probably useless in a fight, but if she could stir up a wind, she could have some other tricks up her sleeve. He took her soft hand in his roughly, helping her more like an unsteady warrior than a lady and a student. He strode up the beach, keeping his grasp on her hand as she tripped and stumbled, trying to adapt again to solid ground. Unlike Berlin, he already knew what had happened. The place reeked of violence, sharp and hot and salty. It had gone stale, though. The only thing still fresh here was the fear.

"Come on. Let's inspect the town." Wheel didn't wait for Hanabaptiste to reply, and he vanished in the streets of the town.

Glancing back at the Captain, she saw that he was talking in a hushed tone to Rio. Shrugging, Hana turned and hurried after Wheel.

---

The buildings here were one and two stories, most built out of wood. They had been well constructed, and what they lacked in ornamentation they made up for with the attention that had been paid to the maintenance. Garden boxes bloomed with flowers, and small devotional statues lined the streets, each one commemorating an ancestor, friendly spirits of long ago loved ones helping the townspeople and giving them hope. Many of the statues she saw were smashed or knocked over, either from intentional vandalism or from people fleeing in haste, she couldn't tell. Clothes and household belongings littered the street, garters, smashed glass, sandals and wicker furniture thrown into the street, the aftermath of violence. Hana covered her mouth as she passed the body of a mule, crossbow bolts sticking out of it like a pin cushion, flies buzzing hungrily. Houses had been torched without any seeming reason, some homes looked completely untouched except for a broken window, others had been vandalized and set ablaze. She saw a slumped figure lying next to a flower box. Approaching with trepidation, the world seemed to collapse, until all that existed in the entire universe was her and the body. Every step began to reveal the horrible truth, and she wanted to turn and run and look away and go back to the Captain and go back to the boat but she was already there and she saw and

It was a young man. He had dark curls and was likely a fisherman. His, it's, his face had been subject to terrible violence. Hana fled, desperate to get away. But the violence was all around. Were they still here? Watching her from the shadows? In her panic, she didn't hear her name called. She was shocked into reality when she felt thick arms wrap around her midsection.

"NO!" She reacted without thought, reaching for the closest thing she could take hold of. The air around her sheared off into heated steam, flying away from her. Buffeted by the shock, Hana was thrown to the ground. The hard packed dirt struck her back and the wind was knocked out of her. Struggling for breath, she rolled onto her side, heart thudding.

"hey."

Hana rolled onto her back again, a few desperate gasps making it's way through the fog in her brain.

"HEY! I'M FUCKING TALKING TO YOU!"

Wheel stood above her, his face twisted in rage. His skin had peeled off, and she could see patches of too pink that made her nervous and that she avoided looking at. So she look at his hand, which he lowered to offer to help her up. He did this while still berating her, giving a step by step detail of just how she had fucked up, and that her failures could lead to the destruction of the ship and the death of everyone aboard. His voice was a steady monologue, occasionally interrupted with a bout of yelling, going red in the face, spittle flying from his mouth as he carefully rolled Hana's foot, testing if it had been damaged after she set the air around her up, sending gouts of steam everywhere. On reflection, it seemed that she had now discovered what battle magic she would be able to rely on in a fight. Sure, she could study books and books of strategy, but every bit of that knowledge would go out her head when someone grabbed her around the stomach. She could rely on steam. That was good to know. Wheel fell silent and calmly drew a pistol from his sash, holding it at his side without readying it.

"Can you repeat what you did earlier?"

Hana stopped moving, letting Wheel step past her. She nodded, then realizing he couldn't see her, said, "Aye. I can direct it, but I don't know what the results will be."

Hana, in her panic, had led them to the small main square. The small courthouse seemed almost diminutive next to the church and it's sturdy bell tower. Wheel stood before it now, feet planted. One hand rested on his hip, the other casually held the pistol at the ready.

"One step further and twenty crossbow bolts go through you! Leave."

A man stood on the roof of the tall beamed church. It was clearly the pride of the village, and the austere but artful masonry on the ground floor became clean planks of wood for the second, painted a gleaming white. And, standing and yes, holding a crossbow pointed directly at Wheel, was a gaunt man with tired brown eyes and greying hair. And beside him were several other men, all holding crossbows. The villagers. Some of them must have taken refuge in the church. Why it hadn't been attacked wasn't certain. But it had survived! And now they were pointing crossbows at them, so Hana guessed they weren't being greeted as liberators.

"One of you go find your Captain, tell him we have a member of his crew captured."

The other guards exclaimed and began to talk among one another in hushed tones.

"Quiet! One of you, go!"

Wheel and Hanabaptiste exchanged glances. Hana's eyes were wide, but Wheel saw that she was thinking, evaluating.

"I'll go get Berlin. Don't do anything, okay?"

Wheel smiled instead of answering.

Cursing under her breath, Hana turned and ran towards the beach and the Captain.

"I'm sorry Berlin," Rohaan kept whimpering, touching the bloody tears in his shirt.
"Forget that, lad. I've had worse. Besides, you were just scared. It's okay."
"How did they find me?"
"No, Rheoaan. They aren't looking for you. We just happened to be here. This is just what they do. But don't worry. If you've ever wanted revenge, we're gonna get it. Think about how much stronger you are now! And you're not alone, we're going to fight too. You can light their whole ship on fire and watch it sink into the ocean. And at the end of the day, you'll be safe in bed with me looking after you. Won't you?" Berlin was practically assaulting him with calm through his magic, trying to keep him from sheer hysterics.

