Niya glanced over her shoulder, just making out Alōs beside Boman at the wheel. The pirate captain was like a black ink spill in the white abyss, his glowing eyes a hazy blue beacon in the murky air as they peered forward.
Niya caught Boman slipping in his balls of wax.
“What about the captain?” asked Niya. “I didn’t see him—”
“Some men need the mist’s reminder,” Kintra replied simply before she blocked up her ears as well. Niya weighed the balls in her hand.
Her sisters mocked her all the time. Almost incessantly. She was also part of the Mousai, had witnessed many terrifying frights, and had had audiences with the Thief King in all his varying moods. How bad could this mist really be in comparison?
Closing her hand around the wax, Niya decided to wait and see.
The whispers started softly.
They didn’t come from one direction but all around, as if the air itself held the voice of thousands.
Hello, Niya, it crooned. Look at you here, amid this lot. How much you’ve aged and wrinkled and burned aboard this ship. What beauty has been lost. What a pity, what a shame.
A tinkle of high-pitched laughter filled her head.
Such hard hands and blistered toes. Scars along your back. Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. And what will your family do once these two years are through? For that’s how long you’ll be shackled here. You stupid, silly girl. You always bet what you can’t win. You disappoint your family. Disappoint. Your sisters will have no use for you now. No use. No use. They have moved on already. Forgotten you. It’s been too long. And your father, yes, yes, poor Dolion, he will replace you, find another to be a part of his precious Mousai. So much you must have missed. So many adventures your sisters have gone on without you. Who is Niya? No one remembers.
Chimes of giggles all around as Niya’s breaths grew quick as her deepest fears echoed in the air.
You’re all alone now. All alone, continued the mist. But you’re used to being alone, aren’t you, fire dancer? The voice took on Alōs’s deep drawl, running cool down her neck. Niya spun around, but no one was there, just fog, just mist. Even when I warmed your bed, you were alone. So naive, so eager to please me. You chose me over your family. Gave me your heart, which I never wanted. Tell me, did you cry after I left that night? Do you cry now? His words swam around her, ripping her open, before returning to the high chime of the mist.
You are a fantasy, it said. They only desire you for what you’ve spelled into their minds with a turn. A twist. You’ve feared it, Niya. We know. We knoooow. We know your doubts. You are not clever like Arabessa. You are not kind like Larkyra. No one values you for your mind. More laughter. Nonono. Not for you. It’s for your body. For your magic. Only for what they want to be theirs. What they long to touch. Who are you without these? What can you offer your family? What can you offer the pirate? Worthless. Worthless and alone. You are the weakest link in your trio. For look how often you disappoint them. If your mother lived, she’d be ashaaaaamed. Ashaaaaaam—
Niya shoved the wax into her ears, cutting off the vile whispers. She stood shaking. A well of shame was cut open hot in her chest.
Yet even with her hearing blocked, she still made out the cruel words ringing through her soul. They have moved on. Forgotten you. No one values you for your mind. It’s for your body. For your magic. Who are you without these? You are the weakest link in your trio.
Niya wrapped her arms around herself to hold in another shiver. Her magic had even retreated deep inside her, small and huddled like a lost child in the dark.
Did you cry after I left that night? Do you cry now?
Niya’s cheeks burned.
What a horrible place this was.
She would never make the mistake of listening through it again.
After another quarter sand fall, the mist slowly dissipated, bringing the ship back into focus. Nets, crates, masts, a stretch of deck.
Niya saw Therza helping up Bree and Green Pea from where they had sat together, crouched, while others worked out the wax from their ears. A few pirates, Felix being one, remained rocking themselves in corners, soft cries emanating from their bowed heads.
No one acknowledged these individuals as they walked past, merely leaving them to whatever evil still echoed silently in their hearts.
Niya searched out Alōs, wondering what horrid reminders the pirate captain needed to hear, but when she looked at his usual spot beside the wheel, Alōs was no longer there.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The sun was greedy in the Valley of Giants, gluttonous to cover everything, and Niya was hard pressed to find an unoccupied bit of shade on deck. Hugging close to a stack of crates along the port side, she shielded her eyes from the bright day as she studied the land that rose up around her. They sailed through a canyon, its sides painted in slashes of crimson, the sun’s relentless heat blistering the towering sandstone rocks, which were what she had learned had earned this place the name of Valley of Giants: the rising rock monoliths.
It had taken another two days to reach the wide river they now floated down from the Obasi Sea, the water here a muddy green compared to the pure azure-blue sky. And though the air was dry, it smelled sweet, as if the sediment held fragrance. The ship’s sails were down, for no wind was needed to guide them forward. Somehow the current flowed quickly inland, as if this place knew the destination all visitors sought.
Saffi leaned against the crates beside Niya, cleaning her nails with a splinter of wood, while Therza and Bree rested in the last slice of shadow by their feet.
The crew was tired, but of course they were. They’d just sailed through a storm, only to face the Mocking Mist. Everyone was in need of a drink.
“Captain’s making an announcement.” Saffi nudged Niya.
Alōs strode to the center of the quarterdeck as they gathered around. Kintra took up her usual spot on his right.
Despite the rising heat, the pirate captain remained in all black. His stance was relaxed but commanding as he waited for his crew to assemble on the deck below. Niya was so used to seeing him at night that she had forgotten how the sun complemented the hue of his brown skin and softened the severity of his features. The breeze filtered through his ebony hair as his sharp gaze took them each in.
“My brothers and sisters,” Alōs began, his deep voice echoing through the canyon. “I first want to commend you on your brave work entering the west lands. Not many have survived to see this part of the world, but I did not doubt our success. You may be scoundrels and thieves, but you are the most gifted scoundrels and thieves.”
A few hoots came from the group. Niya crossed her arms over her chest, amused at how easily charmed this lot could be by their captain.
“We will soon be met with the people of the valley, and I must remind you that this is not a pillaging mission. We come here for rest, to repair what’s been broken in the storm, and to restock items in trade for some of our bounty. We cannot make war here, or enemies. This river”—he gestured to the water around them—“is our only way out.”
Murmurs filled the air.
“What?” Niya leaned over to ask Saffi.
“Death trap,” the master gunner muttered, pointing to the canyon’s edge on either side. Niya could just make out piles of boulders clustered together along the top. “No way we’d make it out if under attack. The valley people have ensured it. Push those and splat.”
“How long will we stay, Cap’n?” asked Bree beside Niya.
“And will we be filling more of our coffers soon?” questioned Emanté, who hung by nearby netting. He was a man who either didn’t own a shirt or felt them a useless accessory, for Niya had yet to see him wear one.