The Claimed: A Clash of Copper and Gold

Chapter 28: Water

Where the creek widened to a rushing river, a docked ship jutted up from the water and reached toward the cloudy sky. Whirlpools gurgled at the base of the tremendous wooden frame. Strung from towering poles, several tattered sails fluttered in the breeze like moth wings.

The horses clip-clopped to a staggered halt, and the Trogolese crew already aboard the ship slid a wooden ramp down to the dock. I swung off my horse and to help roll carts up the ramp to the ship, and a dozen fur-faced women and men hauled the provisions onboard. The Trogolese heaved and tossed boxes and bags with brutal efficiency and not so much as a glance at any Najilans.

Caught up in the therapeutic physical toil of the assembly line, some time passed before I noticed one person was not helping. Niako still stood with one hand on the saddle of his horse, studying the sea vessel.

Though sweat slipped down my back and dampened my tunic, his thin lips and furrowed brow indicated even more arduous labor. As the last cart rolled up the loading dock to the ship and everyone began to board, I broke off from the group and jogged toward him.

"We are done loading," I said.

"I can see that."

"We should board."

"We should."

A wrangler strode toward us, slipped her hand through the reins of Niako's horse, and dipped away to lead the horse toward the others. Niako's hand flopped down to slap his side. But his feet still didn't move.

"You don't need to come, you know," I said, "You can return to the Tribe of Trebalda with the wranglers."

"I'm not turning back."

I swept my gaze up to the dock, where the last members of the group now hopped onboard. Ruck slouched over the railing at the top of the ramp, watching us.

I captured my lip under one canine tooth as I turned my attention back to Niako. "What can I do? Do you... do you want me to hold your hand?"

Niako snorted a humorless laugh and smacked a palm to his forehead. "No, Toom, I don't need my hand held. Just go. I'm coming."

"Alright," I said, drawing the word out into three or four syllables. Then I forced myself to start toward the ship, ambling down the dock and scaling the ramp. Only after I reached Ruck's side did I allow myself to look back.

Niako shuffled onto the dock as though invisible chains bound his ankles, eyes spearing the wooden planks just ahead of his feet. The planks which had felt quite sturdy beneath my own feet seemed to waver beneath Niako. As he shambled toward us, I was suddenly excruciatingly aware of the spray splashing the dock from below. Of the water bubbling and swirling around the ship's base. Of the sway of the ramp connecting the dock to the ship.

Several feet from the ramp, Niako stopped.

A Trogolese crew member called out to Ruck somewhere behind us, but Ruck remained motionless at my side, eyes fastened to Niako. Tension crackled over him like static, and I heard a clicking sound when he swallowed.

Niako started forward again.

At the base of the ramp, his foot hovered in the air for three endless seconds. Then he planted the foot down. Step. Step. Step, step, step.

When did the ramp get so fucking long?

Then with one big step that looked suspiciously like falling upward, he finally boarded the ship. Beside us, a few oblivious crew members brushed past Niako to lug in the ramp, but Ruck and I still watched him. He had resumed his usual proud stature, and he shot the two of us a withering scowl.