My Name Is Estam

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MY NAME IS ESTAMAn Orn Tale

Thord Daniel Hedengren

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The thing about swords is that they are sharp. At times they can be found protruding from some poor fellow’s back, or, as was the case at this precise moment, through his ribcage.

”Oh no,” said the well-clad nobleman and nearly let go of the bloody thing. He caught himself, holding on firmly to the hilt because this was an expensive and overly ornamental heirloom that wasn’t destined for the gutter. The poor fellow on the other end of the blade however, was.

”By the Gods!” the nobleman gasped. ”By Hannibal, Moor, and Lord Diedrich!” he added and closed his eyes. ”By San and Liel almighty, let this not be true…”

It was, his eyes would tell him the second he opened them. For a moment they gave him a brief respite, and he was thankful for it.

In his hand was the blade of his great-grandfather, stained by the barkeep’s blood. And in the gutter, the poor barkeep, who really didn’t deserve this, was dying. Who could deserve this dirty mingling of lifeblood, feces, vomit, and garbage thrown from the windows above?

Lionel Estam Thilees’s 17th birthday wasn’t going as planned.

The sword didn’t look right on the mantle above the lavish fireplace, still burning despite the lower floors of the house being all but deserted. Lionel knew why the sword didn’t look right, despite having cleaned it, aligned it with the old shield and helmet, as well as moved it back and forth in its cradle. It was fouled now, and so were his hands. He looked at them, confused.

Sure, the barkeep had tried to charge him and his friends more. And, yes, said barkeep had indeed tried to rob Lionel of all his possessions, possibly murdering him or taking him hostage, but was that such a crime? Lionel reckoned that it was, but the punishment seemed a bit harsh, although he could reason that the court would have deemed the judgment fair, sans the

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torture of course. Still, being the executioner was not something that befitted this young man—not at all.

It was Lionel's first kill, and it didn’t sit well with him one bit.Lionel slumped back in a chair and looked for something to drink, but the

crystalline canister on the table was empty, and he didn’t have the willpower to call the servants, nor go looking for drink himself. Doing so would risk waking up his father, and he would no doubt have a thing or two to say about this sordid affair.

What now? Sleep eluded him, although Lionel was weary.What would his punishment be?If the city guard caught on to him, well, that wasn’t even worth his time to

dwell upon. Self defense, his father would see to that if nothing else, and it was somewhat the truth after all. But beyond that?

Lionel was shivering. Upstairs, his father, the royal treasurer, was sound asleep. A harsh and cruel man, his father did not share love for any of his children.

The decision was made then. In hindsight Lionel would see that it was a rash one, but at the time he deemed it right. The sword fastened at his side once more, Lionel Estam Thilees left the estate. He would strike out on his own, become a man, and free himself of the shackles of the life of the nobleman.

How naive he was.

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”Are you lost?”The voice was not unpleasant, nor without warmth, but it still startled

Lionel. He had been unintentionally nodding off in an alley not far from the eastern gate, the docks, and perhaps freedom.

”No,” Lionel managed, trying to focus on the man in rags in front of him.”Well, son, you’re not in the right place, that’s for sure.””I suppose not,” which was an understatement if there ever was one. The

low two-story buildings along the eastern wall, all the way up to Bakus Square, were derelict and dangerous dwellings. Here lived the beggars, the thieves, and the ill, along with the sailors left behind. It was not a place Lionel was used to visiting, and looking around he realized that he stood out.

No doubt seeing the young nobleman’s epiphany, the ragged man smiled crookedly. ”There are people who would trade for your clothes, son.”

Of course there were.

Lionel sat by the docks, basking in the morning sun and eating pieces of a smoked salmon from a tiny basket made of paper and tied weeds. The fish was too salty, but he felt taste in his mouth in a way that he hadn’t for a long time.

”What now, son?” asked the ragged man, shuffling up to his side.The ragged man had indeed helped Lionel trade his clothes for more

suitable garments, a simple brown tunic, a shirt and coarse dark pants, along with sturdy leather boots and a less flamboyant sheath for his sword. To avoid standing out even further, Lionel had wrapped the elaborate hilt with leather straps, and had taken care to massage some dirt on to his face and into his long auburn hair, now tied in a ponytail.

”You almost look the part,” said the ragged man.”The part of what?””Of a sailor.”

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”What do you mean?”But the ragged man only smiled and shuffled away. Lionel paid him no

heed, something he would come to regret. He would also regret that this would be the last smoked salmon he would ever truly enjoy, thanks to the sudden nausea and blood, as well as the splitting pain in his head. The pain had less to do with the fish and more to do with the bludgeon taken to his skull.

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Vomit, piss, shit, and a touch of blood were the smells that struck him first. Then they became a taste, and his body participated in making this particular stew even richer, by throwing up.

Smoked salmon filled his entire world as he drifted off again.

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”Wake up, whelp!”He really felt the third kick, so he opened his eyes.”Time to work!” said a big burly man smelling of stale ale and stinking of

sweat. The world was moving.”Work?” said a voice that had to be his own, although it sounded hoarse

and weak, and a little strange, almost alien.”Yes, work, you lazy little bastard. On deck! Now!”Another kick, and then the big guy moved on to the next poor body on the

floor, half a step away. What is this place?”You’re on a ship, son,” said a man in ragged clothes and smiled a crooked

grin. ”And you’re here to work,” he added. ”Sorry.””Sorry?”The ragged man just looked at him, his smile fading a bit.”What am I doing on a ship?””You’re working. Just like all of us, son. I don’t do the same kind of work,

though. Sorry about that.””Sorry for what?”The ragged man just looked at him again. ”Are you all right?””I’m… I’m not sure,” answered the young man. ”Do you by any chance

have any idea who I am?”

