However, due to the fact they didn’t have an easily accessible port, it wasn’t often one of their large, expensive vessels was found roaming the open seas. It was always easy to catch sight of their ships from a far distance because of their sheer size and the pure gold figurehead of a serpent at the front.
Doraan had assumed the vessel was heading to Aksahri with a shipment of goods, and he wanted that loot for him and his men.
Night had long fallen when theCursed Soulbegan its assault on the Sumaarian ship. For such a massive vessel, they needed the element of surprise to ensure their success, and with sails as black as the evening sky, nightfall would provide them with just that. What the darkened sky also hid were the three decks of gun ports with cannons pointed directly at them and the full battalion of soldiers on the main deck, pistols cocked and loaded.
The entire encounter was still a blur in Doraan’s muddled mind. He remembered very little after the first cannon fired. It had been a mess of smoke and debris. TheCursed Soulwas exceedingly lighter, making them much faster than the hulking Sumaarian warship, which was the only reason they had made it out alive without too much damage to the ship. The only thing Doraan could remember with absolute certainty from that day was the excruciating pain that had raked through his body, coursing through him like a bolt of lightning.
As soon as they had gotten out of range of the gun and cannon fire of the Sumaarians, Cormac’s booming voice had barked out orders across the deck, and his face emerged blurrily above him.“Stay still! Don’t get up!”Cormac kept yelling at him, and that was when Doraan knew something was very wrong. He needed to see. Pushing against Cormac’s hold, he forced the old man off his shoulders. As soon as he sat up fully and caught a glimpse of his mangled limb, he vomited and lost consciousness.
Pain burned through him like wildfire, all emanating from a piece of him that was no longer there. His left leg from just below the knee was gone.
“We had no choice,”Cormac’s words echoed in his mind, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.“The bones were shattered beyond repair. It was the only option.”
Even though Doraan knew it was the only possible outcome, a small part of him resented Cormac for cutting off his leg, for not finding an impossible solution that could have saved it.
They never did find out what that Sumaarian ship was or where it went. Doraan was convinced it was heading for Aksahri, but it wasn’t there when they sailed after it. It was as if it disappeared into thin air. They should have been able to catch up to a large ship like that. The soldiers hadn’t been members of the emperor's army. They were definitely something else—a mystery Doraan hoped to solve. The idea of an unknown army sailing around Emmoria disguised as a Sumaarian cargo vessel was unsettling.
Life since that day had been hard. Doraan was forced to relearn how to walk and somehow function without a piece of himself. The crew built him a set of crutches to use, but that required the use of his arms and leg, otherwise leaving him bitterly useless.
That was when Cormac created a false wooden limb Doraan could strap around his thigh. The old man even carved out a foot that he could fit into his boot for a small sense of normalcy. Although nothing would ever feel normal about having a wooden limb.
Bruises lined his palms, elbows, hips and backside from attempting to relearn how to walk with a stiff, awkward piece of wood strapped to his leg. It was almost impossible to bend his knee. The muscles had grown weak from disuse, and the fake appendage was heavy. A soreness had settled into his hip, traveling all the way up his side from using the new apparatus. But he knew the more he used it, the stronger he would become, and eventually, he might not look like a toddler learning how to walk.
Doraan sighed, closing his eyes and swearing under his breath as the phantom pain of his missing appendage throbbed relentlessly, momentarily taking his mind off the fact that he could no longer walk as he used to, false limb or not. One awkward step and Doraan was tumbling to the splintered floorboards of the ship’s helm.
The men knew not to help him. He didn’t want their help, and he especially did not want their pity. He needed to be able to do things on his own and be treated as if nothing about him had ever been abnormal at all.
He glanced around at his men scattered across the ship, none of them paying him even a small fleeting glance.Good.
Doraan grabbed onto the ship’s wheel, hoisting himself back up to a standing position. Cormac stood next to him, staring off at Crescent Rock as if nothing happened.
“Make ready for anchor!” Doraan bellowed down to his men, pulling down the pant leg that had ridden up to reveal the smooth wood beneath.
He held the wheel steady as his men went to work, preparing for their journey. Including Doraan and Cormac, only eighteen men remained of their already ghostly crew. Both men who lost their lives the day of the attack were given the customary water burial of warriors lost in battle, sending them off with honor into the sea.
Doraan wished he had been there to pay them tribute and thank them for all they had unwillingly sacrificed over the years. Never once had they complained about the awful situation they were forced into because of him and his family.
In fact, none of the crew ever complained about their circumstance. Doraan didn’t understand it, but he was thankful to them.
“Furl the sails!” Doraan’s voice rang out, pulled by the wind to each member of the crew.
As the ship slowed, his heart raced in his chest. In just a few short minutes, they would get into the tender and row their way home. Doraan looked up at the moon. It was just a small silvery crescent tonight, the surrounding stars twinkling brighter than he had ever seen them on this clear night. They only had one hour to spend. One single hour to see their families before being forced to return to this prison of a ship. He rubbed sweaty palms against his vest before clenching them at his sides.
He had no idea what to expect once they reached Aksahri. Once per year they were given this opportunity, but over the past ten years, Doraan had never had the courage to go. But tonight was his twenty-fifth birthday, and when the clock struck midnight, it would mark eleven years on the sea. Doraan had decided it was time—time to stop running from fate and return home to see what had become of Aksahri. And he couldn’t deprive his crew of the opportunity any longer, either.
“Drop anchor!” Cormac ordered the men. TheCursed Soulbobbed up and down as the gentle waves of the Awndar Sea kissed the ship’s port side as if wishing him luck on his voyage back home.
Doraan watched as his crew lowered the tender down into the whispering sea, calling him onward. “Are you ready?” A quiet voice came from behind him.
“I’m ready, Cormac,” Doraan said with a heavy breath that caused his chest to rise and fall in one drawn out motion of acceptance. “Let’s go home.”
2
Kamira
Kamira’sarmsburnedasshe rowed herself out to sea, a salty mist spraying across her face with each pull through the inky waves. She shivered against the night air, wishing she had thought to bring a shawl or blanket before fleeing in the dead of night with no destination or plan in mind apart from getting far, far away.
Fear had taken over her wits, spurring her limbs into motion before she could even form a coherent thought. She had bolted like a spooked hare from Asharr Manor, dressed only in her silken evening gown and slippers, running straight for the dock.
