Wakelight 1x01 - Find the Lost (part one)
My entry into chaos_thon . I managed to cut the first episode down to a reasonably length. I've a couple more to follow. It was glorious fun writing this. I hope you enjoy it.
Starring (in order of appearance):
Gillian Anderson
Jesse L. Martin
Vin Diesel
Gates McFadden
Sir Patrick Stewart
Katie McGrath
Jasika Nicole
Anton Yelchin
Raymond Cruz
Alice Krige
Chris Pine
Lucy Lawless
Mary McDonnell
Edward James Olmos
Rose Byrne
Neil Patrick Harris
and Sigourney Weaver
the behind the scenes guide
A small boat drifted on a dark sea. it was crude: the hull uneven, the cabin crooked, and the paint too bright to be practical or of any serious design. To a trained eye, it was Badtibiran by the shape of the hull, but a simple replica. Purple stripes decorated the deck and red splotches were barely visible above the dark line of the water. As it sailed, the tiny boat left a trail of light on the waves behind it. Something beneath the water stirred, pushing it onwards, deeper into the darkness around it.
now - Sip of Amgarna
Laraak Harbour, near Almu, Badtibira
Lapping gently at the reddish stones of the Manzazu cliffs, the coastal waters of Badtibira were calm. All along the coast of Badtibira, the sea was warm and peaceful. Shallow waters, rich with fish and life responded well to the seasingers on the fishing ships they passed. The seas here were lively and eager to gossip with the seasingers above them.
As the stout, red and brown vessel curled on a favourable current and slipped into the harbour, the Mahru's captain, Pirjo of Nanshe, sat on the bow, right behind her own seasinger. Her long, red-blonde hair was down and blew softly around her shoulders in the salt air. Her pale skin was tanned and a little freckled from their last trip to the shores of Idpa. The northern continent was several weeks journey and promised plenty of sun.
She frowned a little at the back of her hands. They were more used than beautiful, strong instead of delicate, but the warm wood of the ship felt incredible against her callused palms. She had much to be grateful for, a full hold, a healthy crew and the promise of another trading voyage. The crops had been good in Idpa, and the rich, dark sissu had grown thick. A bumper crop of the grain meant Pirjo, and her fellow merchants brave enough to sail out to Idpa, would be busy this season.
From the tip of the bow, Jaska of Harrani become Mu, looked up at her from deep in his song of landing. His deep brown eyes twinkled and his white teeth shone bright in contrast to his dark skin as he sang.
"How close should I ask her to bring us?" he teased, pausing his song to the water goddess. "She's in quite a mood," he explained, smiling down at the sea. "She might glide us into our berth on her own."
Pirjo shook her head, slipping off the bow rail with a sigh when her feet hit the deck. "I don't doubt you could do it. Breaking docking protocol would get me cited and fined. Let the tugs and lines bring us in, you've done your part."
Jaska nodded, still smiling as he took up a new song.
Pirjo was no seasinger, in fact she could barely carry the traditional melodies she was required to sing, but she knew the song of thanks. The warm melody Jaska had chosen was peaceful and she could easily have listened to the entire piece. Some seasingers she'd known made the song of thanks sound like a formality, but Jaska, who had been her seasinger for nearly a decade, made it sound like a love song. Sometimes she wondered if she had that to thank for her good luck and favourable seas. Reaching down to pat his shoulder, Pirjo headed for the rest of her crew to make ready for their landing.
The huge docks of the navy up the coast at Badgaldingir were regimented and efficient, but as a merchant Pirjo had to land her ship at Laraak. The civilian docks attached to the great city of Almu were always full of sound. Seasingers chanted and sang their ships out into the sea, tug crews and line pullers talked and joked as they worked and cargo in barrels and bundles thudded against the wood of deck and dock.
Loaders took goods to be sorted before market and the sturdy, shaggy wabalu, used to haul the goods, snorted and puffed as they dragged heavy carts up and down the dock. Their strong, three-toed feet made them ideal for the slippery docks, even if they shed their red fur in clumps. They were loud also, rumbling and calling to each other in what children imagined were secret conversations.
Pirjo signed the register and lifted the stone stamp from the chain around her neck to mark her ship in. While she waited for the girl minding the docks to check her identity in the heavy book of captain's marks, she patted a wabalu as it passed her and the four legged creature swung its head over for a good scratch behind its floppy ears. Its dull, dark eyes seemed pleased with the attention.
The young girl on duty as book keeper that evening smiled up at her when she found Pirjo's mark in her book. "Welcome home," she offered in that soft, capital accent. Pirjo forgot it when she was at sea. It always surprised her when she returned that people spoke with such reverence for their words. Often her crew made a mockery of their own.
Pirjo grinned back, knowing her own northern accent would surprise someone so young. It wasn't coarseness that made the ear pause, for the dialect was more provincial than unpleasant, it was the supposed rarity of a northerner who had left the forests and went to sea. "We've been awhile out," she replied. "Tiamat had us singing hard the long way home from Idpa."
The girl's smile widened and she nodded, both impressed and amused. Her dark, wiry curls bounced with the motion of her head. "You must have a strong seasinger, to be out so far."
"Hasn't failed me yet," Pirjo tilted her head towards her vessel, Mahru, tied up on the dock. The stout ship would need a thorough cleaning and restocking before they headed out again, but she intended to be underway within the week. "He'll be off in a moment, just has to finish singing his good byes to sea. He'll probably sing for you, if you ask."
For someone who saw seasingers all day, the girl still seemed pleased with the idea and Pirjo enjoyed the quick smile. "Thank you, honoured captain."
"Thank him," Pirjo called behind her, tucking her wavy hair into a strap of cloth and tying it back to save it from the wind. She headed up the dock, wondering why Sabitu had given them such a windy day. Usually the wind god was more laid back with his weather.
All around her, Laraak harbor thrummed with the sounds of ship and crew while the wind whistled with them. Songs blurred together with the percussive sounds of cargo and ropes against wood. These were good sounds and she was pleased to have made another safe journey. Her cargo of rare Idpian grains would add handsomely to her retirement fund. Though, she wasn't ready to use it quite yet.
Laughter rang down the square as she crested the old stone steps into the city. Her boots felt strange on stone, after three months on a wooden deck, and Pirjo took a moment to look around her. A whirlwind, white-gold in the setting sun, was surrounded by children and a handful of street musicians. Sabitu was exerting his power and enjoying himself; it seemed the city was too.
Almu, great ruby of Badtibira, was too crowded for Pirjo's taste. It was the busiest seaport on the continent and the best place to make coins with a full cargo hold. For all it was: an economic marvel, a city full of sights and wonders, and a beautiful capital, it was never somewhere she had wanted to anchor and rest for long. Her mind drifted on the idea of retirement for a moment, toying with the thought. She was nearing forty circles, and if she wanted to bear children, her time was running as low as the spring tide. It was an odd thought, one Pirjo didn't entertain often, but this evening thoughts of what could could have been floated through her mind. If Rasmus had just..
The thought remained unfinished when the scrape of claws on stone drew her attention behind her. Startled out of her thoughts, she whirled, wishing she was still on the Mahru with her daggers to protect her and her crew to flank the intruder.
"The honoured Admiral requests your presence," Elias' deep voice reverberated through her mind and Pirjo stiffened immediately. The great golden Sisu-ul circled her, coming just close enough for her to smell the faint aroma of burning herbs that always clung to the huge cat-like beings. He settled in front of her, looking down with huge green eyes as he twitched his furry wings.
"Of course she does," Pirjo muttered, trying to force herself to be polite. He didn't deserve her frustration; her annoyance at the summons was entirely for her mother. "She could have left a message at the dock," she added.
"So hard to believe she was concerned for your well-being?" Elias rumbled, nudging her with his shoulder towards the dark paving stones leading to the Naval headquarters. A nudge from him was enough to make her trip forward and she glared at him before complying. He was impossible to argue with but she found it endearing instead of oppressive. "Mother's enjoy seeing their cubs."
Pirjo stared up at the large head that so could easily crush her skull. The gleaming metal he wore over his fur, armour that marked him as the head of the army, shone in the waning light. He was nearly as beautiful as he would be terrifying in battle. "You are no one's messenger," she reminded him with a sharp glance. "Not even my mother's."
His basket-sized paw hit her lower back and pushed her forward without subjecting her to his deadly claws. "I share her concern. You sing out further than most of her marine scouts, with trainee lightbringers... I do believe the only reason Tiamat hasn't drowned you for your arrogance is that arrogance is a trait she admires." His words were punctuated with a bass sound in his chest. Her quiet show of respect for him was enough to make him purr and that, in spite of being summoned to appear before her mother as if she were still a child, made her smile. At least he was pleased with her. Pirjo had the nagging suspicion her mother wouldn't be.
