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Weather the Storm 1x1

A surprised yet thankful expression spread across Ayla’s visage as the captain ushered her into his coat. Not connecting what may have been his intent with the circumstance of what had just transpired, she blinked confusedly around and looked to the greens.

“What about herbs? I thought we were…” She trailed off as he began to lead her back to the ship.

Ayla followed with the bundle of books and unused containers snuggled in her arms while her feet flittered down the uneven slope with the grace and seeming ease of a deer down a hill. She need not observe her feet as she scampered on as the rocks seemed to adjust their patterns as each foot came down to rest upon the ground. Any dangerously wobbly pebble rolled to the flat side and embedded neatly into the dirt by the force of her minimal weight.

In the small boat, she watched the ship come closer and closer with each burst of forward motion granted by the captain’s rowing. She leaned in to hear his question upon realizing his tone had dropped to conspiratorial.

“Oh, um. I think perhaps the fewer people who know the better?” It was not a declaration, more of an uncertain question. She knew there were passengers aboard who would not be welcoming of her and might even leap at an opportunity to collect coin if they discovered her “familial ties” back in the city. She did not know the crew hardly at all. As far as she knew, there were others who had similar sentiments to the woman in her sleeping cabin.

At the same time, Ayla was uncomfortable with the amount of lies she had nearly drowned in this past week. Dishonesty was not in her nature, and it made her feel incredibly ill at ease to continue proclaiming falsehoods as fact. She also had grown close to a few other members and greatly disliked continuing a charade with people like Sabrina who had been so kind to her on the voyage thus far.

She pondered the quandary then voiced her thoughts.

“I worry that some of your crew may not like me once they know. I do not like lying, especially to those who have been so kind to me … I will trust your judgement with regards to crew that need be aware for reasons of the ship’s safe passage. I do not want to be more of a burden than I already am.”

She finished her thought with a small ripple of negativity that was uncommon even for her. As the confession tumbled out to the air, she followed the words with her gaze into the water below. A modest air of forlorn worry stood on her face as she reached a hand down to feel the kiss of the sea on her fingertips.

Weather the Storm 1x1

In mirror to the captain’s gesture, Ayla paused her stand to resume sitting and folded her hands into her lap as he spoke. She released a deep exhale as he said he was not forcing her to abandoned ship and nodded, attention rapt on the man as he continued to speak.

With each reiteration of how many ways she could cause the contract to become invalidated and thereby rob this generous human of his livelihood, Ayla’s mind struggled under the weight of her folly. She had been so careless with regards to another, prioritizing her future over the life someone had already established for themselves without utilizing the backs of the less fortunate. If he’d been another of the sort who despised her for the shape of her ears, Ayla would have far less guilt over realizing just how trepidatious the situation had become.

Then he stood above her, haloed in the sun of her only hope for freedom.

“Your commitment to that freedom is no longer just your own.”

The warning resonated with gale force against her heart. Her success was not only for herself now, but for the life and soul of every unknowing individual aboard that ship. She looked to the waters at The Silver Wing bobbing in the distance and felt the pang of responsibility she had accidentally burdened herself, and the captain, with.

She shot to standing, posture perfect and chin high.

“Captain Church, I will find freedom. You shall deliver me hence. If the wind loses its nerve, I will be the breath your sails need.”

As she proclaimed her most devout intent, the vague sense of rainy forest surrounded the pair again. The breeze which had been coursing in all directions fell still at once, then surged upward from the ground. Emboldened by her communion with the earth during his venture to the lighthouse, the very winds bowed to her resolve and proffered their service to her cause. The quick up-burst fell still just as suddenly and the void of motion was blatant around them.

For a moment, nature went mute to allow for Ayla to declare her intentions and form a contract of its own with Captain Church. The powers of the greatest mother to all life sanctioned the agreement in a quiet warm embrace upon the lands where chill and tumult were known to reign.

Weather the Storm 1x1

The connection to the earth soothed the elf in a manner to surpass even her expectation. She was breathing in the fresh grassy scent in contemplative silence when she heard her given name said clearly above her.

“Ayla. We need to talk.”

