Chapter Twenty-Eight – Journey to Takatari

  Terraday - Mareday, 13-20 Tamihr, Year of Folivor the Restful Sloth, 489 years AWA

  Aboard The Danrorr’s Fury, Matalis Ocean

  The next six days passed in a rhythm of work and adjustment, the entire party aside from Sondil learning the ways of shipboard life. The weather varied—some days windier than others, a few days cloudier—but the routine remained constant.

  As Perx had predicted, Jenna proved quite adept at scaling the rigging.

  On the third day, the ship hit a sudden swell just as one of the crew members was adjusting a line near the top of the mainmast. The sailor's grip slipped, and the rope whipped free, threatening to foul the sail. Jenna, already halfway up the rigging with her rogue's natural agility, caught the loose line with one hand while maintaining her own position with the other. She swung it back down to the sailor below in a controlled arc that spoke of years of acrobatic training.

  The crew member caught it with a surprised grunt. "Good reflexes, miss."

  Jenna just nodded, a slight flush of pleasure coloring her cheeks, but said nothing. She didn't need to. After that, the sailors working the rigging seemed more comfortable having her up there with them, and though her strength wasn't always adequate for the heavier work, with their help she was able to hold the rigging still while others tied and untied it.

  Cali, Neric, and Monoffa worked both clearing the bilges and learning to tie knots.

  Cali found herself hopeless at the knots—after her third failed attempt at a bowline, with a patient sailor showing her the pattern yet again, her cheeks flushed. She glanced at the others learning nearby. Neric's fingers moved with the fluid confidence of someone used to precise hand movements, and Monoffa had gotten it on her second try.

  "My hands are better with prayer than rope, I think," Cali murmured, offering the sailor an apologetic smile.

  She quietly shifted to bilge duty instead, where at least her steady work ethic made her useful. She attacked the bilge-cleaning with the same determined patience she brought to everything else, finding a kind of meditative peace in the repetitive work even if it lacked the satisfaction of mastering a new skill.

  Neric, on the other hand, took to knot-tying like he'd been born to it. He watched the sailor demonstrate a clove hitch, then mimicked the motion while humming under his breath—turning the movement into a rhythm, like fingering a difficult passage on a flute.

  "Over, under, through... like a triplet in three-four time," he muttered, his small hands working through the pattern.

  The sailor looked bemused but shrugged when Neric got it right on his first try. "Whatever works for you, lad."

  By the end of that first day of training, Neric had turned several knots into little musical mnemonics and was teaching them to Monoffa, who found the approach delightful. The two of them would sometimes hum the patterns to each other while working, earning amused looks from the crew.

  Monoffa proved adept at both knot-tying and, with careful guidance, learning to help adjust the sails. When she successfully tied a particularly difficult knot on her second attempt, she grinned at Neric. "Success tastes like honey and warm sunlight—all golden and satisfied."

  Later, when helping to adjust the sails as the wind shifted, she commented: "This feels like copper bells. Productive and clear." Her pupils dilated with pleasure at the sense of accomplishment.

  Sondil, who along with Wenthe was the only one who continued to be plagued by seasickness, had skills on par with Neric and Monoffa when his stomach allowed. He worked gamely at learning the knots and even attempted some sail work, though he often had to rush to the edge of the ship to throw up the contents of his stomach. He'd return a few minutes later, pale but determined, only to retreat to his quarters for a rest when the nausea became too much. His persistence earned him quiet respect from the crew, even if his effectiveness was limited.

  Wenthe attempted bilge-cleaning and within five minutes announced her complete and utter hatred for the boring task, point-blank refusing to keep doing it. The enclosed space, the repetitive motion, the lack of anything intellectually engaging—it was torture for her restless mind.

  She was dexterous enough to tie knots and climb the rigging, if not quite as gracefully as Jenna, but also found those tasks boring, if somewhat less so than bilge-cleaning.

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  Kere was at the helm during the afternoon of the fourth day when she heard it—a series of rapid, high-pitched clicks from the water below. Not Meri's usual cheerful communication, but something sharper, more urgent. The pattern repeated, insistent and wrong.

  She leaned over the rail, searching for her dolphin's distinctive markings. Meri surfaced on the port side, closer to the ship than usual, and the clicking intensified when she spotted Kere. Then she dove and surfaced again, repeating the pattern. It was the kind of vocalization dolphins used to warn their pods of danger, except there was nothing visible in the water—no predators, no debris, nothing that should cause alarm.

  "Everything all right?" Kridiane asked from beside her, not looking away from the wheel.

  "I'm not sure," Kere said slowly. "My dolphin is... upset about something."

  Kridiane's expression didn't change, but something in her posture shifted slightly. "Best mention it to Thydek, then. Captain's orders were clear—anything unusual gets reported."