They spoke during her walk up to the Naval headquarters, catching up on the city's gossip. Elias could be quite sociable when the urge struck him. Though her half of the conversation was voiced and his telepathic, something she usually found disturbing, Pirjo enjoyed the conversation. She'd gone months without speaking to anyone not on her crew or trading with her and fresh ideas, even telepathic ones, were a welcome change.
The rejuvenation she drew from Elias faded as the miltary enclave came into view. The sacred black bricks gleamed in the setting sun and the red pennants of Badtibira snapped in the breeze. Her stomach tightened a little, as it had for the last few years when she faced her mother. Their conversations had been cool, even curt for years, and Pirjo's failure to attend her brother Akseli's wedding had been a sore point. Akseli understood her reasons, autumn was the best season for trade and she was a trader. Even his wife, Kerttu, had understood that the timing was impossible for a working captain. It was a weak excuse for the distance between mother and daughter, but both of them had let it hang between them like a curtain of mist.
Elias let her open the great doors into the military enclave. His command centre was off to the left, a huge, raised stone circle where a few Sisu-ul waited with Seekers, their human riders, for their nightly patrols. Admiral Iines, the head of the Navy, stood at her map, watching enchanted ships move across painted water on the great mural on the wall.
Her mother didn't turn at their entrance, though Pirjo knew Elias announced her presence telepathically. The handful of strides it took her to reach her mother, Admiral Iines of Nanshe become Badgaldingir, were more difficult than a month's sailing against ill-currents.
"I asked Elias to let me be the one to tell you," Iines began, still not turning from her work. "Seeker Akseli is missing, with his partner, Säde and their Sisu-ul."
Pirjo's heart dropped into her stomach and both organs turned to ice. Throwing a glare at Elias, she watched him bare his teeth, a Sisu-ul shrug and apology, and realised her anger was ill-placed. She started to fold her arms over her chest and stopped, her mother stood that way too often. Instead, Pirjo put her hands on her hips and forced herself to be calm.
Her voice was as cold as the dark sea when she spoke. "What demons did you send him too?" she demanded in a whisper when she found words. "How long has my brother been gone?" she said, raising her voice. "Are you even looking for him?"
Iines finally turned, and the lines around her eyes had hardened in the months since Pirjo had seen her mother. A tall, graceful woman with a body hardened by her life at sea, Iines was still fit in sailing form. Her red-gold hair had lightened as she aged, and Pirjo could see out the grey strands she'd missed the last time she'd seen her. Her mother's blue eyes, something Pirjo occasionally resented in her own reflection, were soft and nearly desperate. It tore at Pirjo's heart in a way that was nearly primal.
"I can't," she replied softly, crumbling around the admission. "I sent--"
Elias cut her off, padding quickly over to join the conversation and bolster Iines' suddenly dark thoughts. "We attempted to send them to Ummarabu," he explained in both minds.
"That's a wilderness, a wasteland" Pirjo sputtered in surprise. Looking from her mother to Elias, she found it easier to look into the eyes of the beast. "There's nothing there except trees and damqis..."
Elias' lips curled into a very human looking smile, albeit one full of dangerous teeth. "I like damqis," he said. Sisu-ul were known for feasting on the plentiful brown creatures that filled the forests and the edges of the plains. Pirjo thought they were tough, and preferred fish. The relief from the moment of humour faded when Pirjo's attention returned to her mother.
Iines sighed, lifting a hand to her temple. "It was a calculated political decision. Not just mine and Elias'. The Queen and the Dreamer agreed as well." She ran slender fingers in a circle over her temple and her eyes flitted back to the map.
One of the Dreamer of Song's great works of magic was the enchanted map that provided the Admiral of the Queen's navy with the position of every ship on Tiamat's sea. It was as old as the castle above Badgaldingir and an immense tactical advantage. Any fleet that choose to move against them would be seen when it left a neighbouring harbour. On that map, Ummarabu was a far away patch of brown past the deepest shade of blue. The Zocarinu expanse lay between the wild continent and civilised Kagal. No one had sailed across it.
Pirjo made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat. "Why him? Akseli hasn't been a Seeker long, Säde's not ambitious. Why not Uljas? Tuuka?" she couldn't think of any of the other Seekers she'd seen decorated. "Surely there was someone more experienced?"
Her mother's eyebrows knit together, deepening the lines on her forehead. It was a look Pirjo knew well, a look often followed by some piece of political insight she, as a civilian, would not understand. Being in a family bound so deeply to the crown made moments of her life far more frustrating than they ought to have been. "They were right for the task. Stop questioning the past and listen--" Iines didn't get to finish.
The guards at the door began to sing the refrain, the Sisu-ul assembled roared their respect, and Pirjo turned. Her mouth formed familiar words, even though her throat was too tight to sing them. The hymn of the Dreamer echoed through the hall, sung by all the voices in the room, reverberating within the stone. Bringing her hands up to cover her heart, Pirjo watched the man who had once been only her father enter the hall.
A final roar of the Sisu-ul echoed as the last notes died. The Dreamer of Songs nodded serenely, turning his burning eyes to Pirjo and Iines. He had been an unimposing man before his ascension. His eyes, hazel then, had been kind and his smile frequent and generous. Pirjo remembered most that her father, once called Risto, could call light from his hands.
As a child, she hadn't known that her father's talent made him one of the most celebrated lightbringers in Badtibira. The light he could call to chase monsters from her room was enough to protect even the largest ships in their navy. Iines hadn't been surprised when he was called. She'd dreaded the idea of her husband's ascension the highest religious position in the land since he'd mentioned that the gods sang to him. Pirjo had been too young to see her mother's sense of duty as more than giving up when Risto left them.
She'd been present at his ascension, clinging to her mother's hand as the man who had been her father was burned until he was more. She'd sung the hymn then with tears pouring down her face and thought her father was gone forever, consumed by that fire. Her mother couldn't get through to her. Finally, it had been Kirshargal, who's clay ears were eternally listening, even to angry children, who explained to Pirjo that her father was not dead, but simply more than he had been.
She watched him approach now, smiling his familiar, soft smile that both was, and was not her father's. Pirjo realised that this mission was ever bit as complicated as her mother's reticence suggested. The Dreamer of Songs, the blessed link between the people to the gods, only involved himself in the politics of Badtibira in times of most dire need. If he was here, this situation was more complex and even more desperate than Pirjo could have possibly imagined.
Dropping her eyes to the floor for a moment, Pirjo prayed Kirshargal would give her the patience of stone, for she would need it.
thirty-nine circles ago - Jas of Shirzugar
Nanshe, Badtibira
The candle by the bed, a fat blue pillar of wax, burst into flame when Iines slipped through the door.
"So much for silence," she said, shaking her head. Her long red hair was tied back tightly and she still wore her simple blue Naval tunic. The dark brown stain on the left was blood, Risto knew that colour. "Not mine, I promise," she said. Easing her tunic off, she left it on the floor. The candlelight glinted off her naked skin as she approached the bed.
Risto of Elnwir become Immaru smiled. Knowing she would return tonight had made the last few days fly by.
"I wish you wouldn't," she said. Sighing and climbing into bed with him, Iines reached up and started untying her hair. She smelt of the sea, oil from cleaning her sword and blood.
Chasing her hand away, he unbound her hair, working the tight piece of leather until it released the long damp strands of red. He eased his fingers through it, slowly untangling it down. "I've been assigned the Grimarh," he whispered, kissing her neck.
"The flagship of the northern fleet."
He heard her breath quicken for a moment before she stilled it. "I will be safe," he promised, stoking her cheek before he sank his fingers back into her hair. "Surrounded by all of the blades and sailors." He kissed a line down along her spine. Iines didn't turn to him and he stopped, resting his chin on her shoulder. "The might of your brothers and sisters isn't enough to protect me?"
There was little humour in her face as she rolled to face him. Instead of laughing, as he wished, or insisting that the Badtibiran navy to which she belonged was the best in Shargal, as she frequently reminded him, Iines expression was dark. Her blue eyes were as deep as the Zocarinu as she traced her hand across his cheek.
"Anshargal protects his chosen," he promised her. The fire god might be difficult to speak to, but his lightbringers rarely came to harm. Iines knew that, and he did not know how to place the fear he saw in the way she tightened her forehead.
