Stormcallers: Chapter 5

The Captain’s Cabin was like nothing Rukiya had ever seen before. It was made entirely of wood and not a single spot was bare of something to look at. A tapestry of many shapes and colors hung on the wall next to a pair of mounted swords. A broad desk was covered with an open book, small bags, and a box next to a feather stuck in a tiny bottle. Thick wooden ribs reached across the ceiling, and shadows danced in every corner, cast from a glowing glass orb that sat on a small metal vase. This was an oil lamp, and Rukiya had never seen one before.

Her fascination was interrupted by a sudden swaying of the ship. As she looked out the large window, she saw the land of Clashwind slowly begin to move.

At first she thought, as would we all, that she was mad. How could the island move so suddenly and swiftly? Was this more Two-chin magic? But no, so smooth and gentle was the rocking of the ship that she had not realized that they were moving away from Clashwind.

Poor Rukiya, for it was in that moment that she realized what she had done. She was leaving the islands of Lergos behind for a whole year. Three full seasons, traveling with the very people who had forced themselves on Lergos with steel and fire.

Just then the door burst open, startling Rukiya from her thoughts, and Captain Festan strode into the room. Sweeping off his coat and tossing it onto a wooden hook hanging on the wall, he crossed to his desk and set a stack of cloth on it.

“You need a name,” he said in his thick oman. But Rukiya already had a name, and she told it to him. “Rukiya,” he repeated. Yes, it is silly, isn’t it? Rukiya too had to stop herself from laughing at how poorly the Erosean tongue had shaped her name. “No no, that won’t do at all.” She said her name again, slower, emphasizing the sounds his tongue could not shape. The Captian waggled his head as he pulled at his beard, like this. “No, If you are going to work on the Prezon, you need a name that my crew can say. A good Erosean name that flows off the tongue. Perhaps…Phalamili. Or Kiphoni? No, Phalamili is best.”

Rukiya tasted the word. It didn’t flow off the tongue at all; rather it slipped and slid like she had drunk too much bark-wine. The Captain laughed at her attempt. “Well, we’ll work on that accent of yours. Rukiya can be your last name, I know you Lergosians are picky about things like that. Now, put on these clothes.”

Last name? Rukiya had been the first name she had ever been given, and now he said it would be the last? She was certain the man was not speaking oman properly. She looked at the clothes she had been given, and spoke up at once. “These clothes are for men. You are trying to laugh at me.”

Captain Festan had an answer. “Dresses are not suitable for ship-work. The winds are strong, and that skirt of yours will hinder your movement. Those pants will keep your legs protected and free. The undergarments too.”

Rukiya did not know what undergarments were, but even if she had she would not have agreed. “I will not,” she said, dropping the cloth to the ground. “It is Two-chin clothing, not mine.”

But Captain Festan was Erosean, and that meant he would not be talked to like that by a servant, and the back of his hand struck Rukiya across the face. “On this ship, I am captain, and I will be spoken to with respect. If I tell you to do something, you will do it without question and as quickly as possible, or I will throw you overboard. Do you understand? Put on the clothes, or I will call for my men help you.”

It was the way of the Orenda to have no fear of undressing in front of each other. Their bodies were their own, and they found no shame in them. But Captain Festan was a Two-chin, and Rukiya could not bring herself to disrobe in front of him, so she hid herself as best she could in the corner of the room, and studied the strange Two-chin clothing.

How difficult it was for Rukiya, for the Orenda people wore tunics and wraps, and little else. The clothing in her arms was in seven pieces, had cords and ties everywhere, and not enough fabric to wrap around her body. After several tries, she could only drape herself with the clothing and tie the loose flaps together to keep them from falling off.

When she stepped out from behind the screen, she felt the shame she had felt when first seeing a Two-chin. She knew she was wearing the clothing wrong. Sure enough, before she could protest, Captain Festan had moved closer, undone several of her cords, and begun to re-tie them with disapproval on his face. She felt stupid, like a child, as he instructed her how to tie the white cloth around her torso under her chest and to wear the thin white breeches under the other clothes.

When he was finished with her, the Captain took her bow and arrows. “You won’t need these. Not much to hunt on the cloud-sea. There is straw to sleep on in the hold, down the steps all the way to the bottom.”

Alas, what could Rukiya do except obey? She had left her father only to sell herself to a new master. She left the Captain’s room and stepped out into the darkness of the night. Never before had she seen the cloud-sea without the comfort of land beneath her feet. Even at the edges of the twin isles, there had always been the land at her back when she stared out into the mists. Now, there was nothing but the cloud-sea all about her.

You must know how terrifying it was for poor Rukiya. She no longer wore the clothing of her people, nor stood on the land of her people. Even her name was now a Two-chin name. She had sold herself to the Two-chins, and now they were trying to make her one of them.

But she had prepared for this, and so she pulled out her traveler’s charm and placed it to her lips, whispering magic words to Old Wana’s ring in the center. As long as she had this charm, she would never be lost to the storms, and would return home as Rukiya.