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My name is Estam, I know that much. It came to me last night; I just awoke and remembered.

I don’t remember much else, other than that I don’t belong on this ship. No surprises there, the old man in rags told me as much. I think he feels sympathy for my situation, although he doesn’t seem to express the same sympathy for the other poor sods on this vessel.

The ship is a smuggler with a fairly small crew. We’re carrying pelts and grain, but there is something else on board that I’m not privy to. I don’t think I care what, although I do feel I have lost something valuable, so perhaps whatever cargo we’re carrying is that something. I don’t know, and part of me really doesn’t want to bother with knowing. That surprises me, and makes me wonder what sort of predicament I was in before this happened.

My head still hurts at times, but I can see properly again. That is something.

For some reason I can’t stand the smell of smoked fish, especially not salmon. Perhaps I used to smoke a lot of fish in the past?

Despite my conjectures and half-memories, nothing adds up. My hands are soft and prone to blisters, my body strong but not used to the scorching sun at sea, but the others don’t complain. We’re not from the same place, they and I, and that makes me feel alone. I am alone also, with my thoughts, ignored and avoided by the crew. Only the ragged man speaks to me, out of pity, with nothing to say nor any answers to give.

We are far from land. I will have to bide my time.

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Life on a smuggler is hard, especially for someone who hasn’t done a real day’s work in his entire life. Yet you survive, and so did our young friend. He was growing up to be the man he wanted to be during those weeks, changing his visage from a posh young nobleman, to the sunburnt sailor that soon learned to snap to commands.

”If you behave, they will let you go,” said the man in rags one afternoon when the wind was absent and there was nothing to polish. The crew loitered on deck, mostly in the shade when it was available, throwing dice, and talking quietly amongst themselves. The first mate was at the helm, and the captain was nowhere to be seen.

”Left ashore somewhere,” Estam said. ”Yes, so I’ve gathered. So why are you still here, old man?”

The man in rags smiled. ”Where would I go?”There was some truth to that. Where would Estam go, should he get the

chance to step ashore? Would he look for his past, or chase his future? He didn’t know.

The wind was picking up.

They almost perished that night. The storm was brutal, fierce, and unforgiving. The first mate fell overboard and no one did anything to save him. He was apparently not very well liked, and thus his life was not worth the risk and effort to save. There was something simple and honest about that, Estam thought.

The captain took the helm and when the sky finally cracked open to reveal a glimmer of the dawn, the crew let go of a collective sigh of relief.

Estam slumped against the rails, looking up at the captain.She was beautiful, with long black hair like a lioness of the night, standing

proud at the helm.Her sword was also beautiful. Estam instantly wanted it.

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That sword stood out, and not only because the captain carried it leisurely at her hip, making it sway with every step she took, a creature aligned with the sea. Why he wanted the thing Estam could not say. At first he thought it was sheer sexual attraction to the woman that made him want to possess her every being, including her clothes and affects, but that soon passed. Or rather, he made it pass in the darkest hours of the night.

But the sword would not leave his mind.She was as tall as he was, and a stern leader. There was no fooling around

when she was nearby, no grumbling behind her back, and no slacking off. How this fairly young woman could command so much respect Estam could not say. He did notice that while most of the crew seemed to respect and adore her almost to the point of worship, there were those who stayed away.

There was no new first mate. Estam found that a bit peculiar, but what did he know about ship customs anyway? He continued to keep his head down and observe.

”What is it, sailor?” the captain asked him.Estam looked up, slightly startled and flushing. ”What captain?” he

blurted.”You are staring at me so intently that something must clearly be wrong.

What is it, sailor?” she demanded again.Her eyes bore through him and he had a hard time making his voice stay

firm. Estam straightened and stood, meeting her gaze, but instantly realizing how he failed to assert control over situation.

”Nothing is wrong, captain,” he said, forcing himself to keep his gaze locked on her.

She tilted her head slightly, a flicker of a smile, or perhaps a sneer, at the edge of her mouth. The captain held the stare for a moment longer, not backing down the slightest and making Estam perspire under his shirt, torturing him. Then she turned and walked away.

Estam’s shoulders sagged and he slumped down again. His shift wasn’t due for another hour or so, but he wished that wasn’t so, he needed the distraction.

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”Son, don’t do that again,” said the man in rags.”Go away.””I am serious. She will throw you overboard.””I doubt that. Go away.””Or I will.”Estam didn’t bother to answer that, so the man in rags shuffled away.”Wait!” he called after him suddenly.The man in rags stopped, looking back at the young man at the rails.”What’s her... the captain’s... name?””Ceni,” said the man in rags. ”But don’t tell anyone I told you so.”Captain Ceni. What kind of a name is that? Apparently one you can’t get

out of your head.

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The seagulls told of land before Estam realized it was close. The men were joyous, but he didn’t know what to expect. Would the captain let him ashore, or would he be held captive? Probably the latter, since there was no reason for him not to escape if whatever port they were making was big enough. He turned to the man in rags about the matter.

”We’ll see,” said the man in rags, and that was the extent of that particular conversation. Estam immediately felt it had been a waste of time.

”Smoke!” came the call from the crow’s nest, and the crew looked to the southeast. Indeed, there were smoke rising to the heavens, a dark plume, one of fire and ash.

”Stay sharp,” was the captain’s orders as she took the helm.