"Uh oh...Cap'n..." Uban readied his pistol just in case as he saw Hana sprinting back towards them. She wasn't with Wheel anymore, and he knew something went wrong.
Berlin turned, saw her, and went to meet her with a quivering, traumatized Rohaan still in his arms. "Hanabaptiste...?" He didn't need to finish his sentence, as she understood and immediately informed him that there were villagers after all, and they had Wheel hostage. Berlin cursed. He did not fear for Wheel's life, but the villagers'. "Here, take him. I'm gonna run ahead, but you three follow after. I'm gonna see if I can't talk them down. Rheoaan, lad, you gotta stay with Hana."
"Berlin no!!"
"C'mon, be a brave lad. I have to go talk to some people, and you need to keep your eyes hidden, okay? We don't want more trouble. Can you do that?"
"Berlin...." Rohaan whined, even as the large man set him down and gave him a guiding push towards Hanabaptiste. But he didn't argue further; instead, he clung to Hanabaptiste's side like a bur, his wiry arms coiled around her waist even as they shook. But as Berlin left him and his contact with Berlin's magic was severed, a new panic blossomed in the boy's chest and he started to sob anew into her shirt. Normally he was not comfortable enough with her to really touch her or let her touch him, but he didn't care about any of that now. All he knew was that he was scared, and that at least Berlin trusted Hana.

Berlin ran to where Hana had told him to go, finding a host of townsfolk armed with crossbows trained on an all too comfortable Wheel. "Oy!" he shouted up, keeping his hands up and out in a placating gesture. "I'm Captain Berlin of the Borealis, this is one of my men. There's more of us," he warned, less as a threat and more to inform them so they weren't caught off guard. "Just a few. We don't mean any harm--we saw an odd ship come from this way and came seeking information...I suppose we got it." Berlin was thankful for his magic then. Though he couldn't directly influence any of them since he could not touch them, he still had his charisma, and that was something. "Why don't you lower your weapons, come down here and we can just talk this through, eh? You can tell us more about what happened here. What say you, lads?"

Hot tears bloomed across Hanabaptiste's shirt as the boy sobbed into her arms. The countless anxieties and fears Hana had herself were pushed aside. Holding Rios shaking body, Hana began to hum, nursery rhymes blending into bits of opera changing into sea shanty morphing back to nursery rhyme. Anything would do, just to keep it up was the goal. Casting around, she saw a stone bench surrounded by blooming flowers. Carefully leading the senseless boy, Hana sat down, pulling him into her lap. Rocking him back and forth, she strained her ears over the crying and humming to hear what was happening elsewhere in the small town. All she had to do was sit there and hold him. Easy. Just hold a sobbing boy who could turn into a wild beast and bite her head off. Easy.

---

Wheel took the time while he was alone to stretch. The idiot townspeople gawked as he loosened up. He could hear them whisper to one another. Probably asking if they should shoot him while he was distracted. Ha. The thought of him being killed by a bolt from one of those shoddy crossbows almost made him laugh. The curse was flaring wildly around him, and his clothes tugged at him as if in a stiff breeze, even though the square was completely still. The sun had a mean glint to it, like it wanted to punish the men who walked on the earth. Why a god would care about the shit men did to each other was beyond him, but what did he know. Looking up at the church, he idly began to work his way through killing everyone inside. It's likely they had every able bodied man they had up on the roof, ready to shoot him. So he'd break down the front door, kill the women and kids, and then finish off the men. He'd have to be quick, though, to not let the men rain bolts down on him. He was still working out the details when Wheel heard Berlin running towards him. So the witch had been able to find the Cap'n. She wasn't totally worthless. The steam had been something new. The thought that she had more tricks like that excited him.
The townsfolk were so concentrated on watching Wheel they didn't notice Berlin until he was almost in the square. He was in excellent health, but Wheel could pick out a slight raggedness in his breath. There was a lot happening underneath the jolly smile. Was he scared? Likely. The big man caught his breath, slowly walking towards the church, telegraphing what he was doing, pretending the lion was a lamb. Trying to make friends.

"Just say the word, Cap'n! We'd be able to get out of this dump quicker. All the pretty girls have already been raped and taken by the Barizians. All that's left are cowards and their used up whore-wives."

Before the townspeople could respond, Berlin shouted, "OY!" drawing the furious attention upon himself. Wheel smirked and watched the Captain.

"Why don't you lower your weapons, come down here and we can just this through, eh? You can tell us more about what happened here. What say you, lads?"

The men retreated from the roof, disappearing from view. A moment later the doors to the church pushed heavily open, the gaunt man stepping out, keeping the crossbow leveled at Wheel. A closer view didn't reveal much else. His wan face was curiously unlined, but the deep bags under his pained eyes made him look old. He could have been an old man who carried the burdens of a young one. It could be a young man aged beyond his years. Either way, he had the collected look of a broken man living until he could die. Men on the roof reappeared, taking aim.

"We want you to leave. Let us rebuild our village and mourn for those taken from us."