Tress of the Emerald Sea

She didn’t understand until she looked down and found a colossal tree had grown under the ship. That was the only word to properly define it: a tree made of interweaving vines. A spreading finger-fan of vine-roots braced it, and vine-branches had latched onto the Crow’s Song.

The tree had lifted the ship some forty feet into the air—right above the thicket of spikes that had grown beneath. The spikes had pierced the trunk, but verdant vines were elastic. And besides, they had still been growing. If anything, the network of spikes helped stabilize the vines.

Hanging over the side of the ship, dangling from the rope that Fort held firm, was a shivering, soaking-wet girl, her face hidden behind a mess of damp hair.

It was then that, belatedly, the Dougs started cheering. I don’t blame their delayed reaction. They’d gone from certainly dead to very much alive, and that kind of existential whiplash requires a few heartbeats—thumping in your ears to tell you yes, this was real—to recover from.

“Help us pull her up, you louts!” Salay said, grabbing the rope with Fort. He stood with one foot against the rail, holding the rope with hands that—though crooked—were as solid as bricks. His quick thinking—hauling Tress up a few feet as the vines grew—had saved the girl’s life. As it was, the tips of the crimson spikes had touched her shoes.

Everyone helped haul Tress up, and doubtless many of them were thinking of how they’d done this once before—weeks ago when they’d first brought her on board. They cheered again as Fort lifted her gingerly onto the deck.

Crow watched it all, silent. She didn’t dare say anything in the face of such a remarkable salvation. Indeed, the vines didn’t appear to have harmed the ship at all. With the silver-edged axes, the Dougs would be able to loosen the vessel, then cut them free once the seethe returned and the tree sank. They’d practiced it as a way to escape being tangled up during a cannon battle.

So Crow wasn’t worried about the ship. Or about reaching the dragon, as the lair was very close now. She’d told everyone that their destination was two days away, as she didn’t want them to panic, thinking she’d take them into the sporefall itself. That wouldn’t be necessary.

Today, Crow’s fear was of a completely different breed. For though she had spent her entire life instilling fear in her crew so they would obey her, she knew there was another emotion that made people even more loyal. Unfortunately, it was an emotion she had never truly understood.

And if Crow had a nightmare, it was standing before her now. In the form of a small shivering girl who had somehow earned the love that Crow had never known.





THE MARTYR





A few hours later, Tress sat in the quartermaster’s office with Fort, Salay, and Ann—who conversed in hushed tones.

Tress said very little, instead holding a cup (her one with the butterfly) with tea from Fort’s personal store. It said a great deal that he hadn’t even mentioned a trade as he handed it to her. What Tress had done for them all had incurred a debt Fort feared he’d never pay off.

He did intend to try nevertheless.

We have to act quickly, he wrote. If what Tress says is true, and the captain is planning to trade her to the dragon, we haven’t much time. Crow said our destination was only two days away.

“She said that this morning,” Ann agreed. “I can guess we ate up a good chunk of that today, before the rainfall.”

Tress sipped the tea. She hadn’t stopped trembling since the event, and she actually liked that this tea was warm. It chased the chill from her soul.

Outside, the calming sound of spores on wood had resumed. Though she’d feared her stunt would cause permanent damage to the ship, the crew had efficiently cut the vines free once the seethe returned. The trunk had been pulled into the depths by the spines of the many crimson aethers, leaving the Crow’s Song to float serenely onward.

Was it odd that Tress felt guilty about using the aether tree, then abandoning it? Would the aethers be sad down there? What happened to the ones that sank, anyway?

Perhaps instead of ruminating on such things, she should have been more worried about her looming date with a dragon. She just felt so bare, like a broom worn by good work down to its last few bristles. Following the tension of the day, she found it difficult to summon more fear.

“Then we need to strike,” Salay said from beside the door. “Tomorrow morning. Are we agreed?”

“Agreed,” Ann said.

Yes,> Fort said, holding up his board. With a King’s Mask on our side, we cannot fail.

They looked to Tress. She wished she could wither away before their expectations. They could use her flaking soul to brew some more tea.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Tress said softly.

“What?” Ann said. “Girl, she’s going to trade you.”

“I’m not losing another crewmember,” Salay said.

Fort studied her, thoughtful.

“The crew is alive by a miracle,” Tress said. “I’m worried about what will happen to you if we try to fight Crow. She’s dangerous. I feel it.”

So you’d let her trade you? Fort said. Willingly?

“It’s not death to serve a dragon,” Tress said. “I don’t think so, at least. And maybe I can find a way to escape. Or…or buy my freedom…”

She knew she wasn’t making much sense. She’d spent frantic days trying to devise a weapon against the captain. Tress did want to escape. And really, shouldn’t she feel excited? Optimistic? Her plan to save the Crow’s Song had worked, after all.

But lies have a way of diluting a person. The longer you live them, the more you become a bucket of mixed paint, steadily veering toward generic brown. That has never stopped me, mind you, but I’m not the person Tress was.

“We can’t lose to Crow,” Salay said, “as long as we have you, Tress. You’re a—”

“I’m not, Salay,” Tress said, exhausted. “I’m not a King’s Mask. I didn’t even know what one was until you mentioned them to me.” She shook her head. “Please believe me.”

They didn’t, of course. A boring truth will always have difficulty competing with an exciting lie.

“Look, Tress,” Ann said, “you think our problems will go away once the cap’n has talked to the dragon? We’ll still be under her thumb.”

“You’d be able to fight her,” Tress said. “She won’t have the spores to protect her. If you let her trade me, you have a much better chance of succeeding.”

Fort rested his hand on hers, then tipped his sign toward her. But we’d have to live with it, Tress. Crow forced us into this life. We didn’t know she intended to kill. But if we don’t stand up to her now, we don’t get to use that excuse anymore. We know what she is now.

Tress read the words through twice. And…though her first instinct was still to protest…something else was growing. She’d have called it arrogance, and it frightened her. But arrogance and self-worth are two sides to a coin, and it will spend either way.

That day, she met Fort’s eyes and nodded. “All right.”