She cast her gaze abruptly to the speaker, eyes looking refreshed and calm. The wear on her face from her demonstration in the captain’s cabin had been rewritten by nature’s touch and the elf resumed her young, smooth complexion.

“Of course,” she quickly agreed, collecting the box of books and cloth. She rose and stood at attention, casting her glance only briefly toward the lighthouse she had avoided. Had she been identified? She bit her lip and looked to the hills before back to the captain.

“Should we go further from the path or…” She trailed off, finding she was unsure of what this sudden proclamation meant for her and her position upon The Silver Wing.

Weather the Storm 1x1

Relieved in the agreed sentiment, even though it came with a heavy weight of dislike in her direction, Ayla nodded and adjusted the sack she brought form her own inventory in the box. With the books hidden beneath her bag, she stepped further down the road into the wilds of this rest stop island. She felt her eyes water as the wilds approached her course along the road.

She stopped at a distance she considered suitably inland yet not as far as to grant her invisibility from the captain once he removed himself from the main collection of buildings. He may not see her at once upon leaving the hall, but he would not have to venture extremely far to see a familiar silhouette up the hill.

She had taken the time to wind all her hair up and fashioned the scarf into a snood of sorts, thereby committing as much of her red tresses to secrecy as possible. A few wayward strands would escape around her face and flutter in the breezes that danced in all directions around the small piece of earth, but there was not so much visible that she felt risk of identification from afar; not by anyone who did not know she was already here at least.

She crouched at the edge of the road, double checking her bundle and keeping her postured stooped. Ayla hoped to pass as elderly or sickly, resting for breath along the walkway. Kneeling beside her provisions, she gazed into the abutment of grass and lightly reached her fingers into the tread of wavering stalks. A forlorn smile painted her face as she felt the greenery with quiet reverence.

Given the stop were a small one, geographically speaking and with the population limited as it was, Ayla encountered only a few others along the path. The Silver Wing anchored beyond seemed to suit any questions someone may have had on her origins, and she found she was able to avoid conversation by hiding in the shadow of her downturned face. Only one individual took a moment to address her directly, as she sat on the ground beside her box of scrap fabric.

The man, she presumed he was a guild member taking a turn around the land for fresh air or as mobile lookout casting his eyes over the perimeter of the grounds, paused to inquire if the lady was alright. She only saw his boots and assumed a cheerful if gravely voice to reply that she was doing very well, just was taking a break from the ship to enjoy the grass and unmoving ground. He seemed satiated by her response, given how frequent it was for the unaccustomed to struggle with life at sea, and carried on his route back towards the lighthouse proper.

Weather the Storm 1x1

Ayla felt the chill that radiated from the captain before her. She was keenly aware of the turmoil that roiled and raged in his heart and mind. The sorrow she felt for having caused such a tempest further sank her own estimation of herself. The plan had been a risk, she knew, but she had not expected things to turn quite this rocky in this manner. Perhaps it was the kindness she had received up until this day. They had not spoken much though they had passed one another plenty of times and always exchanged the accustomed brief cordialities and respectful nods. Now she was adrift on an ice flow and his arctic winds battered her into hopelessness.

Quiet graciousness greeted the man at the dock who reached down to assist her out of the boat. He passed her belongings up to her after her feet hit solid ground. He made no comment, but she had noticed the glance he made between herself and the captain. Of course a man of rank would not be expected to to such trivial tasks as attending to the supplies, but it did seem a bit odd that no attention had been paid to the small woman riding ashore with him. Ayla brushed past the brief look of confusion on the sailor’s face and thanked him for his aid.

She followed the captain in silence up the incline away from the dock.

“I think it best I not enter any official building,” she suggested shakily. Then a moment of panic struck her. What if his plan since finding out her identity were to go straight to the guild and win graces from the Blackthorne family for returning their wayward property? She clutched the box and books tighter and dodged eye contact.

“With your permission, of course,” she finished, looking with mingled apprehension and longing at the green hills beyond.

Weather the Storm 1x1

With his permission granted, Ayla breathed a sigh of small relief; at least she would not need out herself to the hateful. He called it ignorance, but regardless of its source, the result was the same to the elves on the receiving end of such vitriol, spite, and far-too-frequent violence.

