The Cost of Seacharming

The longship E'latt burst through the latest wave in a silver flash, momentarily losing sight of the five silk sails flaring open in the moonlight to catch the wind a league astern. The pursuing ship was unmarked but for a red flag snapped atop the main mast, the sigil of the lesser moon Loek with a sword splitting the crescent moon in two marking the galleon as the Calypsian. The warship a notorious hunter of anything smaller than them on the sea, was captained by an infamous kobold, Marko S'yridi. Marko had a grudge against other privateers, known for his pair of starving drakehounds he mercilessly release on any prisoners. More importantly, he held the loyalty of several githyankee on his crew, their silver greatswords glinting over their ocre skinned shoulders aboard the deck as the ship tried to close the chase.
The E'latt's captain, Amundo Tura, spun his red tricorn hat back around towards the fore of his longship. His glowing aquamarine eyes flashed in that prowling intelligent way of his and his grey dreadlocks shot behind him in the wind as he began to grin. His slightly translucent genasi teeth swirling like tiny clouds under his thin lips. The sigil of his cobalt leper; a stylized light blue cat spotted in dark blue dots snapped behind him on black cloth as an uptake of water allowed view of the Calypsian tearing through another wave. Obvious in the way he squeezed his eyes slightly, he had seen the red cloth private flag gaining on them. Red. No quarter would be given if the E'latt was boarded. The removal of competition was Marko's goal.
Nekita, a Capibbian seacharmer of the Seventh League followed her current captain's gaze. The runed bones of ancestors warmed gently upon her person as they began to kindle like always when a mutewave formed near her. Amundo quickly scanned over the E'latt drawing Nekita's attention to the doldrums a few dozen leagues ahead. The still water was a drop of calm in an ocean of tumult. Both the moon of Kets and Loek were high above, the twinmoon seeming to divide the sky in two. Over the doldrums a clear ghostly light, the moons crossing the sky unadulterated. Closer, the storm clouds above the ships seemed to hit a column as they wrapped around the dead air, a deluge of cold rain drummed on both ships hard, Nekita swore she could hear her ancestors' worried chanting at her through the wood of the grave.
"Tehani!" Amundo called out in a singsong voice wholley out of place for such a stern-looking man. His grin expanded into a smile as he slapped the minotaur helmsman on the back. Amundo pointed to the dead water. Tehani grunted and leaned on the tiller. Small for a minotaur, he was still heads and hands above most of the other crew. The E'latt groaned under the strain, as if it resisting the need to go into the doldrums. After a moment of listing, the ship regained some composure and angled towards the still water, known as a glasspool as the crew began to murmur worriedly to themselves. Nekita could only understand some of the rower’s words, but whatever sound they made, they all meant the same thing. They began to pray that it was not a Dead Calm.
"Heave ho! Tack the sails! They'll be windbound before they know, and be sharkbait before the cat gets outta the bag!" Amundo called to his crew. Tehani lead a mighty cheer in the gaps of the rower's rhythm drums. They all knew in a glasspool, a galleon with its high profile, so dependant on sails would be dead in the water the moment the wind failed. The E’latt, a longboat with forty rowers could easily circle around the sailing warship in the breathless water. The crew also knew that a longships’ low freeboard would make a Dead Calm attack devastating.
Amundo gestured Nekita to the bow of the ship as he went down into the hull from the poop deck. She knew he made sure to tap the shoulders of any of his rowing crew. He looked out for his men, and they loved him for it. But Nekita was not part of his crew. She was a seacharmer. A stranger. A way through the uncertain waters. A means to an end who was supposed to care nothing about the people on board. He did not want her there during the speech he would give to his kin. Her presence would soil it. So she walked to the prow of the ship, the bones adorning her body warming her like a hug from a long lost mother.
A mutewave was imminent. A wave so large and so fast it would submerge them before they even heard it. She spun slightly on her bare feet as she walked across the rolling deck, absently touching her sheep bladder quelas strapped to her thigh for reassurance of the spiritwood seeds and leaves still inside. The non-Capibbian outsiders called her people seacharmers because they saw the flowstep and assumed it was a dance. They assumed that the half naked Capi people seduced the water into complacence, convincing the ocean to spare all on board as if the moons cared who they claimed, or were willing to listen for a piece of flesh. As she stepped and periodically looked to the potential origins of the wave, the runes about her body flared into extreme hot and cold. Starboard, the heat told her, that’s where the wave would begin. The heat endured until she looked behind the E'latt. Her ancestors warned her the mutewave would form as it crossed the ship to the western side. The ambush set, the sinister grasp of the sea would snap the E’latt in two before the crew knew what had happened. The Drowned hungrily waiting and watching their potential new feast from the ocean floor.