"I know he does," she said, kissing him and pushing his shoulder back to the bed. She settled on his chest, her hand resting just to the left of his heart. "He asks the world of them as well."
"What do you think he'll do?" Risto asked, kissing the top of her head. "Give me a bigger ship? They don't come much larger than the Grimarh."
"No, they don't." Her reply was soft. "Only the Ina Tahazi and the Sidru are larger."
"And they are well served," he reminded her. The ligthbringers on both of those vessels were powerful and respected. Keehir had trained him, circles ago, and Parzillu was one of the oldest and wisest. "Neither ship will be in need of me."
"You really don't understand what your new responsibility means, do you?" she asked, without moving.
"No, I--"
"The lightbringers who teach at the temple have no wish to travel. The Dreamer grows old and Anshargal will..." Iines didn't finish, but he'd heard the waver in her voice become more than she could contain.
He dealt with the possibility of her death in a raid or Tiamat's wrath each time she sailed. Not all in the Navy lived to retire ashore. In contrast, he'd always considered his position fairly safe. Lightbringers were some of the longest lived in the country. Anshargal's power gave them many gifts and barring the sinking of their vessels, most of his compatriots lived peaceful lives.
"I am no Dreamer," he promised, chuckled deep in his chest. "Nor will I ever be."
Iines sat up quickly and the sheet rustled in the quiet night. "You light candles with a thought," she said, staring over at the blue one he'd all but forgotten.
"A trick to amuse children and to make up for having full hands at the dinner table," he insisted, sitting up behind her and wrapping his arms around her slender waist. "It's nothing."
"It's a gift from Anshargal," she argued.
Iines left the bed, took the candle in her hands and blew it out. Smoke drifted up from the wick and vanished into the darkness. His eyes adjusted slowly and he felt her and the candle more than he saw either. Riston could feel the fire in the wick, just beneath the surface. It would burn because Anshargal's power was within it.
Her fingers passed over the candle and he felt them. Flesh burned poorly and Iines was a child of Tiamat, not one of Anshargal's chosen. The presence of her fingers near the wick was reason enough to hold back the flame. When she pulled her hand away, he lit it easily and set the fire free.
"Don't you realise how precious that is?" she said, her voice soft with sorrow. Testing him, she moved her hand back to the candle and he extinguished the fire before her fingers even touched the flame.
"Forget this," he whispered, taking the candle from her hands and setting it aside. He cupped her chin and pulled her gently towards him. "Finding the fire in a candle is a quirk of my nature. Anshargal showed more humour than destiny by blessing me with that." Risto kissed her, finding peace with the melding of their lips.
Iines broke the kiss and attempted a last protest, but he hushed her again.
"You sail again in three days, let us not waste the time in argument," he whispered into her neck and touched the firm flesh of her breast. There were other passions to be indulged than his odd knack for candles. "What happened to the brash young sea-ling who tackled me into her bunk?"
"She started to grow up," Iines said, finally smiling as she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck. "Maybe she even fell in love."
He dragged her down gently on top of him, kissing her neck before he replied. "Sailors usually try to avoid lightbringers."
"Maybe this one was foolish."
The scent of the sea still on her flesh and he spent half a moment wondering if that sea-touched mystery was part of her allure. Tiamat's chosen were as alien to him as the ways of light were to seasingers and sailors. Iines kissed him fiercely and wrapped her legs around his waist.
"Never as foolish as her lightbringer."
now - Sip of Amgarna
Almu, Badtibira
The Dreamer of Songs stood in front of the great map of the seas. When a new ship was launched, the Dreamer gave life the model that would represent it on the map. It was a magic he alone had.
"It is too bad that we cannot make this map find your kind Elias," the Dreamer said. His words hung in the air with a resonance no other living had. It had a similar weight to Elias' telepathy; the Dreamer's speech was inside of the heads of all present.
Elias wrinkled his great velvet nose. "You would need many small Sisu-ul," he said. It was difficult to tell when he joked. His voice was so deep and rumbling. "Your gods do not know where they are?"
"They will not tell me," the Dreamer said, turning to Iines and Pirjo. His eyes were pupil-less disks of gold behind his still-human eyelids.
Prjo stood just behind her mother; she hated the change in his eyes. When he had been father, they had been expressive, joyful and intelligent. Now there was only the otherworldliness of the gods and it occasionally still made her shiver.
"Captain Pirjo," the Dreamer noticed, nodding to her. "Tiamat once again allowed you safe passage and young Guskim has found his light with you. Why must you always take my youngest lightbringers? Do you delight in tempting Tiamat so?"
"Perhaps she enjoys being tempted," Pirjo replied. Her grim smile was merely for show, but it amused the Dreamer and his own smile appeared. Her father would have been pleased as well.
"Perhaps," he allowed, returning his attention to Iines. "Admiral, Queen Ilmari has authorised your choice of representative. Honoured Captain Pirjo will sail with the Queen's consent and her blessing."
"Thank you, Dreamer," Iines said formally. "I appreciate your support and the blessing of the queen."
Pirjo couldn't believe they'd discussed her with the queen. She had no quarrel with the queen. Ilmari was a good and patient ruler, as far as she'd experienced. She was a merchant, not a soldier a lightbringer nor a seeker. Her name was not for noble lips and politics was something that affected grain prices more than it affected her. She held herself still, trying to be professional.
Elias stretched his jaw, flashing a glimpse of his bright white teeth. "You will be well compensated, of course."
He was making fun of her and she knew it. She had little recourse against him and could only nod. "Thank you, and my gratitude to the queen. I am most humbled by her faith." She couldn't say infuriated, or terrified, though both of them settled like twin snakes in her stomach.
"Sending a military ship would be noticed by Kenigir's spies and provoke King Gigim," Iines explained, answering in one of Pirjo's questions.
"We're at peace with Kenigir," she said. The shock of her own naivety was followed with a rush of embarrassment. "I trade with them often. Gudanna's harbour is wealthy and full. Many others trade there."
"Poor nations rarely have the resources for a war," Iines reminded her.
Pirjo stopped herself before she bristled at the perceived rebuke. There was a calm in her mother's voice that pacified her. It wasn't only a political mission. Her brother was missing. The mother of Kalevi, the boy on her crew who was nearly her son, was also missing. She could find them, if by some great blessing, they survived the journey.
"I should say little," Pirjo gussed. The disappearance of both Seekers and Sisu-ul had been hushed, and it followed that her journey would be as well. Could she ask her crew to take on that risk? Jaska would, of course, he'd been with her the longest. Eijariita and Carola were young and they would not see the risk for what it was. Kalevi would stow aboard if she did not take him.
Her throat was dry and it matched the deserts of Idpa when the Dreamer took her shoulders.
"The gods would not set this task to you if it were impossible. Mountains are climbed. Monsters are vanquished. You have always been one for the sea," he paused. His voice softened and crept into her soul. If her eyes had been closed, he could have been her father again. "Just like your mother. Bring the lost home. Find my son."
thirty circles ago, Am of Shirbetna
Nanshe, Badtibira
"Do you think she'll understand?" Iines' voice was soft, flat like the water in the bay on a clear day.
"Someday," Risto promised, running his hand through his daughter's hair. She'd remember her father leaving, Pirjo was old enough for that and she was bright enough to understand that his departure was important. As her father, he couldn't help wondering how long she'd miss him, or if she'd still wish for his guidance when she was grown and sailing her own course.
"I'm not dying," he reminded his wife, reaching for her hand as she stood beside him in Pirjo's tiny room. "I will still be the man who loves you both very much."
"And Anshargal," Iines reminded him with a sigh of resignation. She was tough, endlessly practical. If the gods took her husband, they did it for a reason. He'd spent his life serving the gods, bring Anshargal's light into the world. She knew that he had chosen to leave her, and yet, she loved him.
"The soul of one, and more than one is," he repeated the line from the Dreamer's hymn. He'd never thought it would apply to him. Not in a realistic way or a way he'd even dare speak aloud but Anshargal had chosen and he would be the Dreamer of Songs, the light of their world. It was not a responsibility he assumed lightly and the gravity of what he would become weighed on him as if he were trapped on the bottom of Tiamat's sea.
"The hope of the world," Iines murmured, running her fingers over her eyes. The movement was quick, but he knew the tears had been there. He could see them glimmering in the weak light of the harbour.