  Kere nodded and waited for her shift to end before seeking out the first mate. She found him near the mainmast, inspecting a section of rigging with the practiced eye of someone who'd spent decades at sea.

  "Thydek, do you have a moment?"

  The Dwarf glanced up, his beady brown eyes assessing. "Aye, lass. What's on yer mind?"

  "My dolphin has been making distress calls for the past hour," Kere said, keeping her voice low enough not to alarm the nearby crew. "The kind they use to warn of danger. But there's nothing visible in the water."

  Thydek's expression grew thoughtful. He moved to the rail, looking out over the water for a long moment. "Dolphins got good instincts fer these waters. What else have ye noticed?"

  "One of my companions—Wenthe, the Catfolk alchemist—mentioned that the ship's motion feels wrong to her. Like we're sailing right on the edge of something. She said it's getting worse each day."

  "Aye, that it would." Thydek nodded slowly. "When ye're sailin' a protected corridor through wildshard-affected waters, ye get turbulence at the boundaries. It's like..."

  He paused, searching for the right comparison. "Ye know how when ye're walkin' along a ridge, the wind hits ye different on either side? It's like that, but with magical currents 'stead o' air."

  Kere's hands tightened on the rail. "So the rough water is actually a sign that the protection is working?"

  "That's what I understand, aye. The waters on either side o' this route..." He shook his head. "They're not places ye want ta be. Temporal distortions, creatures that shouldn't exist, currents that'll pull ye under an' spit ye out leagues away. This route keeps us clear o' all that, but the boundary between safe an' not-safe creates its own kind o' roughness."

  That matched what she and Jori had theorized, but it didn't explain everything. "How do you know the route is still safe? If it's been 80 years since Andovarrans first reached Takatari—"

  "Were guided there," Thydek corrected gently. "The Takatarans told us that much when they gave us this route fer the voyage. The original settlers didn't find the islands by accident. Someone guided 'em there, showed 'em the safe passage."

  "Who?" Kere asked, though she suspected she wouldn't get a useful answer.

  Thydek shrugged, his braided beard shifting with the movement. "That, I don't know. Could've been a Takataran navigator with knowledge o' the wildshard patterns. Could've been someone who understood the magical currents better'n anyone alive today. But whoever it was, they made a route that's held fer 80 years."

  "But has anyone checked it? Maintained it?" Kere pressed. "If something created this protection, wouldn't it need... I don't know, upkeep? Renewal?"

  "Lassie, I understand yer concern." Thydek's weathered face was kind but firm. "But the Takatarans gave us this specific route because o' who we're carryin'. They want the Prince arrivin' safe fer his weddin'. They wouldn't give us a route that weren't still protected, aye?"

  "But how do they know it's still protected?"

  Thydek was quiet for a moment, looking out over the water. "That's a fair question," he admitted finally. "But this route's been stable fer 80 years. Whatever them original navigators did—or whoever helped 'em—it's held this long. Should hold a bit longer fer our voyage."

  That word—should—hung in the air between them like a weight. Not "will." Not "certainly." Just... should.

  "And if it doesn't?" Kere asked quietly.

  "Then we trust in the captain's skill, in the experience o' the crew, an' in whatever gods ye pray to." He gave her hand a reassuring pat. "But ye're worryin' over nothin'.

  We've made it this far without incident, haven't we? A few more days an' we'll be droppin' anchor in Takatari's harbor, safe as houses."

  Kere wanted to mention the charts, the way they showed stability while sailors reported changing currents. She wanted to tell him about the dream, about cryptic warnings and surveying instruments and accusations that would fall on all of them. But what would she say? That she had a strange dream and noticed some inconsistencies in navigation records? It sounded mad even in her own head.

  "Thank ye fer tellin' me about yer dolphin," Thydek continued. "Keep watchin' her, an' if she acts more distressed, ye come find me or the captain right away. Animals sometimes sense things we can't, an' it's best not ta ignore their warnings."

  "I will," Kere promised.

  As Thydek moved away to attend to other duties, Kere remained at the rail, watching Meri cut through the waves. The dolphin had quieted somewhat, but she stayed closer to the ship than usual, surfacing frequently as if checking that Kere was still there.

  Why isn't the story of how Andovarrans were guided to Takatari common knowledge? Kere wondered. And if someone guided them once, who's guiding them now? Or has the guidance stopped, and we're just following an old path that might not be maintained anymore?

  The water stretched endlessly in all directions, deceptively calm on the surface while unknown currents moved beneath. Somewhere out there, protection and danger met at a boundary thin as a knife's edge. And they were sailing along that edge, trusting in 80 years of stability to hold for just a few days more.

  Should.

  The word echoed in Kere's mind long after she'd returned to her duties.