She spun again and collapsed to her stomach in a smooth, practised motion. The depth of the wave would be enough to pull up an ancient rotting Capi explorer class that rested on the ocean floor. She twisted her shoulders to the side as her stomach laid flat, and with the grace of an eel stalking prey she ended up twisted in a painful contortion. She felt for the height of the mutewave. Her spine tingled from the nape of her neck down her body as it twisted and she planted her heels into the cold, wet wood. The E'latt had very little soul, but it grew as the speech below built into a defiant promise against the ocean. The creatures would mostly survive when the mutewave struck. She might be able to keep the ship from capsizing if the captain would listen to her.
Out of curiosity, she stretched her hands behind her head towards the doldrums past the prow. Her essence leached away like water down a pipe. It was a trap for any living creature to disturb that water. She reached further to see if they could make it through, the agony making her stifle a scream as a thousand drowned claws tried to bring her soul to them. She tried to retreat back to her body, but those claws found purchase in her spirit. She fought the hungry ghosts with all her being, but the E'latt was not quite as charged as she had seen it in the past. With her eyes rolled back in her head, she saw the small black pulse from the Dead Calm turn its attention to her and the crew while it began to close the distance from the water.
The seacharmer anchored herself to the E'latt as best she could. The speech had not yet reached its peak, the men did not believe they were protected yet. They were right, until they believed otherwise. A fleeting stranger's thought flashed in her head, she should have waited! If she didn't break free, the spot, growing like an afterimage of the sun would take her. Claim her body, direct her voice. The deepening darkness began to feel comforting, offering shelter. If only she surrendered, the calm would rule...
No!
A raucous cheer from below snapped her out of her trance. The black spot diverted its attention into the ship briefly. Amundo was about to reach the crest of the speech. The moment felt timeless as she tried to resist the calm. It was so close, she just needed a little nudge before the E'latt had its own soul back. Then she could save them all.
Just another moment..
The icy calm began to settle into her skin. She wasn't going to be able to hold. The whispers soon would become commands. She had no choice. She had to anchor herself to her runes. Her mother's finger, her son's three toes, her sisters' ribs, all held together by her husband's spine. At the centre of her runes, protected, rested her daughter's half-formed skull. An unlived life full of potential. A loss immeasurable to Nekita. She anchored to her blood bones and the Dead Calm flinched at the flash of love. The emotion being so alien and near forgotten at the bottom of the sea, the runes immediately began to drain.
 Tears rolled down her cheeks as she began to forget her mother's face. She tried to scream out her mother's name... but it was already gone. The Calm redoubled its efforts, a suffocating hand closing on her skull held back by the barest forces. An image of a small boy burned on the back of her eyelids, glowing brightly, bracing himself to protect her from the encroaching storm. He shone like the sun, his usually jovial face twisted in agony as the boy was picked apart like wisps of smoke in a tornado.
An echo of a cracking, defiant voice called out beside her, drowned out by the wind and rain. She felt her heart break, though she couldn't figure out why. The captain led a cheer from below deck. A silhouette of the ship sculpted from light bathed the combatants above. Nekita could see the spectral power of the E’latt radiating from its spiritwood. The eerie green pulse outlined a black shape glaring at Nekita, a mess of several ghastly limbs strapped together awkwardly by what looked to be seaweed, its sets of feet floating like debris just above the barely visible deck of the glowing ship. It tried to plant itself on deck and charge at the seacharmer, but its feet could find only confusion as if buried in a layer of thick slime. The Dead Calm screeched furiously into the sky as it stumbled forward, unable to overpower its prey. An utterly alien sound only she could hear.
A louder cheer below deck, and the glossy green ship stuttered into almost tangibility. The Calm, the monster above her was thrown back by the intensity of light. Sections of the phantom’s haphazard jumble of limbs fizzling out like bubbles over a drowning man. Nekita struggled to push herself up. Her feet trudged through the green-glass boards of her spiritual image of the E'latt under her like soft clay. It still wasn't enough, the beast was reeling from the last attack, but the eyes glowed a fierce violet.
