“In the jagged and untamed youth of the world,” Kai began, his voice as deep and rich as honeyed cakes, “when Neb first opened her eyes, she found a blank land and a vast darkness overhead. Having nothing but herself, she pulled the teeth from her mouth and threw them into the dark one by one. They hovered there, becoming stars, even as new teeth grew.
“The smooth earth didn’t please her, so she pulled out a strand of hair and threw it to the ground. A tree grew in its place. Then she pounded the land with her fists until it splintered into mountains and valleys. She sat in the shadow of a mountain to rest, and her tired sigh became the air that stirs the leaves.” He exhaled and gestured to show the breath turning to air.
“But the spirits of the land that had slept under the surface were angry at being pummeled thus. One rock spirit rose up from the center of the earth, and he threw handfuls of stones at Neb. Though he raged, she saw in his eyes that the rocks covering his skin gave him pain, so she struck him on the shoulders, arms, and back until the stony armor fell from him, littering the world with boulders and pebbles. Neb put a hand to his shoulder… .”
I jumped a little as Kai laid a hand on my shoulder, the tips of his fingers inadvertently tickling the sensitive skin where shoulder meets neck. As he was merely adding actions to the story, I sat placidly instead of shrugging him off.
“She reveled in the feel of vulnerable flesh, like her own,” he continued, not looking at me, though I sensed his attention. “The rock spirit thanked her and said he’d been trapped in the earth for so long, he no longer knew his name. Neb named him Tempus, for he was the beginning and the end of time for her.”
Kai squeezed my shoulder lightly before his hand slid away.
“And for a time, they were happy. Neb’s belly grew round and her child was brighter than the stars. But Sun was an adventurous child, and one day she wandered too close to the edge of the world. She fell into the sky, tumbling out of reach, hovering eternally to shine her light on the land.”
The ship rolled over a swell and the lanterns swung, then righted themselves.
“Sun would not come home no matter how Neb pleaded, and Neb could not fetch her daughter, who had become too bright and hot to touch. So Neb cried for the first time, her tears forming oceans, while Tempus’s tears were molten rock, pouring into the center of the earth and spewing through cracks in the ocean bed to form new lands. In her grief, Neb pulled out her eyelashes, and where they scattered, plants and small animals came to life.
“Neb and Tempus retreated from each other,” Kai continued, “she into the mountains and he below the rocky earth. But Neb was already carrying their second child, and her birthing cries drew her husband from his hiding place. Tempus held his newborn child and named him Eurus, giving him the name of the East, where the babe’s lost sister rose into the sky every morning.
“Neb took leaves and branches and wove them into dolls as toys for her son. But in his boredom, he pulled them apart, and Neb had to keep making new ones. So instead, she gave him a fan made of palm leaves and Eurus used it to create the east wind.”
Eerily, a breeze lifted the lax sails at that moment. Aver gasped and then laughed. Kai grinned at her.
“You see? Eurus himself enjoys our tale.”
Jaro frowned and Kai chuckled. “Or perhaps it is Sud who tickles our sails as she waits for her turn in the story. Tempus and Neb had a third child, and they called her Cirrus. She was gentle and kind, and her laugh made the first music. The proud parents sat for hours pulling fruit from trees to feed her and watching their daughter wander over hills and valleys, delighting in everything she touched. She made the land more fertile wherever she stepped.
“But in their joy, they forgot about their second child. Eurus saw that their love for Cirrus was greater than their love for him. So he set a trap for his younger sister.
“‘Follow me to the top of the northern mountain,’ said Eurus, ‘where our lost sister, Sun, tints the sky pink every night before sleep.’ So Cirrus, eager to see the sister she had never known, followed her brother to the summit. When she reached out to try to touch Sun, Eurus used the palm frond to make a gust of wind. Cirrus lost her footing on the loose rocks and fell toward the ground far, far below.
“But it was all right,” Kai reassured Aver, “because Sun saw her sister falling and bent her light in the north, making many colors dance across the sky as a warning to their parents. Tempus and Neb looked up to see their young daughter falling and threw her a palm frond. Cirrus caught the fan and used it to make a west wind that lifted her back to the top of the mountain.
“When they realized what Eurus had tried to do, Tempus and Neb were furious. Tempus picked up his son and threw him as far as he could until Eurus fell to the rocky shores of an island.”
Another gust of wind filled the sails harshly, as if a giant hand had punched them.
Jaro frowned and shook his head, but Kai continued his tale. “Eurus lived there for a timeless time, all alone, and when—”
“He deserved to be alone,” Aver said, her face pinched in a scowl. “After what he tried to do to his sister.”
“Indeed,” said Kai. “He deserved to suffer for that.”
Again, the wind swirled for a few seconds but then died completely. We all looked up to see the sails slack for the first time in weeks.
“It’s bad luck to invoke the name of the east wind while at sea,” Jaro whispered.
“You don’t really believe that,” I said, but I found myself nearly whispering, too. As if some unseen hostile ear might catch the words. After all, according to the legends, the god of the east wind was the creator of the Minax, and I certainly believed in its existence.
Jaro scrambled to his feet. “If the wind gods withhold their gift, we’ll remain here, becalmed and helpless. It’s no way for a sailor to die, starving at sea with—”
“That’s enough, Jaro,” said Kai, affectionate but firm. “We’ll finish the tale another night.”
Aver whined and pleaded for more, but he stayed firm. “Another night.”
Aside from a few squalls, the weather was hospitable for the rest of the journey. When I emerged on deck one morning, about four weeks after sailing from Tevros, the islands had grown closer on our port side. A dark, rocky shoreline loomed ahead.
“Land?” I asked, leaning eagerly over the rail.
“The Strait of Acodens,” said Jaro in his native tongue. My comprehension of Sudesian had become quite passable over the previous weeks. “This is where Fireblood masters guard the passage night and day, although Frostblood sailors never venture in this far—too many rocks and shifting sandbars for their big ships.”
Tall, jagged cliffs blotted out the horizon. As we drew closer, the texture became clear: craggy and pockmarked, as if a bunch of rotted teeth had been jammed into the stone. A narrow ribbon of sea was threaded between two peaks, which leaned toward each other as they soared toward the sky. Outposts were set on ledges high above sea level. Figures in orange tunics moved into view. One of them called out, “Identify yourselves!” Kai gave his name and was greeted with friendly shouts.
It took a few minutes to navigate between the crags looming on either side. Sea spray arced over the deck as it roiled in the narrow gap. Any mistake in steering would result in a breach in our hull. It felt like the entire crew held their breath for the duration.
Once we’d passed through, the tension eased. It was clear from the grins on the crewmembers’ faces that we were in the home stretch.
I leaned over the port railing and sucked in a lungful of humid air. The weather flaunted a welcome, sunny heat that made me want to stay on deck all day. It was the first time I’d felt truly warm outdoors. As we sailed south, I could feel the giddy power of the sun thrumming through my blood.
Over the next two days, the space between islands thinned, until we were hemmed in on both sides. Kai had the crew measuring the sea depth at regular intervals.