‘They won’t be commanded,’ Sinigang says, jumping onto the taffrail. I’m trembling as the otter-cat sidles towards me. His fur under my fingers is calming, his small body so warm. He purrs gently. ‘Let’s all go below deck and make some tea.’
We gather in the captain’s quarters, pot of tea steeping on the table. It’s cosy here, with a touch more space than the galley. My eyes wander across Finlyr’s glass-fronted cabinet, with an odd assortment of objects he must have gathered on his travels. Shells, sea glass, and curios I can’t even name line the shelves. By the velvet-lined couch is an open trunk of miscellaneous bottles and naval equipment, including a sextant and astrolabe. Biba and Isagani bundle up on Finlyr’s bed, making cloaks out of his blankets. I look at Biba, trying to find outward signs of it. I have never seen a Temple Sister or Mother, nor a priestess. Are they marked from the beginning, like a birth dark-wine stain or a freckle? Or does it come with time, with deed? Is it the fine white webbing of scar tissue or a bruise that never fades? Perhaps there is no outward sign at all.
Isagani picks up a tome from the bed and begins to flip through it before Finlyr promptly snatches it away.
‘Thought you weren’t much of a reader?’ Isagani asks quizzically.
‘Great for propping up wonky tables.’ He laughs, setting the book aside.
I tilt my head and catch an image on the fore-edge of the pages: a creature of both dragon and woman curls its tail around an elated-looking man, while seamaidens rise up from the foam to feed him. Not much of a reader indeed.
Finlyr sets out the cups and slowly pours the tea. We all silently watch this ritual. Everyone takes their cup in a ceremony of civility, and Sinigang inclines his head to drink.
‘We all know the cautionary tales we were told as children,’ I begin, haltingly. ‘Don’t act strange or they’ll take you to Aistra.’
‘Where you’ll only have the company of the dead,’ Finlyr adds.
‘You’ll never go hungry if you’re chosen as priestess to the Bastion,’ Isagani says, a longing in their voice.
‘They can teach you to control your power,’ Biba whispers, looking into the middle distance.
‘Are you – afraid of what you can do?’ Finlyr asks her.
‘Shouldn’t I be?’ she asks, biting her thumbnail.
‘She could hurt someone,’ I insist. ‘You don’t mess with Life and Death; it’s a power we don’t understand. Doesn’t it bother you that thosethingsare sailing your ship?’
‘It’s turned out pretty useful,’ Finlyr says, surveying one of the undead trying to right their lopsided head. ‘Not all magic is bad, Ris.’
‘Yeah, look at Sini,’ Isagani says, scritching the otter-cat.
I lean in closer to Finlyr. ‘Do I have to remind you what he did? When are you going to tell the children?’
‘That was different,’ Finlyr insists. ‘He did it to help us; he had to.’
‘Where will you draw the line? You’re fine with skeleton crews and restoring decayed fruit. Not everything will be so harmless.’
‘Then why did you bring her here if this quest is so dangerous?’
Biba and Isagani look up. Our hushed argument has broken through to a shout.
I hesitate. ‘I didn’t have a choice,’ I continue, lowering my voice. ‘Find whatever it is the queen wants, or don’t come back at all.’
‘What will you do if you don’t find it?’ Finlyr asks, voice thick.
‘Well, if we make it out alive and empty-handed, we’re already running. I made that choice when I left with Biba. Why stop?’
‘That’s some life for a kid,’ Finlyr says.
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Isagani chimes in, combative.
‘What would you have done instead?’ I retort. ‘Left her to the will of the Bastion or have your friends die trying to keep her safe?’
‘I don’t know, but shouldn’t she have some say in it?’ Finlyr asks, mussing his hair in frustration. ‘What do you think, Biba?’
She considers the question, looking down at her own hands. Finally, she says, thoughtfully, ‘I want to know what I can do.’
I study Biba, remembering how I was so excited to know her, to see her grow into a person. She has so much potential; it’s up to her to choose what to do with that power.