But poor Rukiya! The first mate saw what she was doing, and thought her casting an evil spell. Gripping his solmontix at his throat to protect him from her magics, he strode across the deck and snatched the charm from her hands.

“Vile beast,” he spat at her as he hurtled the charm over the edge of the ship. “You’ll cast no unholy magics nor speak with the storms here, Beldam.”

With a cry of despair, Rukiya ran to the ship’s edge, reaching out for the charm as it sailed out of her reach. She watched as it sank into the depths of the cloud-sea, to be torn to pieces by the storms below.

Have you ever stared into the dark of the cloud-sea? Have you seen the things that the depths hold? Have you heard the countless legends and stories told across the cloud-sea about the monstrous storms that rumble so far beneath our feet?

Some say the storms whisper to you. Whispers of madness, of pain and delight, of monsters that stalk the nighttime. There are things in the cloud-sea, they say, and if you see them, they will burrow into your mind and stay with you forever. They will eat at your mind until you became one of them, a flesh skin worn by a storm-beast.

If you looked too long, some say, the storms themselves will catch your scent and hunt you down. When the stormy season comes, they will find your house, your family, your fields, and destroy them as punishment for daring to gaze upon their majesty.

Some say if you stare for long enough, the storms will forget you are human and call you to them as a sister or brother. The ground on which you stand will break away and tumble into the cloud-sea, where you would be torn apart and remade into a storm of flame or ice, of water or stone.

Some say the storms are no more than the men, women, and children who have been lost to the cloud-sea, trying to come home again, because they do not remember they are no longer themselves.

But all say that if you stare long enough, you will see the briefest flash of light deep in the dark clouds. Brighter than fire, sharper than ice, louder than earth, faster than water. The greatest, the most terrifying and dangerous, a monster that could not exist except in the madness of the storm: Lightning.

When Rukiya was young, a child, she had joined in the game all village children play, sneaking out to the edge of the island and staring into the cloud-sea for as long as they dared. It is a dangerous game; even in the solid seasons, strong edge-winds could break off pieces of earth, and if you did not hear the threatening cracks or rumbles you would be thrown into the cloud-sea, forever lost.

Once, she had gone alone to the edge and stared deeply into the swirling clouds of infinity that spun beneath her. She remembered the beauty of it, seeing the whites and grays turn about each other, embracing and pushing through each other like smoke from a thousand fires. She saw no storm-beasts, nor any giant eyes gazing back at her. She did not know how long she looked, until deep in the clouds, deeper than she thought possible, a flash of burning white fire flared for a heartbeat, carving through the depths like a knife.

Now, looking out into the cloud-sea that surrounded the Two-chin’s ship, she felt like she could fall forever, tumbling and turning among the currents, as tongues of flame or squalls of rain flowed like rivers around her. She could almost feel herself already starting to fall.

With a sudden surge of terror, Rukiya wrenched herself away from the hypnotizing mists. Staggering away from the edge of the ship. Anger filled Rukiya’s heart, and she threw herself at the first mate, striking out at him with her fists and feet. Foolish Leig was unprepared for such an assault, and cried out as he pushed angry Rukiya away.

But he need not have feared, for no sooner had she begun to strike than a pair of massive hands gripped Rukiya and lifted her off the deck, pulling her away from the first mate.

Who did these hands belong to, but a giant tan-skinned man, called the swamp-knight by the other sailors, though never to his face. He was taller than anyone Rukiya had ever seen, at least a head taller than her father, and broad across the chest. His head was bald, but his beard grew down to his chest, straight and speckled gray. His chest was bare, save for several dark tattoos that curled across his left breast like ivy. One of his arms was clothed in iron plate all the way to his shoulder, which was covered with a leather pelt from an animal she didn’t recognize.

His name was Kerrom, a mercenary guard hired to protect the Prezon’s smuggling cargo. Kerrom was from the Island of Madrain, a small island that floated deeper in the cloud-sea than any other island, save one, and was plagued by storms even stronger than Lergos. It was a land of jungles and wetlands, populated by a strong and warlike people. He had been hired to protect the ship’s cargo, a collection of crates full of black metal that lay in the hold below.

Held by his strong hands, Phalamili’s anger gave way to fear, for now she had no protection against the whispers of the storm. Soon the storms would claim her, having eaten away every piece of her and leaving behind an empty husk. She would be like a dead thing, moving and talking as if she were alive, but Rukiya no more. The first mate had doomed her to a slow and inexorable death.

Captain Festan did not punish Rukiya for her anger, but neither did he punish Leig, for he knew of Leig’s piety, and he did not wish to anger his first mate any more than purchasing Rukiya already had.

As for Rukiya, what else could she do but sleep on a pile of straw in the ship’s hold, with one piece of hope still in her heart; that she might learn the secret magics of the Two-chins before she was lost to the storms’ hungering touch.