The port of Shambon was in flames, they could see that clearly while keeping their distance. The harbor was all but ruined, with half-sunken ships, mostly smaller trade vessels but at least one that had probably been a warship. Estam couldn’t make out the details this far from shore, but he thought there was fighting in the streets.

”This is unfortunate,” said the man in rags, and shuffled below deck.Captain Ceni stood like a marble statue by the helm, staring at their

destination.There was no way they could make port here.

”We are making for a cove east of the city,” said the captain a few hours later. They had taken the ship out of sight from Shambon, should anyone be watching Estam presumed. ”A small party will land and make the delivery, and then we will be on our way.”

”No shore time?” ventured a salty dog. The captain just looked at him until he lowered his eyes. ”No shore time. Aye, captain,” he said.

”This will be dangerous,” said captain Ceni. ”You will draw straws to

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decide who will go ashore.”Later that night, the ship anchored outside a calm cove, they drew straws.

The man in rags smiled sadly, he had drawn a short straw and would thus be in the landing party.

Estam took his, as did everyone else, but suddenly the captain was beside him. ”Not you, sailor,” she said, and put her hand on his, covering his straw. It made his heart race, and he felt his face flush, but he could not say whether it was because he was being excluded from something he felt was exciting, or because the touch was excitable.

Why did he react like that? Had he not felt excitement before, or was it a sign or things he was actually used to? Or did he yearn for the captain that much? He didn’t know, and it frustrated him immensely.

As the landing party of six climbed into the rowboat, Estam was nearly certain that this was not what he had been doing before. He was actually quite relieved not having to go on a mission to a possibly hostile city, making an unknown delivery. He had in fact not even seen what the landing party was carrying, so it couldn’t be anything big.

The captain was beside him again. This time she did not startle him; he smelled her scent, a pleasant mix of salt and warmth without the pungent stink of man sweat.

”Come with me,” she said, and he followed her into her cabin.It wasn’t big, but it was the ship’s stateroom. It had a table and a heavy

chair, a bunk and a chest, as well as a simple bookshelf. All bolted to the ship’s hull, all very organized. A map lay on the table, held in place by tin mugs.

The captain filled a mug with wine and handed it to him without a word.”To the Whisperer,” she said and raised her glass. Estam only looked at

her inquiringly, which made a small smile break through her cold visage, cracking the facade, playing on her lips for just a moment. It was a pretty smile, one full of mischief. ”It’s the ship’s name, sailor,” she said.

Estam smiled and drank. The wine was a bit sour, full-bodied with a lot of alcohol. He detected a scent of rum, and of strong leaves, possibly some exotic tea. It was not an unpleasant taste, albeit somewhat unexpected.

Captain Ceni looked at him. Estam did his best to meet her gaze, but he

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found himself looking around the stateroom, looking at the bed, thinking of whatever the two of them could be doing there.

”They say you don’t remember,” the captain said, shattering his fantasies. ”That you do not know who you are.”

It was not a question, more of a statement, but he answered anyway. ”That’s right, I don’t. I guess I have you to thank for that,” he added, with a bit more rancor than he had intended. His previous amorous thoughts were suddenly replaced with anger bordering on rage.

”I guess you do,” the captain said in a flat voice. ”It matters not.””It matters to me!” he blurted out.A knife came out of nowhere, its point nearly puncturing Estam’s eye. He

froze. She was fast, this one, and where did that knife even come from?”Do no, I repeat, do not ever talk back to me, sailor,” she said with

unnerving calm. ”I will have your eye, your hand, your balls, and your heart faster than you’d begin to think talking back was a bad idea.”

Estam looked at the knife’s tip, trying hard to focus on it. ”All right,” he said. ”Captain.”

She held the knife in position a moment longer, but then lowered it, hiding it behind her back, while taking a drink.

”Besides, you should thank me you know,” she said.”How so, captain?””You might not know who you were, but that matters not. It is who you

are now, and what that will make you become, that matters.”Estam was taken aback by the sudden philosophical advice, so he drank,

mulling over her words. He did want to know who he had been, but her words rang true, what was yet to come was more important. And then there was that nagging feeling that he really didn’t care about his past, an ambivalence that was hard to explain.

”Have you seen this sword before?” the captain asked, and drew her magnificent weapon. It was a slender blade, but strong and clear, with an edge that no doubt would cut through most limbs. The pommel was ornate gold, silver, and steel, and the hilt had three rubies or similar rocks embossed, as well as some ancient markings whose meaning Estam couldn’t parse. It was an elaborate, almost excessive sword, an exquisite piece of craftsmanship

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to say the least. It had to be worth a lot of money.Estam needed this sword, he felt it in his heart that he should have it.”No, captain,” he answered, but his mouth was as dry as his tin mug.

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”Where are the rest?”The man in rags was helped on board. Below, the rowboat was empty. The

questions began raining upon the man, but he held his head low and gasped for air.

”Give him room,” commanded captain Ceni as she pushed through the crowd on deck.

Estam stayed by the mainmast, watching the spectacle. The man in rags gave the captain a small package, which she immediately pocketed.

”What happened?” she asked at last.The man in rags coughed.”Estam! A mug of wine from my cabin, now!”Hopping to it, Estam wondered why she would send him for wine in her

cabin, but he complied. Mere moments later the man in rags gulped down the spirit, and for the first time he met the eyes of his onlookers. The man looked at Estam but just as quickly looked away.

”It was an ambush, I think. Or maybe we were just unlucky. Swords everywhere, they’re all dead. None survived.”

The captain looked at the man in rags, but he had lowered his gaze again. Was that a dubious look on her face, or was she just not surprised by this turn of events?

