The Quartermaster was waiting for Azli in the same dark room he'd initially met him in. Marius had warned him over and over about meeting with the man, but in the end, they both understood that he wasn't offered much of a choice. He still wasn't sure what this meeting would entail, but perhaps he could get some information about where they were going and what they planned to do with the pounds of beast stuck in bags around the ship. By the grace of the gods, he and Marius didn't have to deal with the gold whales for fear that they would damage the precious pieces of its body. Instead, they got to clean up the bloody, sinewy mess left behind.
Azli's hands had finally stopped weeping blood from his many blisters, but the toughened skin wasn't fully proofed against the rough broom handles, splinters, sponges, and other buckets that the boys spent their days cleaning. Marius knew a little about the sails, enough to make him useful when the crew was shorthanded, but no one trusted Azli enough yet.
Despite his initial revulsion for this new life, he was beginning to find bits of pleasure; the smell of the ocean for one. At first the salty, fishy stench had made him feel sick, but now he could recognize the fresh undertones, and when he and Marius snuck away to the hull of the ship to stare out at the deep blue water, the breeze tore back his long hair and stung the planes of his face so that he felt like a seagull tearing through the air, or one of those dragons that Nisma used to read about.
Before he could say that aloud, her intelligent voice rang like a phantom in his ear, reminding him that dragons only lived in the north; the mid-land beasts were long dead. Whenever he heard that phantom and felt the ache of loss dig at his heart, he squeezed his eyes shut and screamed into the wind, Marius's voice soon twining with his until one of the sailors yelled at them to "shut yer fuckin' mouths."
Azli also came to appreciate the sun at sea. It was a new beast out here, and it glared down at them and turned the skin on his nose and neck red, but it warmed him all the way to the marrow of his bones. And at night, when he and Marius had time to rest after evening meal, they would hop onto a bundle of barrels filled with canvas and rope and stare up at a billion stars speckling the sky, and he would whisper tales of his mother's gods to Marius while they listened to the men laugh and spar and spit out curse words. Of course, he always made sure to avoid the tale of Arel Lavi.
Marius would occasionally tell him stories of the strange gods that inhabited the Western lands, but mostly he told him fantastical accounts of his life before stepping foot on this ship. They ranged from exaggerated tales of Marius's wealth and fame on the mainland, to how he and his brother once fought off an angry pack of wolves that threatened one of the prettiest ladies in the whole continent, and how she repaid them with kisses and gold for their bravery. Azli didn't believe the stories, and he doubted Marius did either, but sometimes he noticed a flash of sadness that traveled so deep beneath the boy's gaze that it was all he could do to nod and whisper words of awe.
Life became easier as the weeks bore on, and they had yet to run into another ship that was worth massacring, especially when they still had the giant golden whale stashed in the hold.
Yet there were bad parts too, plenty of them in fact, but Azli could not allow himself to dwell on these. When Milo and his lackeys tripped him or boxed his ears hard enough to send them ringing, he calmed his temper and forced himself to move closer to wherever Kra was working. When the nights stretched on with Marius snoring just above them, he stuffed down dreams of blood and children screaming, and cried silent tears when Eshmun and Nisma's voices rang in his ears like the aftershocks of an earthquake.
Being around the Quartermaster and the captain tested him most of all, so he had dreaded the meeting from the moment he walked into the darkened room.
The older man looked up from a stack of papers that he must have been reviewing and motioned for Azli to wait where he was in the middle of the room. His dark eyes scanned the sheets one last time, then he set them down and moved to stand before the boy, his motions surprisingly graceful for his elevated age.
"There's a question in your eyes, Arel. I can see it."
Azli swallowed hard, avoiding the intense stare that bore into him, but nodded anyway. There was no use in lying to this man.
"Ask it. I have no time for bashfulness."
He took a second to formulate the correct words in his head.
"I was wondering sir; what it is you plan to do with me?"
The Quartermaster gave a partial smile and placed a warm hand on Azli's shoulder. He forced himself not to flinch away as his skin crawled in the place where the man's fingers rested. His scent was cloying this close; like incense and ink.
"I see something in you Arel, something that reminds me very much of myself. You are a chunk of rock that needs molding, and I believe that job falls on my shoulders."
The arrogance in that statement rubbed Azli the wrong way, and he ached to slap the man's hand away and scream that he was no father to him. Saving a man's life did not give him any right to it, but Azli only bit his tongue and nodded.