It looked to the seacharmer and then at the glass-like boat it floated above. It raised all of its arms above most of its heads. looking down towards the fragile neon green deck with destruction wrought all over its features. She took the opportunity to launch herself with a bellow at the spectre. As she collided, two ethereal duplicates of herself appeared on either side of her, glowing brightly gold. The simulacre put themselves between the plummeting arms and the top of the ship. A horrible scream rose from either the Calm or the ghosts. Nekita couldn't tell. The monster's limbs again were torn away to an almost manlike shape. The seaweed ligaments holding the bits together snapped and exposed the blackness that tainted them to turn more brownish green, to finally be washed off the Calm onto the deck. which now was sturdy, she could barely see the outlines of the surviving spirits below deck. The creature stumbled, an all too human motion. Stunned, the Calm fell to its back. Every black bit of it that touched the glow burned away. She could start to see the features of the face, no longer floating with the shifting seashadows the depths used to harvest souls. It seemed to be a middle aged orc, its cheeks low and menacing, but its eyes now clear and keen. A violet glow outlined its irises.
Nekita struggled to step forward towards the once-orc. She aimed her ringed hand at its and, with a scream, conjured a sphere of violently shifting energy at the Calm. It hit square in the chest and the monster was thrust back to the port railing. As the humanoid was mid air, another cheer came up from the clueless sailors below, reinforcing the soul of the E’latt.
"I am Nekita Trafalgar, In Mourning of the Seventh League!" She screamed, casting another blast of power at the target.
"This is The E'latt!" She used two hands to cast her spell again, a beam of blue light outlining her own yellow form and the green from the ship.
"Captained by Amundo Tura!" Nekita launched a third blast against the beast.
"And it is under my protection...!" The railing became solid just before the phantom broke through it with the force of another blue bolt into its back.
 More limbs and seaweed burned off the orc as it plummeted into the black waters. Its once humanoid face quickly became shrouded with the invasive seashadow of the Dead Calm as it left the illumination of the ship’s soul.
Finally when she opened her eyes, at the bow of the ship as she had been bidden what seemed like an eternity ago, the new ashes at her feet of memories long gone, she heard the last shout of the men below deck. Nekita was panting and sore all over, though still looked like she did when the captain went below. She risked a glance back up to Tehani. He wisely pretended to be very interested in a spec on the rudder, while being as small as physically possible for a minotaur. He, of course, had not seen the Dead Calm. He only saw the flowstep of Nekita. It was a battle of wills and memories between a slow, cold death, and the vibrant life of a Capi. What the outsiders called seacharmers, the Capi called In Mourning. Tears rolled down her face as she tried to remember whose ash sprinkled her feet. What love did she have to surrender this night to keep these sailors alive?
She stood at the base of the ladder below deck as Amundo moved to resurface. He paused at seeing her inside the ship, against traditional etiquette. The captain straightened to his full height, as if a genasi could intimidate her. The pirate took a breath to speak, no doubt about to scold her for coming below deck, but she slapped his jaw shut with an open hand. A satisfying snap of his teeth and a confused, seething breath from the man was all she waited for before she climbed the ladder while gesturing towards the origin of the mutewave with a word of caution.
"What?" He snarled as he scuttled up beside her. "So soon? Why didn't you give us warning! Tehani! Port, now!" He spun and let out a shrill four point whistle as loud as he could and the self congratulating murmurs of the E'latt crew immediately died. The rowers scrambled to spin the boat just as the water began to raise on a steep angle. The drummer increased his tempo to a panic and the ship was able to adjust, minimizing the damage the massive wave under them could wreak.
Up and up they climbed, the Calypsian a league on their tail as the wave rose both ships to the peak, the twinmoon’s pull imbuing the ocean with savage turbulence. The sailors could only do so much, the rest was in Nekita's motions. She began another flowstep, this time aimed to guide the water around the ship, to break holes into the mountain of liquid that they could slip through, and through the corner or her eyes she saw the Calypsian's seacharmer following suit, a moment too slow, a little less anchored. They must not have been a Capi Mourner on Marko’s ship this time around. She was ashamed to be slightly relieved to realise that. An outsider seacharmer with the kobold meant her kin would not lose more than one Mourner this night to the mutewave. She was also saddened, In her time on the Calypsian, she had met a cheery halfling who she quite enjoyed spending time with. They were one of the few who she could stand on that crew.
