5th of Spring, 518 AV
21st Bell
21st Bell
Allister had spent most of the day toiling until his lesson in the manly arts with Mota, the Svefran sailor, who had taken a shine to the pale youth. In the mid afternoon time, the kelvic had spent more time learning how to control his body as well as how to build strength and endurance. Now, of course, it was dusk and the setting of the orb known as Syna signified an end to the day. The hyena looked up at the eastern sky as the silvery beams of the night time light source began to brighten with day’s demise. For several moments, Allister looked from one to the other. His face lit up with a wide-eyed wonder so often found upon the countenance of children then he turned to ask his sailor friend a question. “Mota, if Syna is the sun and she’s a goddess...does that mean the other ball of light is a goddess, too?”
The bright blue eyes looked up and reflected the watery light of the moon and the man smiled wide. He turned to face his pupil bearing that same expression, the one where his whole face took part in the act of revealing his inner happiness. “The moon is a god, Allister.” The man started in and the way he lifted his head gave spectators the impression that he was winding up for a speech. “His name is Leth and Syna is his lover.” Allister followed the pointing of the tanned fingers when they started east and traveled all the way to the other side of the horizon. It seemed a vast separation for two lovers. Regardless of his cynicism, he went back to listening to the tale as spun by Mota. “Things changed for them after the Valterrian. Leth allowed himself to be wounded so that Syna would not be harmed and now, on the first of Spring every year, his light gets washed in the color of blood.” Mota stared at Allister for a few ticks then slapped the young man on the arm. “Hey, Sketches! Look over there!” The strong arm pointed towards the near coast, the southern shore.
Trees stretched into the sky straight from the water and ships of many shapes and sizes muddled around the mouth of a river. One couldn’t see much of the architecture but there were a handful of large buildings which stood out amongst the skyline created by the massive forest that surrounded the populated area. Mota was beaming as Allister inclined his head to the right. “That’s Kenash, mate! It’s the swamp of a sailors’ dreams!” Mota continued to talk the praises of the city but the kelvic felt the world take hold of him and twist his insides in the opposite direction of a hot wind blowing across his dry skin.
Allister began to scratch at his joints and some of the more poorly drawn tattoos as his eyes filled up with water and memories that had been dormant for almost a year. Beatings, mockery, cages, collars...the body of a small blonde woman swinging from a noose; these are the things that filled his consciousness. As his body swayed with the ship and this moment of recollection grew stronger, the frail body twisted on the gallows to reveal the face to the former slave. A hand started to reach for the crocodile brand on his left side when the striking blue eyes looked up at him with burst blood vessels and purple lips-
It was Madeira!!
The pale man began to tremble all over, a visible quake to anyone within ten feet. His eyes began to release the tears that had built up atop the bags beneath his black gaze and his lips quivered as words began to form and spill out. “No… N-no… No!” His volume continued to increase as he backed away from the gunwhale. “Nooo!!!!” Allister turned on his heel and sprinted across the deck. He planted his right foot and launched his body over the grated pallet which sealed the hold’s main cargo. His arms flailed somewhat in midflight but he was able to correct and land without having to lose the momentum. Legs pumped and arms churned as he drove his body, crying along the path past the mast and up the stairs to the quarterdeck where the ship’s wheel was being manned by the helmsman.
“You’ll never take her from meeee-aauagh!!!” Allister screamed in a broken voice at the man who was but a simple sailor. He had seen the pale figure running across the ship and as he drew near, the tanned sea veteran reached down and drew his cutlass.
“Back off, ya crazy petch!” He brandished the blade as a warning but the steel was barely seen as the kelvic continued his rush. The helmsman released the wheel, dropped a foot back and drew his arm back and launched the caged hilt towards the crazy fellow’s face. Allister was not a fighter of terrible skill but the blow was directly in front of him. He pushed to the left with his right leg and drew the punch past his body with his own right hand. This caused his body to turn into the sailor’s so he raised his left elbow quickly at the man’s face. Savvy sea dog that he was, the man leaned forward so he only caught the forearm as a glancing blow. It was enough to stagger him and the middle-aged human stumbled well past his post.
Mota came racing up hollering for his newfound friend. “Sketches! What in Laviku’s beard has gotten into you?” Allister didn’t hear him; couldn’t. Panic filled his body and his heart beat so hard and fast that one might be able to see it behind his ribs if they watched closely enough. The pale man knew nothing about sailing but he grabbed the wheel and gave it a mighty turn. The ship was smoothly gliding along the Southern Suvan’s currents and this was going to force the ship to cut across a powerful force. Allister’s shoulders and arms were challenged by the wheel. With a guttural scream that was neither animal nor human but terrifying just the same, the former slave pushed his body until joints popped and tendons creaked in protest of the exertion which resulted in a half turn of the wheel. The schooner keeled to starboard so hard that the deck pitched to the port side and the wood groaned from the strain. Allister continued to hollar as Mota and several other sailors, the helmsman included, prepared to leap at him. In their eyes, this was mutiny.