”No one?” asked someone, and the ragged man shook his hand.The captain straightened and sniffed the air. There wasn’t as much as a

whiff of wind. She stood still for a moment, making up her mind. ”Break out a barrel of rum,” she said at last. ”Tonight we mourn, tomorrow we hope for some wind so we can get out of this place.”

With that, the captain disappeared while sailors went for mugs and the rum barrel, talking quietly amongst themselves.

”Follow me,” said the captain, and Estam complied.

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Estam stood silent as the captain unfolded the package on her table. She took out a pack of paper notes and a map. As she was twisting and turning the map, studying it, shuffling among the notes, her shoulders slumped.

”This is not good,” she said quietly.”Captain?”She stood up and turned around, looking very tired. That just made her

more beautiful, and Estam hated her for it.”There is something at play here, Estam. Until I know what, you have to

stay sharp.””Me, captain?”She smiled, a sad smile. ”Not remembering anything can be a good thing,

it would seem.””Are you implying what I think you’re implying, captain?”The smile hardened, her jaw tightened. ”Yes,” she said. ”This night might

see blood.”

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The lights were doused at night as always, but this night the darkness bothered Estam. He didn’t know what was wrong, but the captain seemed certain enough that something was amiss that she had told him, of all people.

What had she found out from the notes and the map? It must have been a double cross of some sort that gave away whatever danger she was expecting.

Still, it was peculiar, Estam thought, as the watch changed for the second time this night. Why had the ragged man gotten away but nobody else? Sure, Shambon and its docks were perhaps not in flames anymore, but there was unrest, that much they had seen the other day, but if this was a matter of bad luck, of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, then the man in rags would be the last one Estam would’ve thought to be shuffling away to safety.

Something didn’t smell right.Estam yawned. A handful of sailors were still on deck, standing around,

sitting, waiting. It was well past midnight.Then it struck him: Something really didn’t smell right. What is that

smell?A tin mug on a barrel by his side caught his attention. It contained a few

drops of rum at the bottom. The rum smelled stale but poignant. It did not smell anything like any rum Estam had tried aboard the ship, but that doesn’t have to mean anything.

He looked around at the sailors loitering the deck. None of them were drinking; in fact most of them didn't even have mugs nearby. And none were looking his way.

This couldn’t be good.It wasn’t.The ragged man appeared from belowdecks, nodding to the awaiting

sailors. They were six in total, which means another seven were belowdecks. A sailor maked a small but obvious gesture toward Estam, and the ragged man looked straight at him.

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He shuffled over, wrapped in a blanket.”Well, well, well,” he said. ”Can’t sleep, son?”Estam forced a smile. ”I guess not.””Smart boy. A little too smart, methinks.”Estam said nothing.”What are we going to do with you?””I guess it would depend on what you’re going to do?”The man in rags snorted. ”You know.””Yes, I know. Now what?””Stay clear and you go free. Out of all this, here or at another port if you’d

rather not walk into Shambon’s little war.””And if not?””You know that too.””Why?””Ah, that ever-present big question little boys want to ask their betters,”

sneered the ragged man. ”Money. Justice. Boredom. All those things and more, perhaps. Or maybe it is an ideological battle, perhaps it is the beginning of a big scheme, or maybe I just don’t like the captain very much. Who cares?”

”And the rest of the crew?””They’re dead tired, so to speak.”Damn.”I’m actually happy that you stayed off the booze tonight, son. You’re

more than welcome to look away, since you don’t have anything to do with this lot. You’ve earned the right, given that I got you on this tub after all. So look away. Go away. Don’t come out until it is over.”

There weren’t many options.”What’s it going to be, son?”Estam backed away toward the bow of the ship.”Smart boy,” the man in rags said again, and rejoined the other sailors.The sailors were between Estam and the captain’s cabin, but they were

apparently not ready to make their move just yet. What were they waiting for? Together they should be able to overpower the captain, no doubt about that.

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Then he saw it, a tiny light at a distance, and it was growing stronger.Unwanted company.

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This just won’t do. I won’t stand for it.Estam was a bit surprised with himself as he slid over the rails, climbing

on the outside of the ship, toward the captain's cabin. He wasn’t surprised that he could pull it off—after all, he’d been a ship’s hand for some time now—but he also felt instinctively that this wasn’t that much of a challenge.

I wonder what else I can do, he mused.Reaching the captain’s cabin, Estam gently tapped the foggy window.A blade greeted his skull, forcing him to lean backwards violently to avoid

being cut, and losing his grip.But the captain had him by the collar.The window was too small for Estam to squeeze through.”So it has happened,” she whispered. ”What’s going on?””There are six sailors on deck, and the man in rags insinuated that the

ones belowdecks aren’t waking up anytime soon.””The man in rags?” the captain asked incredulously. ”You don’t know his

name? Ah, never mind, it doesn’t matter.””Now what?””Now what, captain,” captain Ceni absently corrected him, but without

any rancor in her voice. ”Well I guess we’ll have to cut them down for mutiny.”

Estam didn’t quite know how he felt about that.

It wasn’t much of a plan. In fact, it was madness, but for some reason the young man found some comfort in that.

Sometimes the most incredulous schemes turn out quite pleasant, he thought, but it wasn’t his inner voice that told him this. Fragments, all these fragments, they were getting on his nerves.

Getting belowdecks wasn’t hard. There were a loading hatch at the bow, and the six mutineers paid him no heed. He absently wondered why the man

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in rags was so intent on letting him live. He did imply that the rest of the crew was dead after all, but that was food for thought another day.