It ached to leave her and if there had been any other way, he never would have. He was hers, nearly as much as he was Anshargal's, but belonging to the woman he loved wouldn't protect his country. Even being the Dreamer of Songs might not protect her from the darkness that was to come. He was only starting to understand, but he'd seen the glimmers that lay beneath the surface. There was more to the world then sea and stone, water and fire. There was a greater darkness, that he could not yet understand.
He let his eyes drift to the sea through the window. Pirjo's window looked out to the sea because his daughter already belonged to Tiamat. She had since she had drawn breath and he knew she would find her way there. He grew more certain the Burning approached. Anshargal was making his presence known in the corners of his mind. The creeping precognition made itself more known, and Risto knew he was losing himself. His childhood was becoming harder to remember, and what he still knew hid in songs. The melodies washed through his mind like waves, rearranging his soul like so many grains of sand. Even before the ceremony, Anshargal was taking him.
Iines ran a hand across his shoulder, letting him know she'd be in their bed when he was done watching his daughter sleep. Could he ever be done? Could he walk into that fire and let go of all the growing he would miss? Her naming, first sailing, choice of vocation, first love...the fights he'd epxected to have as she dated the wrong man or woman, or brought home sailors too wild to be trusted: all of it would disappear into the fire.
The still water in the harbour outside began to lap at the rocks, whispering of dreams he didn't yet understand. Risto would be more than himself, more than lover and father, and yet those still. He would always be with his family, even if he remembered them in the hints of refrain. He knew Anshargal's songs of fire. Kirshargal's songs of earth and Sabitu's lilting melodies of the air were known to all. Maybe Tiamat was the last dream; a mystery he would finally understand after the Burning.
He leaned down to kiss his daughter, smelling the sea in her hair. "Perhaps you will dream of me when you need me."
She didn't wake. Pirjo didn't even stir as he left her side and pulled the last sight of her her into his heart. If the gods wished, they would know each other. He would have faith.
now - Sip of Amgarna
Laraak Harbour, near Almu, Badtibira
Carola of Eridu quickly grew bored with unloading cargo and supervising the acquisition of new supplies. She was a blade, not a sailor, and Eijariita, the first of Captain Pirjo's crew never seemed to understand that. Not that Eijariita understood much that wasn't sea and ship.
Tucking a stray wisp of her long dark hair back into the leather cord binding it, Carola sighted across the dock. She kept half an eye on the slow moving wabalu and their heavy loads of food. It was going to be a long trip, by the amount of food they were taking aboard. Nils of Zilittu, their stout quartermaster, had been out procuring supplies since the captain's message had arrived. Kalevi was supervising below, which was a good thing for the kid. The boy was too quick for his own good and putting his mind to work counting barrels was a good use of his head. Anything that kept him busy was something he should be doing more often. He was too jumpy for a sword and too small for an axe. If the Mahru hadn't had her, they'd be in trouble.
She sank three of her little throwing knives in the stout post of the dock in lightning succession. Crossing the line of wabalu, who were too content with the hot sun to notice flying steel, Carola retrieved her knives and sighted down to a further post. She had to keep herself busy somehow. There were four more loads of dry goods to come. Just where were they sailing? The ends of Kir? She'd never seen so much food.
On the deck, Eijariita of Saharu puzzled over her orders. Though they'd taken in a vast quantity of food, the captain had laid in none of the goods they usually traded with. Kalevi, who's cheerful tone could be heard all the way up from the hold, hadn't noticed the oddity. She wondered if Carola had. The blade was practising with her knives, and when she tired of that, Eijariita knew she'd practice with her sword, then the bow in the hold, until the ship was loaded or the captain returned.
She listened to the singing of steel in the air and watched the seamless line of Carola's slim body as she threw, crouched in mock combat, and threw again. She was a beauty with skin that resisted Anshargal's touch and remained pale as milk. Her dark hair was always tight back, but Eijariita suspected it would be beautiful down. It looked smooth and soft in the sunlight, even bound.
Shaking her head and halting her mind from wandering, Eijariita returned thoughts to pen. Without trade supplies, they could devote the entire hold to food. That gave them nearly six months they could be at sea. If Jaska was lucky and Tiamat was pleased, they would not want for water and could stretch the food further with fish and seaweed. She frowned at the thought, creasing her dark brown brow. What was six months journey? The great temple of Kir? The far side of Idpa? Tiamat's eye? These were the destinations of fables, not of real ships and living crews.
Sucking on the ink pen, she spat black ink over the side after it rushed unexpectedly from the reed into her mouth. She cursed and caught Carola looking up at her from the dock.
"Broke my reed," she said lamely.
Carola, who spent as much time writing as Jaska spent on land, merely nodded before pulling her longer blade and running through the practice strokes.
Eijrariita groaned and dropped her head into her hands. Six months out would be a long sailing indeed.
In the hold, Kalevi of Almu stacked crates up to the ceiling then started working on the barrels. Crates had been easier to stack, with their square wooden sides. Barrels took a little more ingenuity, but he was up to the challenge. He was the best on the ship at puzzles, even Jaska thought so. The seasinger had seen more sailings that anyone else aboard, including the captain. If he said he was good, then he was, and Kalevi had no intention of letting him down.
Scratching his head when his curly hair began to itch, he took a break and emerged out into the sunshine. Nils, the burly man who kept the Mahru in order, was checking the deck, plank by plank, to make sure she still sailed. Mahru was tough, a ship with the heart of a great rapas who lived their whole lives in the sea. He'd only seen one of the huge creatures once, when he'd been a boy. Back the his mother and Rasmus, the seeker who had once sailed out with them, had been charting Idpa with their ship. Rasmus had flown him out on Venla, his great black Sisu-ul, to get a good look.
The rapas beneath them in the water was blue and slick, like Tiamat's sea, and Kalevi had spoke of nothing for seasons while his mother shook her head. His mother was too practical for wonders like rapas, but her Sisu-ul, big gold Antero, had liked it. Kalevi wondered if he and Antero saw the same things in his mother. Antero knew her heart just as well as he did. Sisu-ul were family once they were bonded and Antero, even though he was fur and claws, had been nearly as good a father as Kalevi's hazy memories of his own.
Antero had taught him to fight, and to speak his mind. He'd listened and helped convince his mother and the captain to let him stay aboard, even though he was barely of the age of work. Kalevi knew he belonged here, at sea, just as much as the captain did. He was for Tiamat, and his heart would not be full unless he was out, crossing the waves.
"Enough dawdling," Nils of Zilittu said, grinning playfully. "My barrels won't stack themselves and I can't fit them all in the hold. Captain will beat me senseless if they're not stowed when she gets back."
Imagining the petite little captain beating Nils, the dark solid wall of a man, made Kalevi chuckle as he flew back into the hold. "I'll have 'em stashed before you're done with the deck. I'll bet you a flask and a half of the summer wine."
"The summer?" Nils asked, lifting his head and winking. "Your bet is accepted. I fear you'll be drinking so much winter wine that your stomach will swim in it."
now - Sip of Amgarna
Libbu, Almu, Badtibira
Jaska stood up to his neck in the sacred waters of Mu, the temple of the sea. As the capital of Badtibira and home to seasingers and lighbringers both, Almu had only one great temple. Mu and Immaru were joined, forming Libbu, the seat of the heavens. Sabitu's windswept coliseum was more theatre than temple, and Kirshargal never would have allowed a structure of hers to be built. Her temple, Ankida, was of her own making and found where she wished it to be. Only Tiamat and Anshargal considered themselves grand enough to have houses and, in his opinion, Mu was far superior to the golden half that was Immaru. Anshargal's seat was too bright to be welcoming. Mu was full of the warm sacred pools that eased the heart. There was little sorrow to pull from his own today. He'd had a good sailing and Tiamat had blessed him with kind currents and warm seas. He could ask for little more.
In the great cave around him, he listened to the half-songs of his contented fellow seasingers. The light in the centre of the room was a bit of the Dreamer's magic. Tiamat would never have allowed Anshargal's fire in her temple, just as Anshargal had no place for water in his. The flickering light reflected blue patterns all over the walls. They were of the sea, as was the smell. He closed his eyes and hummed with the songs around him. Here he could relax and be simply himself and the sea. He enjoyed it that way most of all.
Far away, in the great chamber of welcome, the Dreamer's hymn echoed loud and true. The Dreamer of Songs was home in the temple and from the sounds of Sisu-ul, he'd been escorted. It was not unheard of for the beasts to visit Libbu, but the gods of Badtibira were not their gods and the sound of their roars was an odd counterpoint. It would be an Admiral, or the Queen. If he left the water, he could know, but he was simply too comfortable where he was.
