CHAPTER FOUR
Port To Port
It had been nine days since she had left her little farm and the moons shone bright down in the evening sky, drawing ever closer to a the Bloodmoon that marked the new year. At home her mother would celebrate by taking her down to Millpeak to see the festival; they looked from a distance mostly, Mijora unable to get close enough to the clamor of people to really appreciate the fire dancers and food stalls and street dancers. But knowing that she would not be attending this years festival, and that her mother would not be beside her telling her stories and epic legends was a heavy weight on her heart.
Instead she was bundled in another carriage with her father and a stranger as they entered the towering bronze gates of the port city Crowcross.
Crowcross was a magnificent city of brilliant red stones and statues made from bronze, unless you didn't like the red bricks and statues then it was more like a throbbing headache than anything else. The pink hue from the moons made the red city feel like it was permanently ablaze.
"Legend has it," said the man who sat beside Mijora in the carriage with her father, "that this is the city where Midos and Edai grew up."
Mijora was staring out the window again, taking in the sights. Every building looked like it had been made in those red bricks; she could see bakeries and boutiques, libraries and townhouses, clock-towers and churches, all redbricked and weathered.
"Poppydeath." Her father muttered, staring the man down. "The moons are just that, moons."
"You always were a nonbeliever, Dracon."
"And you, a fool, Favian."
Favian looked ten years Dracons senior, his hair had receded back and the hair upon his chin was longer and unkempt. He seemed important from how he spoke and how much knowledge he shared through the journey, but he seemed not to be eager to look the part.
"These legends date back centuries, before there were records about the moons."
"There is no such things as gods." Dracon said, almost lazily. "They are myths, tales we tell our children to make them go to sleep at night. They are not beings to dedicate our lives too."
Favian smiled tight lipped. "I never claimed them to be Gods, but it's a lovely legend dont you agree?"
Dracon cocked his head to the side and it was almost unnoticeable, but Mijora saw the unspoke anger hidden there as though he was snaring at the old man. "It's a wonder they made you an intelligence adviser when you still believe in fairy tales."
"There is truth to be taken from every myth and story. Stories always give a lesson, and whether or not the story is true the lessons almost always are."
Her father sighed, mouth twitching the in way that meant he was holding back. "I don't agree."
"What about our Acolyte here, what do you think?" Favian asked, turning to her and offering her what seemed to be a genuine smile. "Are Midos and Edai gods that once ruled, or are they simply folklore, a story passed down distorted by time?"
Mijora looked between him and her father for a heartbeat. "I don't know... I've never really thought about it." She said.
"Of course you havent." Her father muttered.
"Our Edai and Midos. The stories say they were brothers condemned to be moons, locked in orbit forever." Favian said peeking out the window and looking skywards. "A tale of responsibilities and order."
"Enough about the dam moons, Favian." Her father muttered.
"How easily you dismiss that which is ineffable."
"Well, if it is ineffable perhaps we should stop discussing it."
"What a horrible idea." Favian said, and smiled. "I fear a world in which we do not seek answers. What ignorant shells we would become."
Her father shot Favian a look with a slight squint of his eyes. "To not be bothered by questions that do not effect my life?" he scoffed. "That sounds peaceful."
"That sounds like ignorance."
"That sounds like half of the population out there. Why don't you go ramble on to some of them, eh? I'm sure there are some nuns in a brothel somewhere in Crowcross that would find your moons fascinating."
"Isn't that what were doing here?"
"Brothels?"
"Looking for answers." Favian sighed. "Douterra, the Princess, the plans. Everything we are doing this very second is to find answers."
Dracon was silent for a heartbeat. Then he said, in a voice that was dangerously low. "I do what I do because I like it, and because the DaVals pay me." He leaned forwards resting his elbows on his knees, his face empty of any emotion, real or fabricated. "I don't care about finding answers, I don't care about the Princess or the Academy. I'm an assassin, not a scholar."
"And it shows every time you open your mouth." Favian said.
Dracon grunted, his eyes flicked to Mijora almost in a silent challenge. One that said, I dare you to speak up. I dare you to say anything here. Mijora looked away, swallowing thickly.
"We're almost here." He father said, leaning back into the seat.
"Ah, yes. I suppose we better tell our young Acolyte what to expect." Favian said, offering her a smile.
"Agreed." Her father said heaving a sighed.