Nekita's thoughts could not stay on Reese for long though. She needed to focus on guiding the E'latt or her memories were useless. Eventually she was able to slide through the mutewave until she bypassed the bulk of the most violent waters. She closed her eyes to see if the charge of Amundo's ship still remained, and was pleased to see it was beaming. In her mind’s eye she saw the drowned souls of the Dead Calm’s horde flung away from the E'latt now that the predatory intent was licking its wounds.
She wrapped her hands around her silk covered necklace, and felt the warmth of her husband's spirit being pulled from the charge of the E’latt. She embraced the vision of her memories with him, sighing shakily as she could smell him, resting her head against his chest in the multi-coloured bathing of Vloed during the moon's last orbit, eight years ago. Warmth flowed through her as she relived the memories, all but her left hand which was held softly by something unseen. Cold as a sudden numbness of being submerged in ice water.
Nekita glanced at where the pile of ash had drifted off the ship while riding the mutewave, and she needed to sit down. As she did, she overheard someone from below deck passing by with a scoff.
"She does a dance for the wave and then thinks it gives her the right to rest... Bloody seawench..."
Reserving herself, she breathed the saltwater air in deeply as they rode down the back of the wave, the paddles being pulled in, lest they get torn from a sailor's grip. Tehani adjusted the rudder here and there, but he did so absently as he studied her.
The helmsmen and the seacharmers had an uneasy kinship compared to the rest of the crew. They offered no insults or jeers, having seen the work of the Mourner first hand, but they also knew the ship more than the glorified compass that was Nekita. She offered a thankful smile at his silence, and he nodded solemnly to her. Tehani's dark green eyes hinting at the sorrowful tales of being above deck during a twinmoon.
Nekita finally rose as the longboat reached the bottom of the wave and resumed her original flowstep. She anchored into the E'latt once more, again feeling deep into the water and sensing the motion of the submerged Capi ship being elevated by the waves to the surface. Trailing it with her mind, she snapped her eyes open to stare where it would breach. Tehani, eyes ever keen, swiftly adjusted the rudder and the ship violently shifted direction mere moments before the rotted prow of the explorer sliced through the back of the wave they rode.
 The crew above deck screamed as the frothy, seaweed covered mantle of a hammerhead shark exploded out of the water. Close enough it loudly scraped the side of the E'latt before the rest of the ship was brought safely out of reach by the helmsman. Up towards the moons the old Capi shipwreck was drawn, the memories of the tormented ship flared bright in Nekita's mind. It wasn’t a soothing green like which effused from the E’latt, but a miserable violet of the hate and fear that gripped the Sentinel in its last moments.
The Sentinel was once a Capibbian explorer class from the time of the Oakenfolk. Disturbed from its ocean grave after a millennia forgotten. It had been damaged from within, having the seacharmer hanged from the yardarm. Without them, the ship ran afoul of an ocean giant, who scuttled the ship. Nekita’s curious anchoring wavered from the Sentinel as the memory of the giant snapping the transom brought only pain and sorrow. She continued her flowstep to feel for anything else stalking in the depths while the E'latt eased into a more horizontal heading.
Inside the wave, she felt the Calypsian being rolled in two, some sailors being finished by the keel breaking off to skewer or crush, most the lack of air. She absently wondered if Reese was among them as she continued her flowstep towards the stern of the ship. Once sure the threat of the mutewave or the dead calm had passed, she slid gracefully up onto the poop deck, where she would be out of the way of most of the crew. Nekita continued the ancient untethering ritual to relive the memory of her late husband, anchoring deep into the power of the E'latt, he formed beside her, outlined in a golden light coming from the green deck of the ship.
Kita, his soft voice was ever calming, and she reached his outstretched hands, a wide smile on his face. It's been so long,
"It has, Philippe, it has. So much has happened since the last time I was untethered." She whispered to him, acutely aware of Tehani manning the rudder looking at her sideways, talking to air.
Why do you cry? Philippe asked as he slid his warm hand up her arm as he gently cupped her head to the side, wiping away a tear with his thumb.