“Thank you, Captain.” She paused a moment more. “Your Quartermaster,” she began hesitantly. “He identified me an elf on the very first day. He knows of my skill, though none of the identities I shared with you.”

She made apologetic eyes towards Captain Church, hoping she was not condemning the Quartermaster to some punishment; though she feared more what would become of her should the Captain discover she had concealed this fact from him. She quickly scurried to collect the books, carrying them in one of the boxes she had seen prepped for the harvesting venture.

Ayla stepped quickly to the ferry boat and spoke naught a word. She gave friendly and cordial smiles to those she passed whom she had created a positive rapport with. The nerves she carried would appear as nothing more than travel jitters to the rest on board, she hoped. The Captain, however, would know full well what to read between the lines of her subtle body language; she was ashamed, afraid, and acutely aware just how frayed the rope she walked had become.

Weather the Storm 1x1

All things considered, this discussion could have gone far worse. Ayla dropped her hands to her sides and breathed out the last remnants of the energy she had channeled for this exhibition. The skills she had were innate, but they had limitations and could be draining. Her eyes, whether from the damming of tears or from the performance just enacted, were tired. Still bright gold but rimmed in red exhaustion and carrying far more weight than before. She sleepily nodded in assent and collected herself before removing herself from the cabin. She would recover quickly enough, she knew, and felt it was best to press on to the task at hand: proving she was more than a charlatan who sowed chaos in her wake.

“I understand,” came her low reply as she crossed the threshold out to the hallway.

“Utmost honesty henceforth with you and your crew. Might I have blessing to continue concealing my …” she trailed off, wrinkled her nose and bit her lip before gesturing hopelessly at the hidden tips of her pointed ears.

“I worry that some of your passengers will not want to share a cabin with me.”

There had been one lady in the single women’s cabin who had made herself busy sharing stories with others in the evenings. This matron was chatty and affable to the other women, but Ayla had made conscious effort to give the woman a wide berth after some of her passing comments about the “knife-ears” and “tree-talkers” had slipped casually into her conversations about what was wrong with the state of the world. As far as Ayla could tell, the woman was going to join a settlement to serve as an educational mistress, governess, or something to that effect.

“Just what the far lands need,” Ayla had thought. “More hate.”

The elf continued to the deck in preparation for the landing party, woefully concerned that her request to keep concealment from some members of the vessel would further increase the captain’s ill-opinion of her.

Weather the Storm 1x1

The sobs that caught her in throat made further words difficult to produce. The elf forced cough and glanced askew across the cabin.

“Ayla,” she whispered. “That’s all they ever called me.”

She knew she had put him in great peril and created an awful situation should there be a search closing in on her. Unwilling to press her luck any further, she mumbled another pathetic apology and suggested he leave her behind.

“I will vacate the ship permanently. You owe me nothing and I ask for nothing more. I can absolve you of future risk and you may pretend this conversation never occurred. I will forge a new path onward on my own.”

Fully intending to collect her belongings and take to the hills, Ayla wrapped her scarf about her head once more. For the sake of the other passengers and crew she had met thus far, she donned the accustomed ear-concealment method. She stood at his direction with her shamed emotion still bringing her shoulders into a slump.

“Show me your skills as a healer.
Believed a healer on board.
I can no longer assume this.”

His valid distrust and probable disgust redoubled on her cracking spirit and as he made for the door, she reached out desperately for his sleeve.

“Please,” she cried. “I was truthful in all other respects.” Holding the hem of his cuff in a tiny fist, she pressed her other palm to the door to prevent it opening. “I will show you.” Ayla gave the captain a baleful look, pausing long enough for him to shut her down if he so desired.
Fearfully she removed her hand from his person and repeated the display she had given to the quartermaster some days ago. Her palms met before her heart, and she breathed a slow sigh over her fingers. The unmistakable aroma of petrichor filled the cabin, followed closely by a gust of pine and sage. A burst of cedar encircled the two, then the sweet scent of juniper berries christened the mixture.

With delicate precision, she unfurled her hands before him, raising them from her sternum to level with his face, as if she were to cup his cheeks in her palms. Holding them thus, she allowed for him to feel the coolness that emanated from her skin like a fresh menthol balm. The calming chill heralded a relaxing warmth the carried the sensation of waking from a deeply restful sleep.