The song faded and the contented hums of the seasingers returned. He still had a few hours before they would sail, and the captain would certainly never leave without him.
and onto part two
Starring (in order of appearance):
Gillian Anderson
Jesse L. Martin
Vin Diesel
Gates McFadden
Sir Patrick Stewart
Katie McGrath
Jasika Nicole
Anton Yelchin
Raymond Cruz
Alice Krige
Chris Pine
Lucy Lawless
Mary McDonnell
Edward James Olmos
Rose Byrne
Neil Patrick Harris
and Sigourney Weaver
the behind the scenes guide
A small boat drifted on a dark sea. it was crude: the hull uneven, the cabin crooked, and the paint too bright to be practical or of any serious design. To a trained eye, it was Badtibiran by the shape of the hull, but a simple replica. Purple stripes decorated the deck and red splotches were barely visible above the dark line of the water. As it sailed, the tiny boat left a trail of light on the waves behind it. Something beneath the water stirred, pushing it onwards, deeper into the darkness around it.
Click to viewnow - Sip of Amgarna
Laraak Harbour, near Almu, Badtibira
Lapping gently at the reddish stones of the Manzazu cliffs, the coastal waters of Badtibira were calm. All along the coast of Badtibira, the sea was warm and peaceful. Shallow waters, rich with fish and life responded well to the seasingers on the fishing ships they passed. The seas here were lively and eager to gossip with the seasingers above them.
As the stout, red and brown vessel curled on a favourable current and slipped into the harbour, the Mahru's captain, Pirjo of Nanshe, sat on the bow, right behind her own seasinger. Her long, red-blonde hair was down and blew softly around her shoulders in the salt air. Her pale skin was tanned and a little freckled from their last trip to the shores of Idpa. The northern continent was several weeks journey and promised plenty of sun.
She frowned a little at the back of her hands. They were more used than beautiful, strong instead of delicate, but the warm wood of the ship felt incredible against her callused palms. She had much to be grateful for, a full hold, a healthy crew and the promise of another trading voyage. The crops had been good in Idpa, and the rich, dark sissu had grown thick. A bumper crop of the grain meant Pirjo, and her fellow merchants brave enough to sail out to Idpa, would be busy this season.
From the tip of the bow, Jaska of Harrani become Mu, looked up at her from deep in his song of landing. His deep brown eyes twinkled and his white teeth shone bright in contrast to his dark skin as he sang.
"How close should I ask her to bring us?" he teased, pausing his song to the water goddess. "She's in quite a mood," he explained, smiling down at the sea. "She might glide us into our berth on her own."
Pirjo shook her head, slipping off the bow rail with a sigh when her feet hit the deck. "I don't doubt you could do it. Breaking docking protocol would get me cited and fined. Let the tugs and lines bring us in, you've done your part."
Jaska nodded, still smiling as he took up a new song.
Pirjo was no seasinger, in fact she could barely carry the traditional melodies she was required to sing, but she knew the song of thanks. The warm melody Jaska had chosen was peaceful and she could easily have listened to the entire piece. Some seasingers she'd known made the song of thanks sound like a formality, but Jaska, who had been her seasinger for nearly a decade, made it sound like a love song. Sometimes she wondered if she had that to thank for her good luck and favourable seas. Reaching down to pat his shoulder, Pirjo headed for the rest of her crew to make ready for their landing.
The huge docks of the navy up the coast at Badgaldingir were regimented and efficient, but as a merchant Pirjo had to land her ship at Laraak. The civilian docks attached to the great city of Almu were always full of sound. Seasingers chanted and sang their ships out into the sea, tug crews and line pullers talked and joked as they worked and cargo in barrels and bundles thudded against the wood of deck and dock.
Loaders took goods to be sorted before market and the sturdy, shaggy wabalu, used to haul the goods, snorted and puffed as they dragged heavy carts up and down the dock. Their strong, three-toed feet made them ideal for the slippery docks, even if they shed their red fur in clumps. They were loud also, rumbling and calling to each other in what children imagined were secret conversations.
Pirjo signed the register and lifted the stone stamp from the chain around her neck to mark her ship in. While she waited for the girl minding the docks to check her identity in the heavy book of captain's marks, she patted a wabalu as it passed her and the four legged creature swung its head over for a good scratch behind its floppy ears. Its dull, dark eyes seemed pleased with the attention.
The young girl on duty as book keeper that evening smiled up at her when she found Pirjo's mark in her book. "Welcome home," she offered in that soft, capital accent. Pirjo forgot it when she was at sea. It always surprised her when she returned that people spoke with such reverence for their words. Often her crew made a mockery of their own.
Pirjo grinned back, knowing her own northern accent would surprise someone so young. It wasn't coarseness that made the ear pause, for the dialect was more provincial than unpleasant, it was the supposed rarity of a northerner who had left the forests and went to sea. "We've been awhile out," she replied. "Tiamat had us singing hard the long way home from Idpa."
The girl's smile widened and she nodded, both impressed and amused. Her dark, wiry curls bounced with the motion of her head. "You must have a strong seasinger, to be out so far."
"Hasn't failed me yet," Pirjo tilted her head towards her vessel, Mahru, tied up on the dock. The stout ship would need a thorough cleaning and restocking before they headed out again, but she intended to be underway within the week. "He'll be off in a moment, just has to finish singing his good byes to sea. He'll probably sing for you, if you ask."
For someone who saw seasingers all day, the girl still seemed pleased with the idea and Pirjo enjoyed the quick smile. "Thank you, honoured captain."
"Thank him," Pirjo called behind her, tucking her wavy hair into a strap of cloth and tying it back to save it from the wind. She headed up the dock, wondering why Sabitu had given them such a windy day. Usually the wind god was more laid back with his weather.
All around her, Laraak harbor thrummed with the sounds of ship and crew while the wind whistled with them. Songs blurred together with the percussive sounds of cargo and ropes against wood. These were good sounds and she was pleased to have made another safe journey. Her cargo of rare Idpian grains would add handsomely to her retirement fund. Though, she wasn't ready to use it quite yet.
Laughter rang down the square as she crested the old stone steps into the city. Her boots felt strange on stone, after three months on a wooden deck, and Pirjo took a moment to look around her. A whirlwind, white-gold in the setting sun, was surrounded by children and a handful of street musicians. Sabitu was exerting his power and enjoying himself; it seemed the city was too.
Almu, great ruby of Badtibira, was too crowded for Pirjo's taste. It was the busiest seaport on the continent and the best place to make coins with a full cargo hold. For all it was: an economic marvel, a city full of sights and wonders, and a beautiful capital, it was never somewhere she had wanted to anchor and rest for long. Her mind drifted on the idea of retirement for a moment, toying with the thought. She was nearing forty circles, and if she wanted to bear children, her time was running as low as the spring tide. It was an odd thought, one Pirjo didn't entertain often, but this evening thoughts of what could could have been floated through her mind. If Rasmus had just..
The thought remained unfinished when the scrape of claws on stone drew her attention behind her. Startled out of her thoughts, she whirled, wishing she was still on the Mahru with her daggers to protect her and her crew to flank the intruder.
"The honoured Admiral requests your presence," Elias' deep voice reverberated through her mind and Pirjo stiffened immediately. The great golden Sisu-ul circled her, coming just close enough for her to smell the faint aroma of burning herbs that always clung to the huge cat-like beings. He settled in front of her, looking down with huge green eyes as he twitched his furry wings.
"Of course she does," Pirjo muttered, trying to force herself to be polite. He didn't deserve her frustration; her annoyance at the summons was entirely for her mother. "She could have left a message at the dock," she added.
"So hard to believe she was concerned for your well-being?" Elias rumbled, nudging her with his shoulder towards the dark paving stones leading to the Naval headquarters. A nudge from him was enough to make her trip forward and she glared at him before complying. He was impossible to argue with but she found it endearing instead of oppressive. "Mother's enjoy seeing their cubs."
Pirjo stared up at the large head that so could easily crush her skull. The gleaming metal he wore over his fur, armour that marked him as the head of the army, shone in the waning light. He was nearly as beautiful as he would be terrifying in battle. "You are no one's messenger," she reminded him with a sharp glance. "Not even my mother's."
His basket-sized paw hit her lower back and pushed her forward without subjecting her to his deadly claws. "I share her concern. You sing out further than most of her marine scouts, with trainee lightbringers... I do believe the only reason Tiamat hasn't drowned you for your arrogance is that arrogance is a trait she admires." His words were punctuated with a bass sound in his chest. Her quiet show of respect for him was enough to make him purr and that, in spite of being summoned to appear before her mother as if she were still a child, made her smile. At least he was pleased with her. Pirjo had the nagging suspicion her mother wouldn't be.
