An Oath of Cursed Souls

Chapter Two

The tavern. The necklace. The wire.

"Everything alright, young gal?"

I swung my heavy head around, regarding the man staring at me with a deep frown. He sat leisurely at a table, a pile of frayed cards spewed across it. His thick accent sounded harsh and foreign. "Where am I?" I asked, my voice scratchy like a blade against stone.

The man gave me a crooked smile, reaching his hand out and smacking the railing of the medium-sized ship. "You, lucky lady, are aboard Lindy."

A nervous sigh rattled my chest as I ran a hand across my greasy black hair. "Where are we going? Why did you drag me here?"

"Woah, woah," the man said, a slight crease appearing on his large forehead. "I'm Atulaji, we are hopefully dropping anchor in Ozelk, and a weird lad dragged you here, not me. Does that answer all your questions?"

I staggered toward the table, dropping on the seat next to Atulaji. My tormented gaze wandered to the horizon. The sun had just risen. No, I wanted to reply, it doesn't. There were so many questions in my mind, the major one of which was befitting but not quite relevant to the sailor before me.

Atulaji cackled, visibly amused by my confusion. "I got some zioniv fresh from Aman back there. Those Ozalkans are going to throw their money at me," he laughed as his eyes wandered dreamily across the sky.

"Why are you tormenting our guest with your fantasies of being stoned to death by pennies, Atulaji?"

I jumped at the voice behind me. It was humorous and light, but the sliver of exhaustion lingering in it didn't escape me. I watched as a man I did not recognize ascended the stairs. His tousled chocolate hair curled into loose locks, complimenting his rust-colored eyes in a deceivingly warm way. The sun bounced off his light brown skin, casting harsh shadows against the distinct twists and corners of his face. Whoever he was, the man looked too cheerful to belong anywhere near my filthy town.

What struck me as odder was his attire. He wore a black shirt with shiny silver buttons running down the center, overlaid by a similarly colored thin-weight coat. Two firm strips of thick fabric coiled around his waist and a pair of equally gloomy pants and boots adorned his lower body. This was something only dukes and counts visiting us would wear.

Once his wandering eyes landed on me, he gifted me with a grin brighter than any desperate man walking the streets of Metsuva could ever bear. He was unmistakably an outsider. A rich outsider.

The slow creaking of the merchant ship was the only sound violating the stifling silence among us. I pushed against the table, standing as menacingly as I could. Judging by the man's unfaltering smile, I didn't do a great job at it. "Are you the one who brought me here?" I questioned, and my wildly pounding heart seemed to leak into my shaky tone.

The man walked toward the table, laying a hand on my shoulder and shoving me back down. I landed on the chair with a yelp. "It is better if you sit," he said calmly and sat on a chair beside me.

"I don't plan on staying long," I exclaimed louder than I had intended. The man turned to look at me with amused eyes. I cleared my throat. "Once we drop anchor in some nearby pier—"

"We are not dropping anchor anywhere but Sisarah."

Sisarah was the grand capital of the empire, a city of miracles, a haven for saints, or any other name credulous people granted it. The residents of Metsuva had a much more fitting name; karihika, lair of evil. Not that I had confirmed this notion myself, although it seemed to be happening sooner than expected.

"Hey, boy," Atulaji protested with a frown. "This is my ship!"

The man puckered his lips, releasing a short laugh. I stared at him, eyes round and mouth ajar. He must have been crazy. There was no other explanation. Atulaji had to drop me off at the closest land — even the open sea seemed like an adequate option with him sitting next to me.