The Quartermaster directed Azli to sit in a chair across from his desk where he settled in on the other side, his scarred hands folded in front of him in a gesture that reminded Azli of one of his father's court men. They had always looked a little like scheming spiders to him.
"In my old life, I was a priest," the Quartermaster began, an air of solemnity settling upon the room. Azli resisted the urge to sigh as he was growing tired of this man's stories. Too often they were used to confuse and manipulate instead of to explain.
"I studied as a high priest for the Nameless for many years; I learned the rituals and his stories, I taught his name to hundreds of others, I did everything that I was supposed to do. You see, when I was a boy I was taught the ways of the old gods, but when the new empire rose, I learned to forget those cursed names, for they made a mockery of the Nameless. I did what I could to repent for years and years of mistaken worship, yet still I did not find it adequate. I did and gave everything in the name of that religion, but it soon became obvious to me that my brothers cared very little for the true god. They only wanted the glory his name provided, and the wealth that years in his service brought, so I moved to Klev and tried to find glory in the birthplace of my god." A disgusted snarl drifted across his face, and the zealous light in his eyes dimmed to a dull flatness.
"It is a city of sin and blatant hypocrisy, so I burned my robes and left that godforsaken land far behind."
He rose again from the desk and moved slowly to the chest in one corner, pulling an iron key from beneath his tunic. Azli watched warily as the lock clicked open, and the heavy lid of the box was opened just a crack. The Quartermaster's hand dipped beneath the surface then reappeared with a wicked looking knife, at least a foot long and curved in the middle.
Azli swallowed hard as he beheld the blade before him, recognition striking his gut. It was a sacred weapon, one that only true warriors were allowed to handle; it dated back to the dawn of man, when the first desert tribes were born from the sand and could wield weapons made of glass. The janbiya was a thing of horror and power, and it made Azli's heart stutter to see it in the hands of this man.
The Quartermaster touched it with a look of awe and when his hand slipped into the grip, it fit perfectly.
"Of course you recognize it," he said with a pleased smile. "I kept it when I left, for I knew it would serve me in more ways than it could ever serve those hypocrites in Klev." He adjusted his grip and fell into a stance that Azli had only ever seen soldiers do from afar.
This was not a weapon that fat noblemen wore at their hip for decoration; doing so would have warranted at best scorn and banishment, and at worst one's life. This was the weapon of men, of warriors and kings.
And the self-proclaimed king of kings wore it at his side every day that Azli had been alive to see it.
"How did you get it?" Azli whispered. The Quartermaster either didn't notice the doubt in Azli's voice or chose to ignore it.
"I earned it while I trained as a priest." Most high-level priests did manage to earn one eventually, so Azli supposed it could be true, but when he looked at the older man he found it hard to believe that he was a fighter of such magnitude.
The Quartermaster slipped it back into the chest and let it snap closed gently before turning back to Azli, an indecipherable expression on his face as he studied the young boy.
"You are special, Arel. I could sense it from the moment you stepped foot on this ship, though at first it frightened me." He took a step closer to Azli until he was staring straight down at him, his hands hovering by his side as if resisting the urge to grasp the boy. The feverish look in his eyes frightened Azli, and it took every drop of will power not to scurry backwards and out the door.
"I was afraid, confused about what His Lord was asking of me, but now I understand that this is about more than just me." He knelt with a grimace until he was almost nose to nose with Azli.
Every deep crevice and wrinkle on his pockmarked face stood out in the flickering candelight, and the warm puffs of breath that smelled like smoke and rot brushed against Azli who struggled not to gag.
"You will do great things, my boy, and it is my duty to teach you how- the Nameless has demanded it."
Azli flinched as the Quartermaster's huge hands grasped either side of the boy's thick hair. He was a fanatic, and somehow he wielded more power than even the captain.
"W-what do you want from me?" he whispered, pulling back against the man. The Quartermaster only tightened his grip, a dangerous glint forming in his eyes.
"You are too young to understand right now, but I will train you until you are ready." A slight frown pulled at the edges of the man's face. "Do you know the Nameless? Do you know what he preaches?"
Azli swallowed hard and nodded. He knew the Nameless too godsdamned well. It was only through his mother's secret teachings that he'd learned anything about the gods of her homeland.
"Good, good." The Quartermaster shoved Azli's head away and rose to his feet, an uncertain expression tracking across his features as if an unwelcome thought had nestled its way into his head. It disappeared so fast that Azli doubted he had even seen it.
"Still, there is much more to learn. You must know the histories, what our god teaches, enough so that you may know what to do when the time comes. Yes, much more to learn." The Quartermaster collapsed into the chair behind his desk as if every ounce of strength had been drained from him after that show of passion.