"This is the furthest me and Dracon shall be going," Said Favian, and though she loathed to be close to her father, the thoughts of being sent into the unknown without him, or anyone else for guidance, was terrifying. "Douterras tradition has been going for decades and we shall not be the ones to break that. From here at Crowcross you shall get a ship to Westwich alone. You'll have a ticket, dont lose it. The ship takes two days, and from Westwich you will need to navigate through the mountains to get to Douterra itself, where there will be a welcoming ceremony that lasts until sunset on the day of the Bloodmoon. If you don't get there in time they you will not be allowed into the Academy. Don't get there in time, and this whole plan is doomed."
"So don't mess it up." Her father said, eyes unblinking.
"Great. Brilliant. Fantastic." Mijora said, swallowing hard. "What about my things?" she asked, referring to her belongings and clothing that had been supplied by the Crown.
"That will be sent on a different ship with one of our DaVal soldiers to make sure it arrives." Favian explained. "You will travel with a single satchel if required."
"Can't I just go with my things?" Mijora asked. "Theyre heading to the Academy too."
"What part of tradition don't you understand?" her father muttered.
The part where I might get lost and fail the task, she thought shooting a look outside the window.
Before she could formulate a response that at least sounded confident, the carriage slowed to a stop and Favian clapped his hands together. "Right then. Shall we?"
~~~*~~~
Mijora was kicked out of the carriage with a satchel and one passenger ticket, and left in the center of the city near the red bricked clock tower. This was, Mijora decided, an unreasonably pleasant event, and didn't care about the juxtaposition that it posed.
Before kicking her out, the man called Favian had told her that she ship to Westwich was to depart at exactly midnight giving Mijora several hours to, first, find the port the city was named after, and second, find a dark corner nearby to have a tightly scheduled panic attack before boarding.
The carriage road away deeper into the city, and Mijora was tempted to throw a blood-scythe at it — not as to make the carriage stop, but rather just in the spirit at throwing things at her father in which she had always wanted to do, but had never had the courage. But she was too busy doing what she reckoned her father never did; thinking. Or at least, rational thinking. She reckoned her father did a lot of thinking about how to kill people and torture them without even laying a hand on them, what he lacked was empathy and sympathy and any other 'athy' words she could think of.
Crowcross was pretty busy in the evening it turned out, with lots of people walking the streets and a lot of those streets lined with inns and brothels and gambling dens. It was a hive of activity, and buildings aglow with candles and oil lamps making the city look even redder, which Mijora didn't think was possible.
And there were people — a lot of people.
Mijora's head was already hazy with the thrum of heartbeats. She could be around a certain number of people completely fine without the thrum of their blood becoming too many, which Mijora had estimated at about a hundred, and those people had to be within a certain vicinity to her. And although there wasn't too many people upon the streets walking the night, the streets themselves were getting tighter and only just wide enough for a carriage to pass. She knew because one passed her nearly running her over with the lack of room the streets provided.
The city was a tincan, she decided then as her head throbbed without relief. The heartbeats felt like a headache, although a very bad headache which made her temples feel like they were on fire, and her eyes like they were burning.
She asked her father once, when she was too young to realise he was a monster in a human like body, how he didnt go mad to the throbbing of heartbeats and he had looked at her like she had grown a second head. "It's like a candle." He said shortly. "If you dont want to see you blow out the flame." He said. "If you dont want to hear it, dont listen." She couldn't remember exactly what happened after that conversation, but she gained new scars.
Crowcross to Mijora might as well have been the glowing red plains of Midos, the red moon, determined to punish Mijora eternally for something she hadn't done yet — or perhaps she had, and she just couldn't remember. Which was just as likely.
Finally after what felt like too long, Mijora stumbled upon the port — or harbor. To Mijora they were one in the same.
The sight of the open ocean sent her into a sudden panic. It was so big, and dark, and deep, and how do those boats not sink under completely? She had seen storms and Annihilations rip apart houses as though they were made from sticks, what would they do to something afloat on the ocean? Something without a root or groundings?
Her hands were shaking slightly and her headache doubled. It had nothing to do with the other heartbeats around her.
Ten bells rang throughout the city as she found the ship she was to be boarding. It was a massive ship that was named Nona Deep, or at least that was what was painted down the side of the thing.
"No' boar'in' ye'."