It was eerily quiet belowdecks, which spoke volumes, but Estam had to be sure. He sneaked toward the stern, toward the sleeping quarters. Not a snore, not a cough, not even a breath came from the bodies camped there. They were all quite dead. A chill ran up his spine as he stifled a curse and a prayer. There was no room for that here, nor, he wagered, was anyone listening.

The powder kegs were where she said they would be. His hand shook as he made a long fuse. Outside he could hear muffled calls from the sea, the visitors where closer than he’d suspected. Better tweak the plan a bit, then, and just like that his hand was steady, he struck light at first try, and the fuse was lit.

There was no time to go back the same way he’d taken belowdecks, not now, not with the fuse cut in half. Estam wished he’d been able to get something more dangerous than a dagger with him from the captain’s cabin. There was no shortage of cutlasses and other blades, but he wasn’t able to climb with more than a small blade between his teeth. Besides, he’d managed to cut himself while climbing, so it was probably for the best.

The only way out was the no doubt still closed hatch by the cabin, passing by the mutineers. And, to make matters worse, all too close to both the powder kegs and whatever brigands were getting ready to board.

Not much to do about that.He sprung the hatch, threw himself out, rolled, and stopped on one knee

just beside the man in rags.”What the…” the surprised man began, producing two curved daggers

almost impossibly fast, but Estam threw himself onward, slamming his head in the railing on the other side.

The captain’s cabin door swung open, and she emerged with a roar.”Mutiny! You dogs!”The mutineers turned their attention to the captain, three of them

advancing while two were throwing lines to a longboat in the water.The man in rags stood back. He looked first at the captain, and then

sideways to Estam.”You. What have you done, son?” he asked, his voice carrying a menace

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Estam hadn’t heard before. His knives gleamed in the flicker from the lanterns as he advanced.

Estam got up, brandishing a dagger of his own, lowering his posture into a sideways crouch.

Which made the man in rags laugh out loud, a short and harsh laugh that no doubt startled his fellow mutineers more than it did the captain, because the next moment her sword slit through a sailor’s throat and he was taking his very last breaths in this world.

”You’re not fencing for glory, city boy,” sneered the man in rags, as he lashed out with precision and speed, almost taking the hand of the surprised young man. The man in rags stepped around, moving swiftly and with deadly purpose. Estam had no doubt that this was a warrior, a killer, and a murderer who knew his trade.

But he only needed a little more time.Behind them, the first newcomers clambered on board, and the second

mutineer sailor fell, but the captain cried out as well, as if wounded.Just a little more time.”What do you mean?” Estam yelled out, as he threw himself away from

the man in rags, hitting the main mast with his shoulder and spinning around involuntarily.

The curved blade opened a long gash across his chest, making Estam stumble backwards. He lashed out with his dagger, just to get some space, but the man in rags where nowhere near.

”Hah! A child’s form, a ridiculous whelp. I will cut you up until you’re just barely alive, and then I will keep you like that until I find use for you, son.”

Estam twisted on the deck, looking down the cargo hatch. The fuse was gone.

And then the powder kegs blew the side of the ship apart, hurling intruders, mutineers, and captain alike into the inky water.

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The water was dark and cold. A trail of blood followed Estam down into the darkness, and his dazed mind wondered where it would all end.

I shall meet with the mermaids and the kings of the abyss, and we shall have drinks and tell tall tales of adventure on the high seas, he thought.

I shall breathe water and live on seashells and crayfish. My being will haunt the seas forever, and the evils of the sea shall perish at my hand from beyond this plane, from beyond this existence, from beyond it all.

I shall…

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He let go of the heavy truss, and swam back to reality.

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You’re alive.Yes.You’re alive, so wake up.Wake up son.Estam shot back to reality and spat water and blood and algae. He fell on

his back, forced by hands and the firm bandage across his chest.”I said you’re alive,” said the former captain Ceni and smiled. She looked

very tired.”What happened?” he asked incredulously.Ceni actually laughed, a clear and joyous laughter.”Don’t make me tell you,” she said.On the other side of the ridge, Shambon was in flames yet again. At sea, a

hulk of what had been the smuggler ship Whisperer was being claimed by the sea, along with its dead crew.

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”Have you seen anyone else?” asked Estam, as they sat around the small cooking fire Ceni had built. He guessed not since she’d dared the fire.

”No,” she answered. ”They’re with the sea now.”They didn’t say anything else that night, but both of them knew that if

they could’ve survived, so could someone else.Estam woke at dawn, feeling battered, cold, and hungry. Ceni was already

up, hiding their tracks. The beach consisted mostly of big slates of rocks, making her task easy, but they had made some tracks in the occasional speck of dirt, and then there was the long dead fire.

”Good morning,” Estam said, but the former captain merely nodded.He felt vulnerable and uncertain as he stood and stretched. Now what?

She obviously thought the same thing.”You should run,” she said. ”There are settlements beyond the ridges. You

could reach them in a day or two.””What about you?””I was double-crossed. I figure they owe me a ship.””Funny how that goes.”She spun around, facing him dead on, hand on the hilt of that sword of

hers, which, just as strongly as before, Estam suddenly felt he should have. It belongs in my hand, he thought.

She obviously saw him look at it. ”You want this, do you? Want to exact your vengeance on me, stab me in the dark and leave me to rot for stranding you here on this sorry rock?”

He hadn’t thought of it that way.”Well you can’t have it,” she said, flashed a grin, and turned around.Obviously, he thought.”Catch!” she called, and a cutlass, in its scabbard luckily, nearly hit Estam

across the face.”What about exacting vengeance and everything?” he asked.

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”I figure you would’ve done so with the help of our mutineering friends, had your mind been set on it.”