"I do not remember..." she croaked, collapsing into him, pushing past his hand to rest her head against his chest.
The wood remembers, he cooed as he kissed her on the scalp just like he used to. My heart remembers. Be it that yours ever forgets, we are but wind in the trees.
"Philippe," she hugged him, warm, despite the freezing rain "I have lost the breeze, and my heart no longer knows who."
Be easy, my love, be tranquil. He hugged her tighter, her back popping in his embrace, he retreated slightly so he could make eye contact with her again. Kita, you had to, if you did not, you and everyone here would be drowned. The wood remembers, nothing is lost, just moved by the undertow. We watched, and were ready. You protected this one. He gestured to the deck of the ship, his light dimming slightly as the anchoring drained the E'latt.
You have captured the wind much more than you have lost it. He raised her hands to his lips with a kiss. For twelve rotations we have supported you, my shelter. For twelve rotations we have seen the wind in your sails. For twelve rotations you have only lost the wind thrice. When you are planted, we will all be together again. But until then, he kissed her again.
We will be with you, all of us, even if you no longer know our names. He kissed her deeply, her lips tingling with the memories of their life together.
Slowly Nekita became aware of the cold rain, opening her eyes to see the remains of the Calypsian bob out of the inky blackness. The E'latt allowed her to have her time, but eventually the ship let Phillippe free once more and she was brought back to the storm. She wiped her eyes, feeling as if her water was less acceptable than the tears of the sky. She sniffled, looking towards the wreck they left as the captain called to begin rowing again. Tehani's gaze lingered on her for a moment too long, the minotaur obviously wanting to say something, but not knowing what. He finally sighed, defeated at being unable to help her suffering, looking back towards the bow of the ship as Amundo came strolling up the steps.
"Seacharmer," he nodded, taking in her haggard appearance and shifting his gaze to Tehani. After a brief exchange of glances, the captain removed his hat and placed it against his chest, offering her a shallow bow. "I trust the sea has offered solace?"
"The sea offers nothing, mister Tura." She responded curtly, second guessing her tone and softening it "But the wood remembers the wind in the trees."
The three were silent for a time. Nekita stared aft in the fading darkness as if she could still see the wreck. Tehani focused on his work ahead, squinting against the daybreak, and the captain studied the back of the woman who wore the bones of her people. Eventually he turned to his helmsman looking at the binnacle to reassure himself that they were heading towards Karpulsian waters. He nodded and after a few moments of encouragement to the minotaur, returned below deck to speak with his chief mate about what they were to sell in Port Lothal. He headed down from the poop deck calling the boatswain to have the Kapulsia courtesy flag raised.

* * *

Nekita spun slowly in the morning sun. Her eyes were heavy from a long night's work, but they were only a few more days from the port. She rung out some rain from her long hair, and anchored to the E'latt just enough to push the rest of the water off of her. She felt minorly refreshed. The minotaur looked at her once more from his post. In his gravelly voice, he began to intone the holy words of her people, but thought better of the sacrilege of an outsider mentioning the spiritwood, and sighed again.
"Thank you, ma'am. Rest if'n please. Anything happ'n, and I'll getcha up." He nodded to the small structure built between the stairs, descending a few feet into the deck with a small cot on the far end, the vent of the kitchen feeding heat into the charmer's kennel for warmth. Not below deck, as custom declared, but enough of a space that the seacharmer could sleep. Still accessible yet protected somewhat from the elements. The helmsman would keep a watchful eye, lest any crew decided that the charmer had outlived her usefulness. The fact that a minotaur was the helmsman gave Nekita comfort.
The Capi woman smiled tiredly towards Tehani. He was a good man. The ship’s wood shone with her late husband’s memory, enveloping her with love as she crawled into her kennel. Every grain line allowed her a look at the life she had with him, branching off into the story of their time together. She traced her hand along the roof, reliving each moment. She frowned as more knots had moved into the tapestry than there was the night before. Those she had forgotten. Whoever they were, they had been important to her. As she rested her hand against the knots, the tears came again unbidden. After a moment she laid down on the cot, observing the grainlines shift above her.
"The wood remembers, we are but wind in the trees..." Nekita whispered her people’s holy mantra to the E'latt as her eyelids grew heavy.
Nothing is lost, just moved by the undertow. The grain lines finished as the ship rocked her to sleep.