42. Vinicola

42

Vinicola

“ E verybody tied up?” Mr. Zayan asks, his voice strained as he clings to a wooden bar, a hammock knotted around him. He’s the only one still standing, if you could call it that—though he looks more like he’s clinging on for dear life.

Around me, the rest of us are strapped to similar bars, swaddled up in hammocks like salted fish. It’s a bit humiliating, really—bound like we’re cargo instead of crew. The fabric’s cinched around our chests and shoulders, knotted tight to keep us from bouncing around like dice in a cup. I try to shift, but I’m held fast.

“Over here! One more!” someone yells, but with my neck straining against the fabric, I can barely manage a glance. Not that I’d want to, honestly. My head’s already a spinning mess from the constant sway and the distant roar of the sea beast outside.

Fabulous choice, this plan of ours.

But, as Fabien pointed out, something has to give. And if we’re to get even a wink of rest before the Trial, well…we’ll have to settle for feeling like trussed-up game hens. At least we’ve got daggers strapped to our wrists for quick escapes.

“Alright, listen up,” Miss Captain says, pushing her way past dangling legs and elbows until she wedges herself between me and Fabien. She nods for Zayan to tie her in. “We’ve already lost three: Gunn, Morgan, and Bones went overboard, and there’s no getting them back. So let’s keep sharp and do what we must to survive this.”

Zayan secures her hammock, his hands quick and sure, and she gives him a tight nod, her gaze dropping to the two compasses clutched in her hand. One gleams gold—the Lady’s compass, second is a normal, battered one.

“Let me take them,” Zayan says, steadying himself as the ship heaves, tipping gravity sideways. “You try to sleep. It’ll be half a day, at least, before we reach the destination.”

She studies him for a heartbeat, her face drawn with exhaustion and a flicker of something darker, like she’s debating whether she can allow herself to lose control in this situation. But in the end, she hands the compasses over, her fingers clinging to the battered one for a beat longer.

“But you need to check it every minute you’re awake,” she warns, her voice dropping to a murmur. “If the beast pulls us anywhere but the Sister Islands, we’ll have to act fast.”

“Aye, love,” he whispers, his tone soft enough to drown in the creak of the wood. “You can count on me.”

Miss Captain leans back, her shoulders loosening, but her gaze doesn’t shut off entirely—no, she’s like a cat resting with one eye half-open, ready to pounce. She watches Zayan settle himself across from us, tying himself down.

Beside him is a middle-aged man, his face dotted with greying stubble and his hair rebelling in every direction. He’s got these gentle, nonjudgmental brown eyes, though he clutches a cloth in his right hand like it’s a lifeline. His gaze wanders a bit before landing on me. I smile, and he returns it with an uncertain twitch of his lips, lifting the cloth as much as his hammock allows.

“My daughter’s handkerchief,” he says, his eyebrows lifting, almost shy. “From her wedding,” he adds, voice barely more than a whisper against the constant groaning of the ship. “She insisted I take it for good luck.”

I squint at the handkerchief, all frayed and delicate, a faded sky-blue like a scrap of leftover sky. Can’t help picturing this man’s daughter, smiling as she tucked it into his hand, thinking it would somehow keep him safe. I let out a low whistle.

“A daughter’s handkerchief,” I murmur, almost to myself. “A family waiting for you on shore... now that’s something rare for a pirate, isn’t it?”

The man shifts, his fingers tightening over the delicate fabric. “For most pirates, maybe,” he says, voice rough. “But I’ve never thought of myself as one of them. I’m a father first. That... that doesn’t go away.”

“Aye!” chimes in another man from the shadows, his face half-lost behind a wild mess of curls and a scar slicing across his brow. “I’ve got a little lad myself. His mum and me? We’re like cats and dogs, but he’s mine. Nothing’ll ever change that.”

“Is that so?” I say, something thick nestling in my throat.

“Haven’t seen him in ages, mind you,” the man continues, tapping a worn leather bracelet around his wrist, a child’s clumsy initials etched into it. “But I keep this. Reminds me of the why behind all this madness.”

A low hum fills the hold, a ripple of nods and murmurs as men pull out little keepsakes—a seashell here, a worn ring there, tokens from lives left behind. Things they clutch to their chests like the sea won’t take everything. I catch myself biting the inside of my cheek, thoughts turning to my own reasons for being here. I have someone to come back to—at least, I think I do—but it’s different, somehow. I’m not tethered to any life on a ship. I’m just… adrift.