”So now what?””I told you.””Well, I’m coming. So there.””You’ll have to follow my lead. I’m still your captain, we’re just not at sea

at the moment, and in the market for a new vessel. Understood?””Aye captain.”Estam followed his captain up the ridge, towards Shambon. There were a

lot of unanswered questions, but he was biding his time. There was also that sword. My sword, he thought. It shall be mine.

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Shambon was literally on fire. Estam and Ceni stood on the ridge looking down on the pyre that had once been the port. Carcasses of ships littered what remained of the docks, making port impossible even if anyone had wanted to.

”They sunk the ships, the bastards sunk the ships,” said Ceni through gritted teeth.

”Who?””The Emboli traders,” said Ceni. ”Shambon is halfway to the Empire

ports, and halfway to the Emboli Conclave. Let’s put it this way, the Emperor and the Emboli council aren’t on speaking terms.”

Estam realized that he knew as much. There was political tension, buccaneers, and outright attacks poorly masked as piracy between the two trade powers. The Empire to the East, the Thousand Isles in the middle, where Shambon was a central port at times despite it being something of a backwater, and the Emboli Conclave on the other side of The Reef-And-Rift. This knowledge made him quiet, but Ceni didn’t mind. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

At last they made their way down to Shambon. The city was in disarray, people were fighting fire here and there, and there was ransacking in broad daylight.

”Not a guard in sight,” observed Estam.”They're probably holed up in their forts.”Estam had seen them as they sailed in. Small but heavily defensed forts

dotted the coastline. The forts were remnants of a time when Shambon had been an imperial province; now it was a free state, as was every city within the Thousand Isles. The forts were certainly proving useful for whatever faction ruled Shambon these days.

”So they leave the city to the looters.””Yes,” Ceni said. ”To the looters, and to us.”

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The pair strode along what was obviously the main street, toward the markets, or what was left of them anyway. As Estam made mental notes of all the landmarks, he had no doubt they were heading for the better parts of the city. As was probably every opportunistic cutthroat stranded here. He could sense them, and so could Ceni, the people darting in the alleys.

People looked at them, with fear or hatred or both, but none challenged the pair. Ceni strode proudly with a hard look, meaning business. By contrast the soot-stained broken bodies that inhabited the streets of Shambon looked harmless, but Estam knew better. There were people here who wouldn’t think twice to cut their throats, he saw it in their eyes, in their hatred, and wondered how he could spot this so easily, but had missed the intentions of the man in rags.

”We're here,” Ceni declared, and almost kicked in the door to the three story building before refraining herself.

Estam looked up at the impressive house. These were the merchant quarters he surmised, and this was obviously the home of a wealthy person. The windows were barred, the house scarred by fire but not badly burned nor damaged. He saw cracks here and there around the windows, but that was probably more a matter of hasty fortification than anything else. In fact, the house looked fairly untouched compared to the other houses around it, some gaping eerily toward the street, hulls of what had been homes, holders of lives. Not this one.

Ceni turned to him then. ”This will be dangerous,” she said.”What can we expect?””Knives and death.””Why?””Because they don’t like me anymore.””Who are they?”To that, she just looked at him, her eyes telling him that it was not time for

this particular conversation just yet.She drew her fabulous sword, and Estam drew his cutlass. He almost

wanted to bury it in her back, but the urge passed before it could really take root. The elaborate sword she was carrying was alluring, but so was she, and

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he had not yet decided which he wanted most.

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The door fell off on his third try. It had been bolted down tight, but Estam was not the first one to put his weight to it. He fell into the murky hallway, the wind blasting out of his lungs as he hit the floor.

Ceni stepped by him, meeting the blade that would’ve killed the young man with ease.

Her form was truly magnificent: She was quick, nimble, and her every move had a particular grace. The sword cut through air, cloth, and flesh, and the battle was over before it even began.

”Pitiful,” she spat at the old man slumping to the ground, blood gushing from his belly from a clean stab. The man dropped his sword, clutching the wound.

”Not all can be great captains of prey,” he coughed.”No, they cannot,” she said. ”Is he in?”The old man tried to laugh but it became a coughing fit instead, and he fell

over on the floor. Estam thought that his last breaths were laughter caught in his throat.

Together they walked down the hallway, their only light coming from the sun outside, slipping through the cracks by the windows. It was enough to see, but also enough to stay unseen. Who knew what was lurking in the shadows?

”He’ll be on the third floor. Stay alert.”Estam followed Ceni up the stairs.

The first trap almost got her. She barely got away with a cut across the thigh, as the moon-shaped blade slashed out of the wall.

”Pressure plate,” she said. ”Stay alert.”Her voice was slightly shaken. Estam wondered what their chances were,

and what sort of twisted man would keep traps like these. He had never heard of anything like it, and yet the wealth of the surroundings felt strangely

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familiar. There were tapestries and metalwork by artisans—this was a house of the rich and untouchable, and Estam felt at home. He also felt appalled and slightly nauseous.

Maybe it was the gloom, and the danger lurking in the walls—deadly machinery, springs and traps. The deadly contraptions did not fit in; he did not recognize this at all, despite feeling right at home in the surroundings.

The pair moved silently now, listening to the creaking floorboards and keeping an eye out for anything unusual. Ceni disabled a tripwire on the second floor, springing the trap, but Estam reset it when he had passed. She gave him a curious look, but did not object.

The pair by-stepped a pressure plate in the stairs up toward the third floor, Estam noticing the telltale signs of modification. It was dark, but not so dark that he couldn’t see where the blades, or whatever sinister weapon the master of the manor had hidden in the walls, would slash out. Spotting traps you know to look for wasn’t as hard as one would think, he noted, and Ceni did too as he stopped her from a tripwire.

