Page 18 of Virelai's Hoard
The entire crew was loud and raucous, yesterday’s complaints and tomorrow’s problems far at the back of their minds now. Sable’s own mood lifted with the buzz. A pleasant breeze made the lanterns hung around the deck sway lazily, and cooled her alcohol-heated skin.
“Another one! Another one!” Pip’s voice broke through the hubbub. “Please.”
The desperation in that plea would make one think the kid had never had anyone tell him a story. Sable frowned at that thought. Perhaps he hadn’t.
“Oh, I’m not sure…”
Merrow looked at him with a glint in his eye. “Surely you have more stories in you, old man. And the night’s just begun.”
Haddock inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Very well. What do you want to hear?”
“Tell us about the before times!” Pip said, and no one argued.
They all settled more comfortably around the flickering lantern, and Sable stepped closer, leaning against a barrel and sipping on her drink as she listened.
“Centuries ago, people believed they owned the world.”
Sable’s eyebrows twitched. That was unlike any story starter she’d ever heard. Subtle looks of confusion breached the other sailors’ faces, but no one interrupted him.
“There were many of them, and they were loud, and they carved their names into everything they thought was theirs.They lived on all the lands that wrapped around Rivera, and on islands now vanished from maps and memory. Wherever they went, they built, and wherever they built, they burned. Trees became timber. Rivers became roads. The green retreated, and gray stone rose in its place.
“They took and called it growth. They conquered and called it order. They silenced the wild and called it peace.
“But it was never enough.
“Not for the hunger-born.
“They sailed for plunder, for glory, for sport, and cast nets into waters not meant for them. As their ships multiplied, they no longer looked to the sea with reverence, but with the cold gleam of ownership.
“The world had other children–beings of sky, root, current, and stone–who once lived alongside the people. But when the people grew bold, the others grew weary. They stepped back, not in fear, but in sorrow. Hoping the humans would grow wise with time, they waited.
“But patience, too, can bleed.
“One day, as Aelion dipped low and gold light brushed the waves, a merchant ship creaked homeward, its belly bloated with silk and salt-meat and more riches than its crew could count. The captain stood on deck, scanning the horizon for storms or rivals.
“He did not expect the sea to greet him.
“Beneath the water swam a creature of story–a child of the deep. A leviathan, not yet grown, sleek and shimmering, eyes wide with first-surface wonder. It danced along the ship’s hull, circling in curiosity, tail swaying lazily under the surface. When the sailors gathered at the rail, pointing, gasping, the cub was delighted. It thought their awe was kin to affection.
“The cub swam beneath the ship and breached the water in a spray of foam. It flung itself skyward, its skin glinting like moon-pale glass, so they might see all of it and marvel. When it landed, it pressed its snout to the hull like an offering of friendship.
“The captain stood still for a long moment. He stared. Wonder bled out of him like water draining from a cracked hull. In its place, hunger rose.
“What a prize this would be. What a marvel to sell. A beast of myth, the likes of which no human had ever seen before. A trophy.
“He spoke the word. His crew obeyed.
“Nets unfurled. Harpoons flew. The cub cried–not in pain, but in confusion. Like it wondered if this was still part of the game.
“And then, it stilled. Its blood foamed on the water like pearl wine, pale and iridescent.
“The crew lashed its body to the ship’s side like a prize. Their ship leaned with its weight. Cheers erupted on deck. From the water, silence.
“That day, the sea turned her back on the hunger-born. She whispered to her children, and they agreed: the people would not be destroyed, but confined.
“To Vareth, the merchant’s home. Now a prison, a cage with velvet bars.
“The land of Vareth would keep them fed, just enough to trudge by. The sea surrounding Vareth would, too, and it would pose no threat to the humans, raise no storms, and would be named the Quiet Sea from then on. Varethian ships would not rot in those waters, but be preserved, as both a reminder and a promise.