“Forgive me for being nosy,” I start, trying to keep my tone light, “but… why do it? Why leave all that behind?” I glance at their trinkets. “Especially when the return trip is so… uncertain.”

There might be no return. For all we know, the beast might suddenly lurch into the depths and drown us in one move.

The first man, the one with the blue handkerchief, smirks a little, his gaze distant. “Because the job’s mad as it is good-paying. I don’t want my daughter growing up in a shack with a leaky roof and wood molding under her feet. No, I want her to have a life better than this.” His voice wobbles, and he clears his throat with a quick shake of his head. “Sailing wasn’t the plan, but a coin like this… well, it changes things.”

Another man, the one with the leather bracelet and a scar, nods. His hair falls over his cheek as the ship rocks “The coin’s good, but there are plenty of pirate crews to earn it from, no?” He pauses, his voice rough as gravel. “But my brother… he died to the sea. And the sea chooses whose life it takes…”

I glance over, feeling Fabien shift beside me. It’s subtle—just a flicker of apprehension. He doesn’t say a word, but there’s something sharp in his gaze now, something focused. Even Miss Captain notices it.

“Everyone knows a man bent on revenge against the Lady,” the scarred man continues, his words hanging heavy in the air. “I’m just a man, powerless. I don’t know the first thing about revenge on a goddess. But I can follow someone who does.”

At that, Miss Captain’s eyebrows lift.

“Would you look at that,” she mutters, voice barely more than a whisper. “Given your face, Rancour, I’d wager you didn’t know that Rye here looked up to you, huh?”

Fabien remains silent, but given a new kind of glimmer in his eyes, I’d say Miss Captain hit jackpot.

But Rye just chuckles, low and rough. “Aye, it should be like that. I’m not here to add to the pressure. Just being part of this is enough to settle my soul, beast or no.”

Silence settles briefly, heavy with the hum of the hull, and then the ship lurches again, hard. My stomach spins in a sickening sweep that sucks the breath right out of me. Heads bob and thud against wood, and for a moment, we’re all groaning, joined in the misery together.

When we finally right ourselves, it’s Fabien who speaks, breaking the silence with a quiet, measured voice. “Rye, is it?” he asks, tilting his head toward the second man. He nods toward the first one. “And you are?”

Miss Captain cocks her brow at the fact Fabien doesn’t know these men’s names, but she doesn’t say anything. Clearly, he never cared enough to ask before.

“Joshua, Mr. Rancour,” the man replies.

Fabien nods slowly. “Well, Rye and Joshua…” His gaze sweeps over the room, catching the others in turn. “And to the rest of you,” he adds. “After the first Trial, we’ll stop somewhere. I’ll pay you your wages for your servitude until now. And if you want to go ashore, you should. It won’t be getting easier from here on out.”

I glance around at the faces in the dim light, catching flickers of their expressions. It’s like every man here has been painted with a different emotion. Relief, maybe, on some faces; a few look like they’re ready to sprint off this ship the second we dock. Then there are those with shock in their eyes, and a couple with a glint of defiance, jaws clenched.

Rye clears his throat, lifting his chin. “I’ll stay,” he declares.

Fabien’s gaze lands on him, his expression unreadable. “Understood,” he says quietly, and his eyes move to the others.

One by one, they mumble their choices. Some keep it vague, like they’re only halfway aboard with all this. Then, there are the likes of Joshua, who don’t want to commit just yet. As each voice fades, the silence grows, filled with only the creak of wood and the rhythm of the waves slapping the hull.

Finally, Joshua’s gaze slides over to me, eyebrow cocked. “And you?” he asks, his eyes crinkling at the edges as the ship pitches again, sending a little cascade of water dripping from the ceiling.

“Me?” I echo.

“You asked me why I’m doing this,” he replies. It’s clear in his voice that he accepted he might die now. There’s this kind of calm resignation in him. The powerlessness that speaks volumes. “What about you? Why are you here? You don’t look like you’re from around here.”

“Ah, well,” I say, forcing a grin that feels a bit too thin, “at this point, I suppose I’m here because…well, I don’t really have much of a choice.” I laugh, but it sounds hollow even to my ears.