They spoke during her walk up to the Naval headquarters, catching up on the city's gossip. Elias could be quite sociable when the urge struck him. Though her half of the conversation was voiced and his telepathic, something she usually found disturbing, Pirjo enjoyed the conversation. She'd gone months without speaking to anyone not on her crew or trading with her and fresh ideas, even telepathic ones, were a welcome change.
The rejuvenation she drew from Elias faded as the miltary enclave came into view. The sacred black bricks gleamed in the setting sun and the red pennants of Badtibira snapped in the breeze. Her stomach tightened a little, as it had for the last few years when she faced her mother. Their conversations had been cool, even curt for years, and Pirjo's failure to attend her brother Akseli's wedding had been a sore point. Akseli understood her reasons, autumn was the best season for trade and she was a trader. Even his wife, Kerttu, had understood that the timing was impossible for a working captain. It was a weak excuse for the distance between mother and daughter, but both of them had let it hang between them like a curtain of mist.
Elias let her open the great doors into the military enclave. His command centre was off to the left, a huge, raised stone circle where a few Sisu-ul waited with Seekers, their human riders, for their nightly patrols. Admiral Iines, the head of the Navy, stood at her map, watching enchanted ships move across painted water on the great mural on the wall.
Her mother didn't turn at their entrance, though Pirjo knew Elias announced her presence telepathically. The handful of strides it took her to reach her mother, Admiral Iines of Nanshe become Badgaldingir, were more difficult than a month's sailing against ill-currents.
"I asked Elias to let me be the one to tell you," Iines began, still not turning from her work. "Seeker Akseli is missing, with his partner, Säde and their Sisu-ul."
Pirjo's heart dropped into her stomach and both organs turned to ice. Throwing a glare at Elias, she watched him bare his teeth, a Sisu-ul shrug and apology, and realised her anger was ill-placed. She started to fold her arms over her chest and stopped, her mother stood that way too often. Instead, Pirjo put her hands on her hips and forced herself to be calm.
Her voice was as cold as the dark sea when she spoke. "What demons did you send him too?" she demanded in a whisper when she found words. "How long has my brother been gone?" she said, raising her voice. "Are you even looking for him?"
Iines finally turned, and the lines around her eyes had hardened in the months since Pirjo had seen her mother. A tall, graceful woman with a body hardened by her life at sea, Iines was still fit in sailing form. Her red-gold hair had lightened as she aged, and Pirjo could see out the grey strands she'd missed the last time she'd seen her. Her mother's blue eyes, something Pirjo occasionally resented in her own reflection, were soft and nearly desperate. It tore at Pirjo's heart in a way that was nearly primal.
"I can't," she replied softly, crumbling around the admission. "I sent--"
Elias cut her off, padding quickly over to join the conversation and bolster Iines' suddenly dark thoughts. "We attempted to send them to Ummarabu," he explained in both minds.
"That's a wilderness, a wasteland" Pirjo sputtered in surprise. Looking from her mother to Elias, she found it easier to look into the eyes of the beast. "There's nothing there except trees and damqis..."
Elias' lips curled into a very human looking smile, albeit one full of dangerous teeth. "I like damqis," he said. Sisu-ul were known for feasting on the plentiful brown creatures that filled the forests and the edges of the plains. Pirjo thought they were tough, and preferred fish. The relief from the moment of humour faded when Pirjo's attention returned to her mother.
Iines sighed, lifting a hand to her temple. "It was a calculated political decision. Not just mine and Elias'. The Queen and the Dreamer agreed as well." She ran slender fingers in a circle over her temple and her eyes flitted back to the map.
One of the Dreamer of Song's great works of magic was the enchanted map that provided the Admiral of the Queen's navy with the position of every ship on Tiamat's sea. It was as old as the castle above Badgaldingir and an immense tactical advantage. Any fleet that choose to move against them would be seen when it left a neighbouring harbour. On that map, Ummarabu was a far away patch of brown past the deepest shade of blue. The Zocarinu expanse lay between the wild continent and civilised Kagal. No one had sailed across it.
Pirjo made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat. "Why him? Akseli hasn't been a Seeker long, Säde's not ambitious. Why not Uljas? Tuuka?" she couldn't think of any of the other Seekers she'd seen decorated. "Surely there was someone more experienced?"
Her mother's eyebrows knit together, deepening the lines on her forehead. It was a look Pirjo knew well, a look often followed by some piece of political insight she, as a civilian, would not understand. Being in a family bound so deeply to the crown made moments of her life far more frustrating than they ought to have been. "They were right for the task. Stop questioning the past and listen--" Iines didn't get to finish.
The guards at the door began to sing the refrain, the Sisu-ul assembled roared their respect, and Pirjo turned. Her mouth formed familiar words, even though her throat was too tight to sing them. The hymn of the Dreamer echoed through the hall, sung by all the voices in the room, reverberating within the stone. Bringing her hands up to cover her heart, Pirjo watched the man who had once been only her father enter the hall.
A final roar of the Sisu-ul echoed as the last notes died. The Dreamer of Songs nodded serenely, turning his burning eyes to Pirjo and Iines. He had been an unimposing man before his ascension. His eyes, hazel then, had been kind and his smile frequent and generous. Pirjo remembered most that her father, once called Risto, could call light from his hands.
As a child, she hadn't known that her father's talent made him one of the most celebrated lightbringers in Badtibira. The light he could call to chase monsters from her room was enough to protect even the largest ships in their navy. Iines hadn't been surprised when he was called. She'd dreaded the idea of her husband's ascension the highest religious position in the land since he'd mentioned that the gods sang to him. Pirjo had been too young to see her mother's sense of duty as more than giving up when Risto left them.
She'd been present at his ascension, clinging to her mother's hand as the man who had been her father was burned until he was more. She'd sung the hymn then with tears pouring down her face and thought her father was gone forever, consumed by that fire. Her mother couldn't get through to her. Finally, it had been Kirshargal, who's clay ears were eternally listening, even to angry children, who explained to Pirjo that her father was not dead, but simply more than he had been.
She watched him approach now, smiling his familiar, soft smile that both was, and was not her father's. Pirjo realised that this mission was ever bit as complicated as her mother's reticence suggested. The Dreamer of Songs, the blessed link between the people to the gods, only involved himself in the politics of Badtibira in times of most dire need. If he was here, this situation was more complex and even more desperate than Pirjo could have possibly imagined.
Dropping her eyes to the floor for a moment, Pirjo prayed Kirshargal would give her the patience of stone, for she would need it.
thirty-nine circles ago - Jas of Shirzugar
Nanshe, Badtibira
The candle by the bed, a fat blue pillar of wax, burst into flame when Iines slipped through the door.
"So much for silence," she said, shaking her head. Her long red hair was tied back tightly and she still wore her simple blue Naval tunic. The dark brown stain on the left was blood, Risto knew that colour. "Not mine, I promise," she said. Easing her tunic off, she left it on the floor. The candlelight glinted off her naked skin as she approached the bed.
Risto of Elnwir become Immaru smiled. Knowing she would return tonight had made the last few days fly by.
"I wish you wouldn't," she said. Sighing and climbing into bed with him, Iines reached up and started untying her hair. She smelt of the sea, oil from cleaning her sword and blood.
Chasing her hand away, he unbound her hair, working the tight piece of leather until it released the long damp strands of red. He eased his fingers through it, slowly untangling it down. "I've been assigned the Grimarh," he whispered, kissing her neck.
"The flagship of the northern fleet."
He heard her breath quicken for a moment before she stilled it. "I will be safe," he promised, stoking her cheek before he sank his fingers back into her hair. "Surrounded by all of the blades and sailors." He kissed a line down along her spine. Iines didn't turn to him and he stopped, resting his chin on her shoulder. "The might of your brothers and sisters isn't enough to protect me?"
There was little humour in her face as she rolled to face him. Instead of laughing, as he wished, or insisting that the Badtibiran navy to which she belonged was the best in Shargal, as she frequently reminded him, Iines expression was dark. Her blue eyes were as deep as the Zocarinu as she traced her hand across his cheek.
"Anshargal protects his chosen," he promised her. The fire god might be difficult to speak to, but his lightbringers rarely came to harm. Iines knew that, and he did not know how to place the fear he saw in the way she tightened her forehead.
"I know he does," she said, kissing him and pushing his shoulder back to the bed. She settled on his chest, her hand resting just to the left of his heart. "He asks the world of them as well."