"And if you are still wary," the man hesitated, his dark gaze drifting up to meet Azli's horrified expression, "trust that this is more important than any show of morals. I can make your friends suffer, if I must."
Azli blinked in shock at the candor of his speech. Was he threatening Marius? Certainly not about something as trivial as teaching him. Despite himself, something rose in Azli like a tidal wave and washed over him, the waves surging down his throat and threatening to strangle him.
He had lost his siblings, his family, his friends at the hand of- of his own guards. They had been shot like fish, slaughtered and tossed overboard to be forgotten in the steady tide of time, yet Azli had survived. He had been utterly alone, then by some miracle Marius manifested in his life as the last tiny shred of friendship that he could ever hope for, and this man threatened to take that away from him.
Bile, acidic and corrosive, ate away at his throat. But Azli swallowed it down. He fought back the wave of panic and anger, shoved it all down, and inclined his head. It was familiar; he was born bowing.
"Of course," he murmured. "I will gladly be your student."
Azli could hear the Quartermaster's satisfied smile. "Excellent. Now come and sit."
The chair dragged across the dirty wooden floor and shouted its protest in the otherwise silent room.
"The Nameless came at a time when depravity and sin swept across these lands..."
#
Azli hurried from the room an hour later, his ears ringing with the sound of the Quartermaster's voice as he spoke in detail of a story that he already knew by heart. Millenia ago, false gods roamed the earth with mutilated and disgusting forms of blood magic. They corrupted the hearts of men, burnt villages to the ground, etc. The depravity drew the attention of the Nameless, who wielded true power along with his loyal servants. They forced the false gods from their place, decided that theirs was a power that threatened the mortals, and disappeared never to be seen again, leaving behind a small book of scripture and prophecy.
It was a tedious and verbose story that said very little with a lot of words. All in all, his time spent with the man felt exceedingly useless, all except for a brief mention about a spare key kept beneath the stairs leading to his cabin, but Azli could see no use for such information as he wanted nothing more than to be far away from that room.
The smell of the fresh evening air greeted Azli the moment he stepped outside, and with a newfound mission he hurried to find Marius. The Renish boy was crouched between two piles of torn canvas, watching with keen eyes as five of the men played some complicated game that Azli had never been able to understand.
Marius nibbled on his fingernails as he watched, whispering hints under his breath every so often for no one to hear but himself. For some reason, the boy never volunteered to play despite knowing the game inside and out. Azli brushed him on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow. The two slipped out unseen and went to huddle against an empty portion of the railing.
"What'd he say?" Excitement glittered in Marius's eyes as he stared down at Azli through strands of red hair. They seemed to be close in age, but Marius had already grown almost three inches taller over the course of a few weeks.
Azli wrinkled his nose. "He just wanted to talk about the Nameless. It was strange, but harmless enough."
Marius pulled at his chin where he claimed a beard was growing.
"Strange-like. Indeed," he grinned as he copied Azli's proper way of speaking.
"It isn't important though." He wanted to change the topic now lest he mention the Quartermaster's threat to Marius. The boy and most of the crew harbored some kind of inexplicable fear towards him, though so far Azli only saw a zealot with a strong penchant for public speaking.
"Then what did you want to talk about?" Marius asked, his gaze drifting longingly towards the card game.
Azli reached out and gripped Marius's forearm. "I think we ought to learn how to fight."
Marius jerked his wide-eyed gaze back to Azli. "'Scuse me?"
"Don't play the fool," he whispered. "You heard what I said. Everyone else knows at least something, so why shouldn't we?"
His friend seemed to be torn between excitement and wariness as he considered Azli's words. "Not so sure master'd be happy with that."
Annoyance flickered across Azli's face. "Let Nin take him," he snapped, ignoring the panic that made Marius's body coil tight. "He can't stop us from learning, not if he doesn't know about it."
A moment of silence passed where Marius seemed to weigh what Azli was proposing. "Go on," he finally said, curiosity getting the better of him.
"We could ask Kra to teach us in private whenever he's got the chance; nothing complicated, just the basics. Maybe then we could fight back when Milo and his idiots slap us around."
The idea was preposterous enough to make Marius laugh out loud; Azli blushed, and acknowledged that he hadn't really meant that.