Usually, I’d toss in a charming tale, maybe something about fate and fancy footwork, about how I’m exactly where I need to be. I’d sprinkle in a few jokes, lighten the load. But it’s like my charm’s taken off lately and left me stranded without so much as a wave goodbye. I’m reaching for it, but it’s tucked itself away, deep and silent, leaving me feeling…empty. Hollow, even.

I stare at the handkerchief clutched in the man’s fist, feeling that familiar urge to say something clever, to fill the silence. But still, the words escape me. I already know what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth.

“Oh, come on,” he mutters. “Don’t be so grim. We could drop dead any second now. Why not get whatever’s on your chest off of it?”

But he doesn’t get it. I try, I do—I try to reach in, pull out something real. But all the words, all the feelings just…die there. Right in my throat.

Then, out of nowhere, it’s Fabien who steps in.

“He came in pursuit of his father,” he says, leaning back against the wood, his gaze as empty as I feel.

“Ah, yes…” I mutter. “My father sailed off with pirates, you see?”

There’s a ripple of interest, even among the men who’d closed their eyes and were attempting to sleep through the relentless swaying. Ah, yes, tales of abandon. Something they’d love to hear more of, I suppose, given that many of them likely did the same—left their families.

I shrug, plastering on a casual smile, though, for once, I’d actually prefer silence over chatter. How did Fabien even know this, anyway? I don’t recall sharing that tidbit. Maybe Miss Captain or Mr. Zayan mentioned it...

“He was... well, my mother always said he was mad,” I continue, trying to make my tone light. “The wind just seemed to carry him places. I suppose he was built for different lands, different seas.” I let the words hang, before I swallow hard. “Where I’m from, families don’t usually… part ways.”

Immediately as the last part leaves my mouth, I feel like a moron. I shouldn’t have said that. My mother always said, “never speak a truth you can’t bear to carry in silence.”

But it’s too late. It’s out now. And it hurts more than it did to keep it inside.

Joshua raises an eyebrow, the creases in his face softening. “Mad, you say? Well, seems to me there’s a bit of that in all of us here.” He gives a short, humorless chuckle. “Takes a certain kind of madness to chase the waves, whatever the reason.”

At least with this, I can agree. Whether my father is dead or alive, he most definitely lost his sanity years ago. Same can be said for me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. I’d just run the vineyard with my mother, helping her with the fruit and painting my feet with crimson grape juice instead of blood.

“Aye,” I murmur, my smile softening to something like a resigned sigh. But just then, I spot Miss Captain’s position, and, bless her, she doesn’t even realize she’s become my saving grace. “As much as I’d love to keep the fires of conversation ablaze,” I add, casting a glance her way, “it seems our dear Captain’s dozed off. Best not disturb her, considering the Trial and all.”

The men agree in a hum. And before long, silence falls. Then, gradually, one by one, they drift into slumber.

But me? Sleep doesn’t come so easily. My mind wanders far, past the creaking wood and salted air, into someplace softer. Somewhere warm and sweet-scented, where there’s no sting of brine or grit of sand—just rows of sunlit vines and the quiet rustle of leaves, and maybe an umbrella to shade me from the heat, not the weight of a sword or pistol.

Home.

And just when I can almost taste it, feel the soft earth under my feet... words start floating to me. Finally. They linger and settle, and soon enough, I’m humming along, even in my dreams, to a tune that goes something like this:

I don’t often find myself mired in thought,

For I’m not one to dwell on what’s wrought,

But, Mother, I wonder, as shadows roam,

If I did right to leave you alone.

I don’t often think you’re a bastard, Father,

But sometimes that notion feels harder to smother—

Maybe you left, with vision grown clearer,

Than a wife and child who waited near.

And I don’t often see myself lost or gone,

I wear a good smile, speak soft and strong.

But sometimes I fear, as life unwinds,

I’m the son repeating his father’s binds.

In the quiet of night, when the stars grow pale,

When the echoes of laughter start to fail,

I wonder, Mother, could it be true,

That a wandering heart comes back to you?

And Father, wherever you rest or roam,

Do you see me standing here alone?

A lad grown older, yet still in chase—

Walking the path you chose to trace.