"What do you think he'll do?" Risto asked, kissing the top of her head. "Give me a bigger ship? They don't come much larger than the Grimarh."
"No, they don't." Her reply was soft. "Only the Ina Tahazi and the Sidru are larger."
"And they are well served," he reminded her. The ligthbringers on both of those vessels were powerful and respected. Keehir had trained him, circles ago, and Parzillu was one of the oldest and wisest. "Neither ship will be in need of me."
"You really don't understand what your new responsibility means, do you?" she asked, without moving.
"No, I--"
"The lightbringers who teach at the temple have no wish to travel. The Dreamer grows old and Anshargal will..." Iines didn't finish, but he'd heard the waver in her voice become more than she could contain.
He dealt with the possibility of her death in a raid or Tiamat's wrath each time she sailed. Not all in the Navy lived to retire ashore. In contrast, he'd always considered his position fairly safe. Lightbringers were some of the longest lived in the country. Anshargal's power gave them many gifts and barring the sinking of their vessels, most of his compatriots lived peaceful lives.
"I am no Dreamer," he promised, chuckled deep in his chest. "Nor will I ever be."
Iines sat up quickly and the sheet rustled in the quiet night. "You light candles with a thought," she said, staring over at the blue one he'd all but forgotten.
"A trick to amuse children and to make up for having full hands at the dinner table," he insisted, sitting up behind her and wrapping his arms around her slender waist. "It's nothing."
"It's a gift from Anshargal," she argued.
Iines left the bed, took the candle in her hands and blew it out. Smoke drifted up from the wick and vanished into the darkness. His eyes adjusted slowly and he felt her and the candle more than he saw either. Riston could feel the fire in the wick, just beneath the surface. It would burn because Anshargal's power was within it.
Her fingers passed over the candle and he felt them. Flesh burned poorly and Iines was a child of Tiamat, not one of Anshargal's chosen. The presence of her fingers near the wick was reason enough to hold back the flame. When she pulled her hand away, he lit it easily and set the fire free.
"Don't you realise how precious that is?" she said, her voice soft with sorrow. Testing him, she moved her hand back to the candle and he extinguished the fire before her fingers even touched the flame.
"Forget this," he whispered, taking the candle from her hands and setting it aside. He cupped her chin and pulled her gently towards him. "Finding the fire in a candle is a quirk of my nature. Anshargal showed more humour than destiny by blessing me with that." Risto kissed her, finding peace with the melding of their lips.
Iines broke the kiss and attempted a last protest, but he hushed her again.
"You sail again in three days, let us not waste the time in argument," he whispered into her neck and touched the firm flesh of her breast. There were other passions to be indulged than his odd knack for candles. "What happened to the brash young sea-ling who tackled me into her bunk?"
"She started to grow up," Iines said, finally smiling as she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck. "Maybe she even fell in love."
He dragged her down gently on top of him, kissing her neck before he replied. "Sailors usually try to avoid lightbringers."
"Maybe this one was foolish."
The scent of the sea still on her flesh and he spent half a moment wondering if that sea-touched mystery was part of her allure. Tiamat's chosen were as alien to him as the ways of light were to seasingers and sailors. Iines kissed him fiercely and wrapped her legs around his waist.
"Never as foolish as her lightbringer."
now - Sip of Amgarna
Almu, Badtibira
The Dreamer of Songs stood in front of the great map of the seas. When a new ship was launched, the Dreamer gave life the model that would represent it on the map. It was a magic he alone had.
"It is too bad that we cannot make this map find your kind Elias," the Dreamer said. His words hung in the air with a resonance no other living had. It had a similar weight to Elias' telepathy; the Dreamer's speech was inside of the heads of all present.
Elias wrinkled his great velvet nose. "You would need many small Sisu-ul," he said. It was difficult to tell when he joked. His voice was so deep and rumbling. "Your gods do not know where they are?"
"They will not tell me," the Dreamer said, turning to Iines and Pirjo. His eyes were pupil-less disks of gold behind his still-human eyelids.
Prjo stood just behind her mother; she hated the change in his eyes. When he had been father, they had been expressive, joyful and intelligent. Now there was only the otherworldliness of the gods and it occasionally still made her shiver.
"Captain Pirjo," the Dreamer noticed, nodding to her. "Tiamat once again allowed you safe passage and young Guskim has found his light with you. Why must you always take my youngest lightbringers? Do you delight in tempting Tiamat so?"
"Perhaps she enjoys being tempted," Pirjo replied. Her grim smile was merely for show, but it amused the Dreamer and his own smile appeared. Her father would have been pleased as well.
"Perhaps," he allowed, returning his attention to Iines. "Admiral, Queen Ilmari has authorised your choice of representative. Honoured Captain Pirjo will sail with the Queen's consent and her blessing."
"Thank you, Dreamer," Iines said formally. "I appreciate your support and the blessing of the queen."
Pirjo couldn't believe they'd discussed her with the queen. She had no quarrel with the queen. Ilmari was a good and patient ruler, as far as she'd experienced. She was a merchant, not a soldier a lightbringer nor a seeker. Her name was not for noble lips and politics was something that affected grain prices more than it affected her. She held herself still, trying to be professional.
Elias stretched his jaw, flashing a glimpse of his bright white teeth. "You will be well compensated, of course."
He was making fun of her and she knew it. She had little recourse against him and could only nod. "Thank you, and my gratitude to the queen. I am most humbled by her faith." She couldn't say infuriated, or terrified, though both of them settled like twin snakes in her stomach.
"Sending a military ship would be noticed by Kenigir's spies and provoke King Gigim," Iines explained, answering in one of Pirjo's questions.
"We're at peace with Kenigir," she said. The shock of her own naivety was followed with a rush of embarrassment. "I trade with them often. Gudanna's harbour is wealthy and full. Many others trade there."
"Poor nations rarely have the resources for a war," Iines reminded her.
Pirjo stopped herself before she bristled at the perceived rebuke. There was a calm in her mother's voice that pacified her. It wasn't only a political mission. Her brother was missing. The mother of Kalevi, the boy on her crew who was nearly her son, was also missing. She could find them, if by some great blessing, they survived the journey.
"I should say little," Pirjo gussed. The disappearance of both Seekers and Sisu-ul had been hushed, and it followed that her journey would be as well. Could she ask her crew to take on that risk? Jaska would, of course, he'd been with her the longest. Eijariita and Carola were young and they would not see the risk for what it was. Kalevi would stow aboard if she did not take him.
Her throat was dry and it matched the deserts of Idpa when the Dreamer took her shoulders.
"The gods would not set this task to you if it were impossible. Mountains are climbed. Monsters are vanquished. You have always been one for the sea," he paused. His voice softened and crept into her soul. If her eyes had been closed, he could have been her father again. "Just like your mother. Bring the lost home. Find my son."
thirty circles ago, Am of Shirbetna
Nanshe, Badtibira
"Do you think she'll understand?" Iines' voice was soft, flat like the water in the bay on a clear day.
"Someday," Risto promised, running his hand through his daughter's hair. She'd remember her father leaving, Pirjo was old enough for that and she was bright enough to understand that his departure was important. As her father, he couldn't help wondering how long she'd miss him, or if she'd still wish for his guidance when she was grown and sailing her own course.
"I'm not dying," he reminded his wife, reaching for her hand as she stood beside him in Pirjo's tiny room. "I will still be the man who loves you both very much."
"And Anshargal," Iines reminded him with a sigh of resignation. She was tough, endlessly practical. If the gods took her husband, they did it for a reason. He'd spent his life serving the gods, bring Anshargal's light into the world. She knew that he had chosen to leave her, and yet, she loved him.
"The soul of one, and more than one is," he repeated the line from the Dreamer's hymn. He'd never thought it would apply to him. Not in a realistic way or a way he'd even dare speak aloud but Anshargal had chosen and he would be the Dreamer of Songs, the light of their world. It was not a responsibility he assumed lightly and the gravity of what he would become weighed on him as if he were trapped on the bottom of Tiamat's sea.
"The hope of the world," Iines murmured, running her fingers over her eyes. The movement was quick, but he knew the tears had been there. He could see them glimmering in the weak light of the harbour.
It ached to leave her and if there had been any other way, he never would have. He was hers, nearly as much as he was Anshargal's, but belonging to the woman he loved wouldn't protect his country. Even being the Dreamer of Songs might not protect her from the darkness that was to come. He was only starting to understand, but he'd seen the glimmers that lay beneath the surface. There was more to the world then sea and stone, water and fire. There was a greater darkness, that he could not yet understand.