Mijora whirled to see a tall man that was all bone walking down the gangplank. He was wearing a sailors outfit, or at least what she assumed was one, and had hair that wrapped around his whole face making no distinction between the hair on his head or chin.
"What?" Mijora asked, blinking at him with a opened mouth.
"Ta Wes'wi', we aint boarin'in' ye'."
It took her a moment to even decipher what the man was saying. His accent (or even lack of it) was so thick that it almost sounded like a different language altogether.
"Can I not wait aboard?" Mijora asked, reaching into her satchel to pull out her ticket. "Surely I wont be in the way."
"Ahhrg!" snarled the man waving an arm at her. "Come ba' la'er. Twelve bell."
The sailor picked up a create that was piled up by the plank and then marched back aboard without even another glance in her direction.
Mijora seethed quietly and resisted the urge to crumple the ticket and toss it into the ocean, while also begging her heart not to burst into a rhythm.
What now, she asked herself. Alone in the darkness of the harbor, she had no one to turn too. No mother to look for guidance or advice.
The man was walking down the plank again. "Off wi' ya!" he shouted, waving at her with a hand.
"Where can I wait?" she asked him, still waving her ticket. "Is there somewhere close by I can sit and wait?"
"Ahhrrrg!" he snarled again. "Bluebells that way! Off wi' ya na!"
Bluebells was a brothel. There was no other way of putting it. The women inside, although they did look beautiful, were naked as Edai's light. They walked between the lavish booths draped with soft clothes handing out drinks and dancing for the guests. Mijora had never seen such perverse actions done so openly, and although the open display of nakedness didn't bother so much, the act of seeing one such poor women get taken so brutally in the booth next to her did make her blush.
Mijora ordered a drink with some of the coins given to her by the Queen and sat in the booth, wondering what she would have said if shed known that Mijora was spending the Crowns coppers in a whore house.
"You're not from here, are you stranger?" a female voice purred seductively.
Mijora tensed and looked up to a woman coming to sit on the edge of her table. She was dark skinned with thick, curly hair and deep dark eyes. She had a pretty smile, and a sheen of sweat that covered her chest. Mijora tried not to look at her nipples that seemed to be seeking eye contact.
"Is it that obvious?"
"A lot of people come and go, but never one tainted by the moons themselves."
With white hair and red eyes, Mijora stood out wherever she went, and this wasnt the first person to make this connection.
"Pretty little thing like you? Id remember if you'd been before." She flashed a dazzling smile and offered Mijora her knuckles.
Mijora blinked at it, and shook her hand rather awkwardly.
The naked women laughed. "Youve never been in a brother before either, have you?"
Mijora blushed deeply, and she looked into her drink. "I'm just passing by. Waiting for the ship to Westwich to board. I'm to go to Douterra."
"Ah," she said, smiling. "You're a Vessel."
"Yes." Mijora said simply.
"See a lot of them around here." Said the woman. "I like those ghosts whisperers when they pass through. They have gentle hands."
"I don't want to know what they do with their hands."
The chuckled softly. "Theyre good memories." She said. "Sometimes."
"Hard pass."
"You could stay here if you want." The women purred. "The owners always looking for new girls. With those eyes, youd make a small fortune."
"I would rather gouge my own eyes out with a spoon." Mijora said, her eyes darting to the womans face and then back to her drink, "no offense."
The women shrugged, and sighed. "Westwich is dangerous, love. You don't want to go there."
This got Mijora attention. She straightened up and eyed the women full, naked breasts and dimples and all. "Why?"
"Theres all sorts of rumors about the Vessels that go up there. Vessels go up, and they don't always comes down."
Mijora pushed away her drink "Are they killed?"
"Well I dont know do I?" she shrugged. "But a pretty little thing like you dont deserve to become a monster like the ones that survive."
Mijora smiled with teeth, her head still throbbing.
"How do you know im not one already?"
The women reached out, pulling up Mijoras chin to look deep into her eyes. Mijora tried to pull away but her grip was firm. "I dont think youre a monster. Not yet."
All of a sudden Mijora felt the urge to burst into tears but squashed down the emotion. Instead she cleared her throat and down the rest of her wine. "Is there someone here who does know about the Academy?"
"Tress will be your best bet." The dark naked women nodded to another woman across the room who was moaning and bent over a table in the corner by a rough, older gentleman with his trousers down to his ankles who was working up quite a sweat. "Had a friend who went, I think."
