He tried to catch his breath, left eye burning with the

  blood that had sprayed on it mere moments ago, mixing with the dark

  brown-red markings on either side of his face. He wondered if his

  overwhelming anxiety and the violent rush of adrenaline would kill him

  before the other guard did—She was still reeling, her colleague doubled

  over on the floor as a crimson pool creeped out from underneath the limp

  body.

  He couldn't let himself think, let himself plan. Marama

  lunged again, the gladius he'd snatched from the guard and shoved into

  her neck was still gripped--as tightly as he could manage--between both

  hands. He screamed at the top of his lungs, letting out all the rage

  that had been building up inside him these past few years, in hopes that

  this moment would be the end of it all and he could be free.

  But the next thing he knew, all the air had left his

  lungs, and his face landed uselessly on the slick of blood at his feet,

  spreading it everywhere, soaking the white sleeping gown he was still in

  when they dragged him out. Metal clanged against the stone floor as he

  wrapped his arms around himself. A heavy, reinforced boot flew at his

  stomach, sending him flying an easily meter away, leaving him with an

  uncontrollable coughing fit, unable to move.

  A few heavy steps later, he felt a huge hand tighten its

  grip around the short tuft of hair on the top of his head, and pulled

  half his body clear off the floor. A furious hiss burned at his ear,

  "You're real fucking lucky they wanna keep you alive and pretty, you

  lil' yodh shit." The other guard straightened and dragged Marama all the

  way across the room, as he clawed uselessly at the armored hand still

  gripping his hair, fearing she was going to rip his head clean off at

  this rate. "I swear I don't know what the fuck they see in you that they

  put up with this much shit."

  His cheek landed heavily on the stone floor, and the heavy

  wooden door of the cramped cell, scratched and marked and worn by

  decades—centuries?—of prisoners slammed shut behind him. He could hear

  the aleph guard cursing and throwing and slamming things on the other

  side in a fit of rage. All the better that it not be directed at him, of course: that might cost the guard her life, for daring to actually touch someone like Marama.

  He didn't move for a long time. He can't remember for how

  long, really. It wasn't the first time he'd been dragged into that cell,

  but he decided at that moment that it would be the last. No matter

  what, he would never give them the opportunity to punish him again like

  this.

  "Land ho, Cap!"

  The call from the crow's nest pulled him out of his own

  head and back to where he was right now. To the present. To the open

  seas he was free to sail, midday sun bearing down on his skin. To the

  sea wind in which his long, dark hair, now organized into a thick braid,

  could swing softly.

  He strode up to the bow, jogging up the steps to the

  foredeck as the occasional idling crew member got out of the way. He

  stepped right up to the railing and extended his portable telescope. It

  was smaller than what the lookout had but it should be enough.

  It was a small dot, still, but he could still catch it whenever the ship went over the crest of a wave: Amber, the island where they would find Shadowbrook and, hopefully, the metalworker they needed right now.

  Marama turned to stern looking straight at Gan, holding the ship's wheel steady.

  "Steady as she goes! We'll be there soon!" he shouted, as

  his navigator gave a simple nod. They were coming in southward, so

  Shadowbrook should be visible enough from this side of the small island

  once they got closer. In the meantime, he had preparations to make. He

  made his way back to his Captain's quarters.

  He could feel the relief and excitement among his crew

  that they were finally coming ashore. It had been several weeks at sea,

  now, and everyone was ready to relax at a tavern, get some "real" food,

  have the ground stop moving constantly underneath them. Marama heard

  their excited conversations around him. It was a bit contagious, though

  he still had a lot going on in his mind.

  Gan smiled as he approached her on the quarterdeck. A

  smile that faded into a hint of concern after a moment. “You alright,

  Mara?”

  She could read him like a book—it would be deeply uncomfortable if it was anyone else.

  He put on his best, sad, I-don’t-wanna-talk-about-it smile

  in response, “Yeah, just… hoping for the best.” He looked over his

  shoulder, in the direction of the oncoming island, “and I got distracted

  thinking about things I’d rather not think about. But I’m alright. I’ll

  see you in a bit.”

  Gan nodded and placed her hand on his shoulder. She could

  ground him just like that, even now. He touched the hardened back of her

  hand briefly, with an I’m-ok-really smile and continued on through the

  stern deck door.