He let his eyes drift to the sea through the window. Pirjo's window looked out to the sea because his daughter already belonged to Tiamat. She had since she had drawn breath and he knew she would find her way there. He grew more certain the Burning approached. Anshargal was making his presence known in the corners of his mind. The creeping precognition made itself more known, and Risto knew he was losing himself. His childhood was becoming harder to remember, and what he still knew hid in songs. The melodies washed through his mind like waves, rearranging his soul like so many grains of sand. Even before the ceremony, Anshargal was taking him.
Iines ran a hand across his shoulder, letting him know she'd be in their bed when he was done watching his daughter sleep. Could he ever be done? Could he walk into that fire and let go of all the growing he would miss? Her naming, first sailing, choice of vocation, first love...the fights he'd epxected to have as she dated the wrong man or woman, or brought home sailors too wild to be trusted: all of it would disappear into the fire.
The still water in the harbour outside began to lap at the rocks, whispering of dreams he didn't yet understand. Risto would be more than himself, more than lover and father, and yet those still. He would always be with his family, even if he remembered them in the hints of refrain. He knew Anshargal's songs of fire. Kirshargal's songs of earth and Sabitu's lilting melodies of the air were known to all. Maybe Tiamat was the last dream; a mystery he would finally understand after the Burning.
He leaned down to kiss his daughter, smelling the sea in her hair. "Perhaps you will dream of me when you need me."
She didn't wake. Pirjo didn't even stir as he left her side and pulled the last sight of her her into his heart. If the gods wished, they would know each other. He would have faith.
now - Sip of Amgarna
Laraak Harbour, near Almu, Badtibira
Carola of Eridu quickly grew bored with unloading cargo and supervising the acquisition of new supplies. She was a blade, not a sailor, and Eijariita, the first of Captain Pirjo's crew never seemed to understand that. Not that Eijariita understood much that wasn't sea and ship.
Tucking a stray wisp of her long dark hair back into the leather cord binding it, Carola sighted across the dock. She kept half an eye on the slow moving wabalu and their heavy loads of food. It was going to be a long trip, by the amount of food they were taking aboard. Nils of Zilittu, their stout quartermaster, had been out procuring supplies since the captain's message had arrived. Kalevi was supervising below, which was a good thing for the kid. The boy was too quick for his own good and putting his mind to work counting barrels was a good use of his head. Anything that kept him busy was something he should be doing more often. He was too jumpy for a sword and too small for an axe. If the Mahru hadn't had her, they'd be in trouble.
She sank three of her little throwing knives in the stout post of the dock in lightning succession. Crossing the line of wabalu, who were too content with the hot sun to notice flying steel, Carola retrieved her knives and sighted down to a further post. She had to keep herself busy somehow. There were four more loads of dry goods to come. Just where were they sailing? The ends of Kir? She'd never seen so much food.
On the deck, Eijariita of Saharu puzzled over her orders. Though they'd taken in a vast quantity of food, the captain had laid in none of the goods they usually traded with. Kalevi, who's cheerful tone could be heard all the way up from the hold, hadn't noticed the oddity. She wondered if Carola had. The blade was practising with her knives, and when she tired of that, Eijariita knew she'd practice with her sword, then the bow in the hold, until the ship was loaded or the captain returned.
She listened to the singing of steel in the air and watched the seamless line of Carola's slim body as she threw, crouched in mock combat, and threw again. She was a beauty with skin that resisted Anshargal's touch and remained pale as milk. Her dark hair was always tight back, but Eijariita suspected it would be beautiful down. It looked smooth and soft in the sunlight, even bound.
Shaking her head and halting her mind from wandering, Eijariita returned thoughts to pen. Without trade supplies, they could devote the entire hold to food. That gave them nearly six months they could be at sea. If Jaska was lucky and Tiamat was pleased, they would not want for water and could stretch the food further with fish and seaweed. She frowned at the thought, creasing her dark brown brow. What was six months journey? The great temple of Kir? The far side of Idpa? Tiamat's eye? These were the destinations of fables, not of real ships and living crews.
Sucking on the ink pen, she spat black ink over the side after it rushed unexpectedly from the reed into her mouth. She cursed and caught Carola looking up at her from the dock.
"Broke my reed," she said lamely.
Carola, who spent as much time writing as Jaska spent on land, merely nodded before pulling her longer blade and running through the practice strokes.
Eijrariita groaned and dropped her head into her hands. Six months out would be a long sailing indeed.
In the hold, Kalevi of Almu stacked crates up to the ceiling then started working on the barrels. Crates had been easier to stack, with their square wooden sides. Barrels took a little more ingenuity, but he was up to the challenge. He was the best on the ship at puzzles, even Jaska thought so. The seasinger had seen more sailings that anyone else aboard, including the captain. If he said he was good, then he was, and Kalevi had no intention of letting him down.
Scratching his head when his curly hair began to itch, he took a break and emerged out into the sunshine. Nils, the burly man who kept the Mahru in order, was checking the deck, plank by plank, to make sure she still sailed. Mahru was tough, a ship with the heart of a great rapas who lived their whole lives in the sea. He'd only seen one of the huge creatures once, when he'd been a boy. Back the his mother and Rasmus, the seeker who had once sailed out with them, had been charting Idpa with their ship. Rasmus had flown him out on Venla, his great black Sisu-ul, to get a good look.
The rapas beneath them in the water was blue and slick, like Tiamat's sea, and Kalevi had spoke of nothing for seasons while his mother shook her head. His mother was too practical for wonders like rapas, but her Sisu-ul, big gold Antero, had liked it. Kalevi wondered if he and Antero saw the same things in his mother. Antero knew her heart just as well as he did. Sisu-ul were family once they were bonded and Antero, even though he was fur and claws, had been nearly as good a father as Kalevi's hazy memories of his own.
Antero had taught him to fight, and to speak his mind. He'd listened and helped convince his mother and the captain to let him stay aboard, even though he was barely of the age of work. Kalevi knew he belonged here, at sea, just as much as the captain did. He was for Tiamat, and his heart would not be full unless he was out, crossing the waves.
"Enough dawdling," Nils of Zilittu said, grinning playfully. "My barrels won't stack themselves and I can't fit them all in the hold. Captain will beat me senseless if they're not stowed when she gets back."
Imagining the petite little captain beating Nils, the dark solid wall of a man, made Kalevi chuckle as he flew back into the hold. "I'll have 'em stashed before you're done with the deck. I'll bet you a flask and a half of the summer wine."
"The summer?" Nils asked, lifting his head and winking. "Your bet is accepted. I fear you'll be drinking so much winter wine that your stomach will swim in it."
now - Sip of Amgarna
Libbu, Almu, Badtibira
Jaska stood up to his neck in the sacred waters of Mu, the temple of the sea. As the capital of Badtibira and home to seasingers and lighbringers both, Almu had only one great temple. Mu and Immaru were joined, forming Libbu, the seat of the heavens. Sabitu's windswept coliseum was more theatre than temple, and Kirshargal never would have allowed a structure of hers to be built. Her temple, Ankida, was of her own making and found where she wished it to be. Only Tiamat and Anshargal considered themselves grand enough to have houses and, in his opinion, Mu was far superior to the golden half that was Immaru. Anshargal's seat was too bright to be welcoming. Mu was full of the warm sacred pools that eased the heart. There was little sorrow to pull from his own today. He'd had a good sailing and Tiamat had blessed him with kind currents and warm seas. He could ask for little more.
In the great cave around him, he listened to the half-songs of his contented fellow seasingers. The light in the centre of the room was a bit of the Dreamer's magic. Tiamat would never have allowed Anshargal's fire in her temple, just as Anshargal had no place for water in his. The flickering light reflected blue patterns all over the walls. They were of the sea, as was the smell. He closed his eyes and hummed with the songs around him. Here he could relax and be simply himself and the sea. He enjoyed it that way most of all.
Far away, in the great chamber of welcome, the Dreamer's hymn echoed loud and true. The Dreamer of Songs was home in the temple and from the sounds of Sisu-ul, he'd been escorted. It was not unheard of for the beasts to visit Libbu, but the gods of Badtibira were not their gods and the sound of their roars was an odd counterpoint. It would be an Admiral, or the Queen. If he left the water, he could know, but he was simply too comfortable where he was.
The song faded and the contented hums of the seasingers returned. He still had a few hours before they would sail, and the captain would certainly never leave without him.
and onto part two