DRAFT Mirys: The Green Prince I

Chapter Eight: Moccasins in the Water

It had been many suns since the Siren Skipper had left Jinni, the last port town between them and the open waters of the Western Reach. The weather had been temperate enough, much to the relief of all on the water. The ocean was a dangerous place, and no one on that ship was any level of eager to be assaulted again by their favored element so soon.

They still hadn't spoken. Nothing more than a few words. "Move," "pass the rope," spoken in quiet disgruntlement or solemnness.

The rays of the sun floated down like dust in the air, warding off the fog that was coming on the distant rolling blue dunes. The wind was chilled, but the light of day was hot enough to bring the sailors to rolling up the sleeves of shirts or walking around without them at all.

The three of them had started to help the sailors in their chores and work — both because they would get nasty looks and were sort of roped into it anyway, but also to stave off the intense, unrelenting boredom of spending such a long time listless at sea. It was rough work — out in the sun all day, scrubbing or pulling ropes. It burnt the skin on their necks and rubbed raw their fingers and palms.

Yetsh was no stranger to this work, picking up as if she'd belonged on the boat since the beginning. Jorgoff was used to work, but no work so harsh as this — after all, a life spent serving in the castle is a candle's flame compared to the sun. And Kessian?  Well, Kessian often had several choice words whilst squirreled away from the ears of the sailors. 

This particular morning the sun was cooler than it had been for the last several days. Suns' Rule had never been Kessian's favorite season, despite housing his birthday — though usually there was strong wind and somewhere to hide from the scorching powers of the suns above them. Sometimes, wrapped in the cool of the stones of Alabos Hold, you even needed another layer; only on the windiest of days, if you spent no time outside at all... at least the season was coming to an end — if the creeping blanket of fog had anything to say about it.

The young prince was snapped from his thoughts by the approach of footsteps — there were no wooden soles to betray them, only the creak of the wooden deck that brought it to his attention. Aside from himself, only one other currently on the boat wore shoes without hard soles. Kessian didn't turn around. Instead, he doubled down on gazing out at the roiling ocean that lapped and rolled at the walls of the ship, so much so that it pulled his face into a sour scowl. He wouldn't look at Jorgoff — he refused to. He'd focus on anything else: the splintered wood of the Siren Skipper's balustrade; the way the water glinted beneath the sun's light in a spray of little droplets each time the water crashed against the ship; the way the fog seemed to curl and disappear the farther they sailed, as if maintaining a wide berth about the ship.

Kessian didn't lift his eyes even when Jorgoff settled his arms along the railing he currently leaned against. He stubbornly tried to set his mind on the sounds of the wind and the water instead, or scrutinize the ocean for any sea creatures silhouetted against the dark blue-green backdrop. The effort was wasted, though, because Kessian's mind was able to snap up every word the older boy at his side spoke.

"I'm not sorry," he started. Then followed a pause.

"Not for saving Yetsh, anyway. I am sorry I scared you, but it was all I could think of in the moment. I was panicking, and I didn't want anyone to..."

Kessian heard Jorgoff heave a sigh.

"I didn't want anyone to die."

"You pushed me off the pier," Kessian said, a sharp edge to his voice.

"You were still tied to Yetsh, you didn't fallen in the water—"

"But I could have!" Kessian snapped, finally looking up at the older boy he used to spend his time teasing and playing with. "I could have died, Jorgoff! I could have — the rope could have snapped, and I could have fallen into the water and drowned. Or the knot could have come undone and I smashed my head against a rock or — or—" Kessian's wide, blazing eyes narrowed and his face scrunched into a scowl. He made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat through gritted teeth and whipped back towards the ocean, gripping at the chipped and damaged wood composing the balustrade.