Tress of the Emerald Sea

“Yes, um, it’s very funny.”


“Well, I suppose that’s one thing to look forward to,” Salay said. “It’s going to be rich watching her discover what you really are. But tell me. I know you can’t confirm or deny your true mission, but is there any hint you can give me for what to expect after Crow is dealt with?”

“Well,” Tress said, “I will need your support. If I do deal with Crow—if—then I wouldn’t want the crew to free her. I would need to…um…take her to face justice, you see.”

“Of course!” Salay said, looking hopeful for the first time today. “Yes, I can arrange that. Once you have her, we leave the Crimson, then?”

“Yes,” Tress said. “Though…well, this is a little awkward…but I have business with the Sorceress in the Midnight Sea next. And I was hoping…”

Salay’s eyes went wide. Then she laughed again. Her laugh was like a bell calling sailors to arms. Sharp, excited, yet somehow controlled. “Of course you do. Why was I worried? If you are going to sail the Midnight…well, dealing with the Crimson is nothing to someone like you.”

Then her expression turned more serious. “But could you help me protect the crew? I know a bunch of pirates are worthless to the king, but nobody else is going to look out for them. Even their captain doesn’t care about them. Please, please don’t let us lose another friend.”

In that moment, Tress felt like something Fort had cooked. Grimy, crusty, and barely able to fulfill its intended purpose. She shrank down before the weight of Salay’s hope. What could Tress do? She was a fake. A liar. A…

Wait.

A very strange, very desperate idea occurred to her. Probably nothing. Probably a useless whim.

Notably, strange desperation is exactly the state that often leads to genius.

“Be ready,” Tress told her. “There is something I can try.”





THE INFORMANT





Tress spent the next few days in a fervor of panicked studying and studious panicking. Her budding plan was far, far more dangerous than her work with the flares. And in this instance, she didn’t have anyone else’s schematics to lean upon.

She spent much of that time experimenting with verdant spores. The fruit of the Emerald Sea itself, which she’d never understood in her youth. She wasn’t alone—nor was it surprising that the more she learned, the less afraid she had become. It is that way with most topics, as fear and knowledge often play on different sides of the net.

There are obviously exceptions. Certain individual humans, like certain sausages, break this convention. While neither larger group is collectively terrifying, they contain remarkable individuals that absolutely should frighten you. The more you learn about these individuals, the more worried you should become. But for humans at large, knowledge usually equates to empathy, and empathy leads to understanding.

Tress found verdant aether to be almost playful, eager to respond to her mental commands in exchange for water. Over the days of study, she grew proficient at making the vines grow in spirals, to stretch tall and strong, and even to grow slowly—holding back much of their strength.

She could feel, as always, a sensation beyond the vines. Nothing so distinct as a mind. An impression. One that she thought might be the moon itself—or the always-growing maternal vines that lived upon it.

Other than necessities like sleep, Tress only broke from her studies when she had to go help Fort prepare dinners. Each time, seeing the faces of the crewmembers made her more concerned.

Three days after her meeting with Salay, she sat in her chambers, encouraging a few verdant vines to grow delicately around her fingers without squeezing too hard. The ship was currently tacking in such a way that she could see the sporefall out her porthole. The sporefall had grown bigger and bigger with each passing day, and it had become increasingly obvious that this was the captain’s destination. The dragon’s lair must be near it. Or perhaps inside it.

It’s not immediately obvious in most of the seas, but at the lunagree, falling spores make a pile—like the sand on the bottom of an hourglass. The sea was actually a mountain the size of a kingdom, though the incline was incredibly shallow, and therefore imperceptible. But the closer they sailed, the higher they needed to go.

Currently, items on Tress’s desk were in danger of sliding off, and everything felt askew compared to the horizon—as if we were seeing through the lens of a student who had just discovered experimental film.

Huck periodically dripped more water onto the vines for her, using a small spoon and a cup of water (wooden, with a good smooth finish from long years of use) stuck to the desk with wax.

“What if,” Tress said, “I learned to sail the ship myself.”

“The entire ship?” Huck asked.

“Maybe not this one. A smaller one. Surely there are sailboats that a single person can crew. I could take one of those into the Midnight Sea, so I don’t risk any other lives.”

“And how long do you think it would take you to learn to sail on your own?” he asked. “Particularly in such dangerous seas? You could spend years.”

“Maybe that’s what I need to do.”

“Or maybe,” he said, “you need to acknowledge something far harder, Tress. That your friend is out of your reach. That you should give up on this quest and take care of yourself.”

She didn’t respond, though the anger she felt at his words manifested in the vines tightening on her fingers—as if they too were frustrated.

She forced herself to relax as Huck dribbled another spoonful of water on the vines. He was getting better at balancing on two legs as he assisted her—he’d needed to do that far more often with her than he had in his past.

“Tress,” he said, “I don’t like to see you sad, but I’d hate to see you get hurt. What you’ve done here on the Crow’s Song is incredible, but it’s still leagues away from the dangers you’d face on the Midnight Sea.”

“Is it? Nobody knows! I’ve asked Fort, Salay, and even Ulaam. They all tell me that the Midnight Sea is dangerous, but nobody can say why. They just know that the ‘Sorceress watches’ those spores. Ships that go there vanish. There’s maybe something about monsters? Nobody can say for certain.”

Huck dribbled more water. Then he sighed softly. “Remember how I went ashore at the last port?”

“How could I forget? You’ve told me six stories about it so far.”

“I…left out the most important one.”

Tress glanced up. The four vines curling around her fingers turned their tips, like heads, to regard Huck.