Mijora pulled a face. "Never mind." She muttered.
The woman sighed, pushing off the table. "Well, do you want me? I cant stand here for free you know?"
Mijora looked at her for a moment. "How much to just sit here with me?"
"This is a brothel, miss." Said the woman.
"I'm well aware of that, thank you." Mijora said growing warm, then shook her head. "Never mind. You're right, I'll be going now—"
The woman grabbed Mijora's arm as she tried to leave, and Mijora flinched at the contact of skin on skin, suddenly feeling like she was with someone else in another time. She wretched herself free with a small yelp and stared at the naked women with something that was either fear or anger or both.
"For a fuck, two silver. For me to sit here with you until twelve bells? Four silver. Drinks cost extra."
Mijora swallowed thickly, and nodded, easing back into the both. The companionship, even bought, felt better than the cold view of the deep waters she was about about to throw herself in.
~~~*~~~
Mijora didn't like boats, or ships, or anything that wasn't firmly on the ground, she decided as she leaned over the ships edge to empty the last of her stomach into the deep waters. They were too unnatural, even for a Vessel.
She couldn't even see Crowcross anymore, it wasn't even a blip in the distance it just simply wasn't there. The dizzying rocking of the ship made her stomach flip with every wave, and she had long since emptied her stomach of the wine shed bought at the brothel. Not only that, but she didn't realise how many people were going to be crammed into the ship, and her head throbbed with the beat of them all. The drumbeat of their life echoing in her own head like her own serenade, amplified into something that transcended their own understanding.
Boarding the ship had been its own circus. By the time she slipped from Bluebells still blushing from the naked womens kiss which had felt more intimate than the brothels reputation, the port was a bustling hive of activity. There was no time for a quiet panic attack, and she was near hyperventilating as she found the ship and joined the queue of passengers. Her ticket was hardly glanced at as she was shoved deeper onto the ships decks to make room for the rest of the passengers.
How many of these faces were Vessels?
How many novices like her, and how many had been wielding their Offerings since they could walk?
She longed for home already; of her simple farm and poppydeath. Of burning bodies and breaking them down, stripping them for parts, of severing their veins and taking what she could. Bottling blood like a failed legend.
With fumbling hands she dug into her satchel and pulled out a jar. The liquid inside was so deep it almost looked black in the terrible lighting of the moons. The moons were getting pretty close together now, with only two days until the bloodmoon, Edai was slowly moving in front of the larger Midos. The Hue of the night was already darker than the previous nights on the road, no longer pink but bordering crimson without the white wash of colour.
She clutched that jar of blood with her dirty hands and held it to her forehead. Even with her Offering, she could sense no life in the blood before her. It was dead blood. Dead like the person it belong to.
"Mother help me." She whispered to the jar, eyes squeazed shut.
"First time on a ship?"
Jumping slightly, Mijora held the jar even tighter and turned her head to look at the male that had approached her on the deck. Around them there were sailors marching across the ship shouting to be heard over the passengers all standing at it's edge to look at the view. She hurriedly put the jar away with a small, nervous laugh "What gave it away?"
She didn't need to strain her Aimamancy to know that this man was calm.
The man smiled, in what Mijora could only imagine was a fatherly way, and looked across the waters. "It takes some getting used too, I must admit."
He was wearing a fine burgundy shirt with chains at his neck, and golden buttons, and trousers made from fine cotton, and Mijora suspected she couldn't even afford to breath near him. His deep amber eyes settled upon Mijora. "You're going to Douterra."
It wasn't a question, and Mijora straightened, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and swallowing thickly. She answered all the same, "Yes."
"So is my daughter. I can get you there safely if you want."
"Are we not supposed to get there ourselves?" Mijora questioned.
He smiled tightly. "You agreeing to me taking you there would be getting there yourself, dont you think?" he asked, extending his hand to take hers. "Let me introduce you to my daughter. Our kind should stay together."
"Our... what?"
He reached further to grab Mijora's hand but she snatched it away before he could.
Something close to annoyance flashed in his eyes. "Blood, my dear." He said.
He grabbed her shoulder this time, and Mijora was too overwhelmed to force herself free as her head throbbed. He lead her across the deck towards a girl who seemed not too much younger than herself. She had the same flaming ginger hair as her father and the same amber eyes. She was leaning with her back to the railing of the ship, un-bothered by the view or it's magnificence.