”This guy’s crazy,” Estam whispered.She just smiled, a twisted evil grin making her look even more deadly. And

more beautiful. Estam hated her for it.

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The final trap proved too much, as final traps often do. It would seem the simplest traps were the hardest to avoid, because when the bolt hit Ceni straight in the chest on the third floor, it was fired by a human being hiding in the shadows.

She fell forward, and Estam reacted. The assailant hadn’t expected that, perhaps he didn’t know the young man was there, but he still managed to get out of the way. The cutlass dug into the wood behind him, and the man drew his dagger.

Estam was faster, throwing a punch to his temple, staggering the man. The cutlass wasn’t going anywhere fast, so Estam let it be, instead throttling the man. Somehow Estam managed to draw his knife as the men struggled on the ground, and it was over just like that, a quick slash and gash, and the spurt of blood.

Estam sat up, gasping for air. His shirtfront was smeared with blood; he thought it was from the dead man underneath him but he honestly couldn’t tell. His whole body hurt, and he didn’t feel a thing.

Estam disentangled himself from the corpse and looked around.Ceni sat against the wall by the stairs. He could see that she was bleeding.

He could also see small bits of dust in the air and sunshine dancing through the wood, and hear how the rays of light sang their sad song of dying in the dark.

”Captain,” said a rasping voice on the other side of the room, ”are you dead yet?”

”No, Trevor, I am not.””I’m glad.”Estam didn’t believe that for one second. Then he found the dart in his

hand.

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The man called Trevor was tall and slender, dressed in dark fine pants and a modest shirt. He wore an embroidered vest, the exquisite needlework breaking through the gloom as he stepped into the room. He had a slender sword at his hip, hand on the pommel, and a long dagger on the other side. The man looked dangerous.

”Why don’t we take a walk, Trevor?” said Ceni.”I would but you don’t look like you could keep up with my pace,” the

man countered with a cold smile. His teeth were ridiculously white, his skin pale. Both light and darkness surrounded him, his movement flickered behind him.

Estam tried to get up, tried to get away, tried to find strength, but all he could do was look at the dart in his hand.

”Ah, and what have we here? Bringing the ship’s hand, are we captain?”Estam blinked and finally managed to pull out the dart. It didn’t exactly

hurt, but he didn’t feel too good.”Poison?” he asked incredulously.”I would imagine so,” said Trevor without compassion, without caring.

”Although what sort one could only speculate.””Antidote?”Trevor smiled and shrugged. The man had almost no lips.”Aren’t you wondering why?” Trevor asked the captain, appearing to

forget about Estam altogether. As if he wasn’t interested.”Because you’re a lying scumbag who should’ve been left in the dark.”That smile again, and those teeth. They were so white they hurt Estam’s

eyes.”Now now, don’t be like that, these the last moments of your pitiful life,

captain. Despite all, I do still hold you dear and it would be a shame if that were to change here at the end.”

Ceni only snorted at that, her demeanor softened only by the cough she

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couldn’t manage to suppress.”As to the reason, then,” Trevor began.”The dog bought you.”Anger. Estam could see it flickering in those eyes. What color were they?

He couldn’t tell. But the man was so very white.”I am not for sale,” Trevor said coldly.”That's not what I hear. Or what they say.””Gossip does not concern me, captain.””Maybe this should.”Estam almost fell backwards but the dead body on the floor stopped him.

He hadn’t realized he was trying to get up. Neither Ceni nor Trevor paid him any mind.

”It doesn't matter,” Trevor said at last.”He will destroy you, you know. When he’s done with you and your kind,

he will destroy you.””He needs me and you know it. Or perhaps you don’t, perhaps I’m giving

you too much credit, captain. Perhaps you can’t see what's happening, how the world is changing.”

”Perhaps you should look to your own, Trevor.”There was that anger again. It was something fierce, almost making his

entire face disappear in eery darkness. Something around him, on him, inside him was trying to engulf his being. Estam shook his head and the darkness vanished; he could focus again. He finally managed to open a leather pouch on the dead man’s belt. It was empty.

”That…” Trevor began, his voice strained, but he got it under control almost instantly. ”That is a different matter. I have heard it also. It is being taken care of.”

”How the mighty have fallen,” sneered Ceni. There was contempt in her voice, but Estam thought it was faked, a provocation, one that seemed to hit home.

The room flickered and suddenly Trevor stood looming over Ceni, moving impossibly fast.

”Captain,” he said. ”You’re trying my patience.””The truth is trying your patience.”

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”War is upon us. He will win. You cannot deny this.””I’m no back-alley soothsayer, Trevor. If it is war, then war it is. It changes

nothing, it just postpones your own end.””Yours is coming a lot sooner than mine, captain.”Ceni smiled sweetly. ”I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”Estam stood up, aimed, and fired the crossbow bolt. It hit Trevor square in

the back.”You whelp!” he roared, the mere force of his voice sending chills down

Estam's spine.Trevor’s sword was out in an instant, his dagger also. Estam pulled back

and fired another bolt, but Trevor moved too fast and it hit the wall beside him.

”I shall cut you to pieces for your insolence!”Estam actually smiled. ”I don’t think so.”

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The thing about swords is that they are sharp. At times they can be found protruding another person’s body, breaking through on the other side.

As the exquisite blade broke through Trevor’s ribcage, blood spurted everywhere. The look of surprise on his face and the lack of sound leaving his lips would haunt Estam’s dreams for years to come. Trevor looked at the blade sticking out of his chest, at Estam, and it seemed as if he wanted to turn around to look at Ceni, but he just couldn’t twist away.