Had she placed her hands to his skin, the effect would multiply threefold, though she was not brave enough to cross such a line now; grabbing his sleeve had been more than she felt proper. She held her proffered palms, gazing slightly skyward as if in prayer to the sun beyond the cabin roof. A stray tear slid unfettered down her cheek. Then her lashes fluttered shut to prevent further downpour.

“I do not need the herbs to heal,” she breathed out in her statuesque position. “Though they do increase my abilities and can be utilized in other preventative ways.”

Weather the Storm 1x1

Tears had begun to well around the rims of Ayla’s eyes. The tip of her nose and flesh about her eyes began to flush pink with the overwhelming guilt and sadness she felt for her prolonged concealment of truth. The heat of her shame brought color to her cheeks and she busied her fingers in untangling the strands of her freshly-fallen hair. She took the indicated seat gracefully, but her focus remained downcast and crestfallen.

“I am truly ashamed of myself. As I said, I am gifted in healing arts. And I am merely looking for a better life. I am not, by birth, Hazel Brooks. I have no last name. I was given a simple identifier by the human family under which my ancestors have served for the past three or four generations.” She rocked slightly in her seat as she spoke, self-soothing like an infant and always keeping her face inclined in a downward direction.

“My family has a natural affinity for herbs and their medicinal uses. I received training from my mother and grandmother in the arts of elven healing. The Blackthorne family benefits from our skill by means of financial gain; they manage a clinic in which we tend the patients. In return, we do not live in abject squalor or among the outcasts of society.”

Hair finally disentangled from itself, she eased her nerves by reapplying fresh plaits to the waves over her shoulder. The tears that threatened to slide from her lashes disappeared, brushed aside with the back of her wrist as she continued her confession.

“I want more. I do not want to be a servant. They call it a partnership between families. I call it slavery. I have lived too long under the reign of those who do not respect me yet cannot thrive without me. They hate me though they keep me.” She choked back a sob and raised her brimming eyes just enough to glance across the desk.

“I want to be free.”

Weather the Storm 1x1

“If it is alright with you, I prefer we have some discussion before heading to shore,” Ayla replied. Entering the cabin, she committed to the ruse of seeking reference materials and evaluating the current stock. She received the first book and began to leaf through the pages with an expression of thoughtful consideration.

After a few more moments of pantomime, creating the illusion that she were intensely occupied with the thought of herbs, flora, and alchemy, Ayla raised her eyes to the captain and studied him for a moment. She told herself it was better to keep him informed directly, especially given the length of their voyage thus far. It was entirely possible, though not completely probable, that word may have reached the current outpost to be on the watch for one such as herself.

As time had progressed, she began to suspect that the Quartermaster had not divulged her little secret to the captain. The fact that she had continued to be so unnoticed for this long had seemed a miracle. She pressed her palms together and spoke with gravity and a gaze that observed the floorboards in shame.

“I have been untruthful, sir, and I need to rectify my misleadings.” A faint tremble took her hands as she raised them from before her waist. She reached for her scarf and undid the knot as she continued, “I am deeply apologetic for the lies I have told you and your crew.”

She set the beige and shapeless scrap on the desk and returned her fingers to the back of her head, in search of the pin that secured her hair in its complex and messy updo. “I am not who I have claimed to be, in name,” she confessed as the tumbles of red fell into a mixture of half-done braids and tangles.

Ayla pulled a deep breath between her teeth and moved to tuck one side of her free hair behind an ear, exposing her sharp shame for the first time since venturing off the land of her birth.

“I have not lied of my intentions, my abilities, nor my motives,” she quickly amended. “I seek a better life, I am versed in healing arts, and I leave poor conditions behind.” Clarifying, she felt her eyes slip shut for an extended moment. Her voice dropped to a shame-filled whisper.

“I fear that there may be a search for me.” She did not feel that continuing an outpouring of apology would do any further good at this point. He would be furious or he would not. He would turn her over or he would preserve her secret. The fate of this part of her journey was out of her hands. She awaited judgement.