The mans hand came free from her shoulder at their approach, and he instead moved to stand beside the girl. "Where are my manners? I'm Lord Typhon Chancey, and this is my daughter Dexi Chancey."
"Pleasure to meet you," Mijora said, if only because her mother taught her to be polite.
"I know it is." Said Dexi, and Mijora vowed never to be polite again.
"Now, now, Dexi." Said Lord Typhon with a short sigh. "This is, erm--"
"--Mijora. Mijora Harrow."
"This is Mijora Harrow, and you'll be the Academy together."
It felt awfully like she was being set up on a date, which her mother had tried on a few occasions, especially after she hit seventeen and Mijora vowed that she was going to die alone, and happy for it.
Dexi looked Mijora up and down like she was measuring her worth based on the slightly dirty red dress she was still wearing and the magnitude of the white braids cascading down her back. "You don't look like much, Harrow." Dexi finally said.
Dexi did look like much. Too much. She was wearing a white dress that fell from her shoulders to her feet. Mijora thought it looked like she wearing a bed sheet with too many buttons and lace. There was red threading at the cuffs and neckline, and her ginger hair was tied with twin braids that fell low on her back. She had a sort of porcelain appearance that make her look dainty and fragile, and the hardness in her eyes warned that she had teeth.
"Neither does poppydeath."
That earned her a sharp exhale of amusement.
"Mijora here is a Blood Vessel, like us." Lord Typhon said, and Mijora looked up to him with a furrowed brow. He smiled like a victory and added, "I felt you searching for my pulse."
"She's not very good, then?" Dexi asked,
"Be nice, Dexi." Said the Lord, tsking her. "That's what the Academy is for."
Dexi huffed, then asked. "Is she coming with us then?"
"No." Mijora said before the Lord could answer on her behalf.
"What?" Dexi looked annoyed now, she straightened quickly, those hard amber eyes like daggers of blood. "What do you mean 'no'? You are an Aimamancer, aren't you?"
"Well yes--"
"Then come on. My father knows a short cut, he's a graduate of the Academy don't you know?"
The thought of being alone was scary. The thought of being alone with strangers was terrifying. She shook her head "I just mean that I think I will honor the rite of passage that the Academy favours if you don't mind. Taking a handout from a Lord feels an awful lot like cheating, and I dont need any help, thank you."
Dexi's face crumpled like a body with no bones. "Excuse me? Cheating?Father, tell her its not cheating!"
"It's not cheating, my dear." Said the Lord, who was no longer smiling. "It's just, using every available resource. Some people are just more privilege than others I see."
Mijora forced a smile. "Thank you for the offer." She said, and turned to leave, the smiling dropping instantly.
"Do you know who my father is?" Dexi snapped
Mijora turned, the smile full on her aching cheeks again. "Lord Typhon Chancey, I recall."
"My father is--"
"Thats enough, Dexi darling." Said Lord Typhon Chancey. He patted Mijora on the shoulder twice and she resisted the urge to cut open her vein and slice him open with her blood-scythe. "You'll regret that when the wrath comes, I think, Miss Harrow. Come Dexi, I'm sure Miss Harrow has a lot of planning to do before the ship docs tomorrow."
She did, and she had the awful feeling that she had already made herself an enemy before she had even arrived at the Academy. Whoever the Chancey's were they had power, that much was obvious. But Mijora had never cared much to people of authority, and would rather struggle to an inch of her life than be looked like a charity case to those above her.
So she forced herself upright, (though she purposely found somewhere to sit where she couldn't see the deep dark abyss of ocean under the ship) and attempted to formulate of plan of how to navigate to a place in the mountains she had never visited, from a location she didn't know, with only her satchel and the blood in her veins.
The first day was spent in a nausea fueled haze. She had several small panic attacks at the thought of being alone in a strange city, and finding the Academy alone. What if she got lost, and never made it in the time of the Bloodmoon? Would they close the doors in her face, or send her back home?
What if she got hurt, or injured? Would there be people nearby looking out for the acolytes, or are they to be left for dead, assuming that their Godly gifts would get them there in time?
Between the headaches, sickness, and stress, she was lulled to sleep by the hellish lullaby, and dreamed of death and blood and monsters, and when she woken she was greeted to another nightmare:
Annihilation was approaching.