Instead he fell to his knees, blinked, and fell forward, hitting the floor hard.

Estam dropped the crossbow, stared at the body on the floor for a moment, and then looked at Ceni. She stood slumped against the wall, her shirt red with blood from the bolt.

Her sword fell to the floor. She was smiling.

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Somehow Ceni and Estam managed to escape Shambon to one of the forts. Estam had done some looting of his own, and paid off the guards with money taken from Trevor’s house. This bought the pair a room to stay in, and much needed food and rest.

It took three days before they spoke a word to each other.”How did you beat the poison?” asked Ceni. She was sitting on the bed,

not touching her soup. Estam sat by the small desk in the room, eating his own soup. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he didn’t know what would happen and he would rather have his strength if the revolt in Shambon should spread up here.

He put down his spoon, smiling inwardly at the very first thing the captain said to him after the ordeal. ”I didn’t,” he said.

”You didn’t?””It was only a scratch, I felt the poison strongly at first, but then it

subsided. I needed time.””To find a weapon,” she said. ”I'll have to make sure you're better

equipped next time.””To find a weapon, yes, but also to get some answers.”Ceni smiled. ”And did you?””No,” Estam said and smiled. ”I did collect a few more questions though.””I would imagine so,” she said. ”Now what?”Estam’s eyes inadvertently drifted to the beautiful sword that leaned

against the bedpole. As ever, something about it called to him, despite it being almost too elaborate, with scripture and rubies and gold and silver.

”You want the sword,” Ceni stated.Estam didn’t answer immediately. Did he want it? Part of him did, he

thought, but there was something else as well, some part of him that didn’t want anything to do with it. That was the same part that wanted to strike out, to leave this place and find another life. So he didn’t know where he came

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from, or entirely who he was. So what if the only thing he owned in the world was his name, and he wasn’t even sure if it was his? What did it matter?

”Where did you get it?” he asked at last.”From your friend, the traitor.””He was not my friend. Before I woke up on the ship I had never seen him

in my entire life. Not that I know of anyway. Some friend, if he was in fact my friend before all of this.”

”Indeed. And peculiar, because he was not part of my crew before you joined.”

”He wasn't?”Ceni shook her head, grimacing with the pain of the sudden movement.

She was healing slowly, but the wound was infected by some devious design of the bolt. They had been lucky to find a healer in the fort, one stocked with the necessary herbs and ointments to fight off a slow, painful death.

”No. I don’t even know his name,” she said.”The man in rags,” said Estam and smiled a mirthless smile.”The man in rags. Fitting.””So what of the sword?””Your man in rags gave it to me as payment for passage. That, and you

were to join the crew. He said you had to leave town, so to speak, and demanded that I would not ask questions as part of the bargain. At first I didn’t want to take you on. It's always a bad idea to take on refugees, criminals, and scoundrels, but the sword made me think otherwise. I’m beginning to think agreeing to this was a bad idea.”

”I’d say so.”

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What did it all mean? Estam couldn’t figure it out, and Ceni had nothing else to share—either because she didn’t know anything else or because she didn’t want to. Estam didn’t trust her yet. Still, his gut told him that she was truly sorry for his predicament, and that she meant well, at least as long as his well-being didn’t clash with her own plans.

That same evening he made up his mind.”I don’t want the sword,” he said to her. They were sitting by the cooking

fire in the small courtyard. Guards were milling about, so they spoke quietly.She looked tired and vulnerable in the moonlight, but the smile she gave

him was borderline mad. ”Good, because you can’t have it.”They laughed at that. Two quiet mirthless laughs in the dark.”Now what?” she asked again.”It’s getting late,” Estam began.”I mean now what for you. What are you going to do?””I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. Hell, I’m not even sure what I’d

like to do!””That’s an opportunity, then.””Yes, I suppose you could look at it that way.””What other way to look at it is there? You can’t mope around and be

miserable over whatever life you had before. Have you considered the fact that you don’t remember this previous life of yours because there’s nothing to remember?”

”Who has a life in which nothing is worth remembering?”He could tell she was choosing her words carefully. ”Someone who has

done things he didn’t want to remember. Or someone who’s been made not to remember, for whatever reason.”

”I just don’t know what to do with all of this,” Estam sighed.They sat quiet for a while.”I’m going to find a ship and leave this place. They can have their civil

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war,” she said at last.”The port’s been destroyed, remember?””There are other ports, fishing villages, it doesn’t matter. I only need

something that can get me to Lahya or Port Leron. I’ll probably have to stick to the coast, and make a lot of stops, but I’ll get there.”

”Then what? More revenge?””Then I will answer whatever questions you still might have, and we can

go our separate ways. That’s the deal.”She looked him straight in the eye. It wasn’t that she was pleading, or even

asking for help strictly speaking, but she needed him. Perhaps he needed her too.

Besides, who else had answers to all the questions Estam had collected the past few weeks, now that the man in rags was gone and, for all they knew, Trevor was lying in a pool of his own dried blood in Shambon?

Then there was the sword. Estam didn’t want it anymore; he didn’t plan to take it from her, not in any fashion. But there was something about it, something connected to his past. Perhaps he needed time to remember, and since Ceni wasn’t going to give him the sword, he should stay close to it for the time being. Maybe it would jolt his memory.

Reasonable arguments, all of them. But as he looked at the woman beside him, the only reason he truly found was the most obvious one.

Estam didn’t want the beautiful sword anymore, but he did want the beautiful woman.

”Then we have an accord,” he said. ”Captain.”