"Still," he added, clutching at Marius's arm even tighter. "It would be better than nothing." And there might come a day when even a little knowledge could come in handy, but Azli didn't say that aloud. As far as he was concerned, this was Marius's home and always would be, but he had no ties to this rutting place; it wouldn't pain him in the slightest to see it burn and sink into the sea as fish food.
Azli could see how tempting the idea was to Marius, and after watching him stare with unconcealed envy at the men who sparred on deck, he doubted it would take much convincing.
"Come on, Mar. Don't you want to show them what we can do? Or would you rather stay a cabin boy forever?" Marius's eyes darkened with displeasure at the idea, and Azli knew he had him.
"Fine," he whispered. "But let's go find Kra frst and ask him."
Azli didn't bother to hide the triumphant smile on his face as they hurried to search out the lumbering man. They found him a few minutes later swinging in his hammock and resting before his night shift began.
They eyed each other on either side of his hammock, their eyes wide as a silent argument ensued over who was going to wake him up.
This was your idea, Marius seemed to say.
Exactly; that means I'm the brilliant one, so you can wake the beast up, Azli responded.
Marius seemed ready with an acidic reply, but Kra took a huge shuddering breath and grabbed them both by their collars without even opening his eyes. He yanked them closer until their frightened faces were inches from his own, then popped one dark eye open.
"Speak," He snapped, his hands twisting their collars tight enough to make breathing hard.
"Er, we was just wanting to know..." Marius began, looking at Azli for help.
"Well we would really appreciate it if you'd-"
"Spit it out," the man growled.
"Would you teach us how to fight?" Azli squeaked out in a most pitiful voice.
Kra's other eye opened and he looked at them incredulously.
"Repeat?"
Azli swallowed hard and shuffled in Kra's grip. "We wanted to know if you would please teach us how to fight, or at least how to defend ourselves a little. It would be a secret of course! And, and we could pay you." Azli cursed himself for adding the last part. He was as bloody broke as Marius.
A smile tugged at Kra's lips, and he made to go back to sleep. "No. Goodbye."
Panic flashed through Azli, and he grasped the big man's arm. "Please," he rushed to say, desperation coating his voice. "We're fast learners, it won't be hard and we can-"
Kra shook him off, "I will not die for you."
Marius scoffed at the prospect, though the expression on his face revealed his doubt. "You won't. Us, we got a plan."
Kra let out an exaggerated snore meant to end the conversation. Marius and Azli shared a frustrated look over his body as their short lived idea appeared to be coming to an end. They would remain inexperienced children whose lives were in the hands of insane men.
"We'll do anything," Azli whispered, his thin kernel of hope unraveling in his chest. With a great labored sigh, Kra opened his eyes and stared up at the boy suspisciously.
"What is it you want, Arel?" He asked quietly.
Azli held the man's stare as he debated what to say. There was no way Kra would report to the Quartermaster, but he didn't trust all of the empty nooks and crannies on this ship. He studied the emptiness in those black eyes, but it was impossible to distinguish what the man was feeling. Kra was a fighter, that much was obvious, but when he tore apart the golden whale, there was no bloodlust in his eyes, only resignation.
"I am tired of being weak," he finally said, as close to the truth as he dared. It must have been the correct answer, for something familiar appeared on the man's face, and he seemed to rouse himself from sleep.
"How will you pay?" he grunted.
Azli chewed on his lower lip. "I, uh, I will give you half of whatever money I earn whenever I get any, and until then I can polish your weapons or clean your clothes or shine your boots, or whatever you need."
Kra seemed satisfied enough by this answer.
"Where? The Quartermaster will not approve, and he has friends among these men."
"I was thinking in the brigantine, and whenever you want," he insisted.
Kra studied Azli for a minute, a peculiar expression flashing across his normally stoic face, but it disappeared in an instant. This all felt like one long test that he wanted very much to pass.
Kra grunted when he came to a decision. "I will teach you," he relented, holding up a hand before the smile could break out across Azli and Marius's faces. "But you will do as I say for payment until you have money. And when you learn, you must not fall behind like fools." He shot them a sharp warning expression. "I do not want to teach idiots."
Marius nodded violently as Azli beamed up at the man. "Of course, we will do whatever you ask."
"Will see," Kra muttered, his eyes already closing shut again. "Start tomorrow," he muttered. "Now get out."
Marius and Azli practically skipped away at the prospect of tomorrow. Finally, he would be more than a helpless bastard that bobbed back and forth in the Rivers of Fate, forced to lose everyone he cared for because of an inability to protect; starting tomorrow he could become a man, one that would sooner tear the Quartermaster limb from limb than let his friend be used as a threat against him.