  It had been Marama’s decision to nip their nascent

  relationship in the bud, mere months after they first met. Taking on his

  role as Captain meant he couldn’t allow himself that vulnerability,

  that weakness that others might find; exploit in order to bring his

  mission to a sudden stop. In the end, his vow to Gan, and his own desire

  for revenge, relegated them to shipmates. Fellow officers. If they were

  to sacrifice anything for each other, it would be on those grounds.

  Or so he told himself. No matter how much time passed, he

  could never stop viewing Gan as if it still were those early, messy days

  of passion and exploration. Of falling in love for the first time in

  his life and—he decided back then, and still believes now—the last time.

  Sometimes he would lash out, or something. He would spend

  his time among those working the pleasure districts. Cementing his

  reputation as a stereotypical yodh carrier—promiscuous and free

  spirited, impossible to pin down. Some part of him hoped it would help

  Gan move on in ways he himself may very well never be able to. And, in

  that way, he could keep her safe.

  Gan was fine, of course, she had always been far more

  adaptable, and her feelings had never even run that deep. A tryst

  between two kindred traumatized souls, as a momentary balm in a time of

  heightened need.

  When Marama came back to reality, he noticed he’d been

  standing in front of the door to his quarters for who knows how long. He

  really needed to stop blanking out like this today. By the time his

  door closed again and he was rummaging through his drawers, he’d

  completely forgotten about wherever his head had just gone.

  It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for,

  buried as it was in the absolute mess he’d made of his desk. He held the

  medallion in his hands, but quickly put it away before he could find

  himself somewhere else again. It would help smooth the upcoming

  conversation, and at best might even do most of the talking for him.

  That would be for the best for all involved.

  There was a knock on the door.

  He leaned back on his rickety chair, the one he literally

  stole from Captain Sterling for laughs. He wondered how she was doing

  these days. Was she even still alive?

  Another knock. What was even going on today? His attention span was shot to hell.

  “Ah! Yes, enter.”

  Gan peeked her head in, and Marama immediately felt some kind of way right in her stomach.

  “We’re here, Mara. Getting ready to disembark.”

  Seven hells, how long was he out?

  “Already?”

  “What do you mean?” Gan looked at her, confused, as the door opened further.

  “Nothing, I’m just distracted today.” He stood up and

  swapped coats, to the nicer one he’d laid out on his bed earlier in the

  day, after he’d put on his face and thought about the impression he

  might want to give.

  “That looks good on you, Mara.”

  He tried to hide the briefest moment where he felt time

  freeze around him. “Oh I know.” He tugged at the lapels, emanating

  confidence, with a satisfying snap. All the better to sell the illusion.

  Gan rolled her eyes dramatically, with the friendly

  playfulness that Marama knew was of friends who are just friends now and

  only friends definitely in a friendly way, “Ok well, we’re doing that

  whole thing now. Are you ready?”

  Marama stuck his tongue out, “Yes. Let’s go.”

  Shadowbrook was a smallish town scarred by a disproportionate amount of damage. It

  was clear, as they walked through the city streets, how many of the

  buildings were clearly made with materials of different ages—ad-hoc

  anastyloses, applied liberally, in order to mostly preserve a small town

  that had simply not been given enough peace to grow any further.

  Stunted by routine destruction.

  Esmeralda chimed in, with zir comfortably thick Masaku accent, as ze, Marama, and

  Gan—the agreed-upon landing party—all looked around the place like a

  bunch of clueless tourists, "It makes you wonder what makes this place

  so important that they'd bother to rebuild it so many times." The ship's

  doctor didn't usually join them on their little expeditions ashore

  unless they had a reason to believe there would be violence, and Marama

  had assured zir that this wasn't the case this time. No, ze was there to

  grease the wheels of diplomacy, and in response to zir objections he

  assured zir things would stay peaceful. Ze had learned to trust the

  Captain's judgment on these things, and so went right along with it

  without further question.

  "Or what about it means it'll get so fucked up so many

  times." Marama looked up at one building towards the center of town, a

  tower still half-rebuilt. "That one looks pretty recent."

  "Cannon fire?" Gan followed Marama's gaze.

  "Probs." He frowned, “that’s probably by the plaza, though.”

  At Marama's insistence, they stopped at one of the market

  stalls in the town center, and he engaged in a lively haggle with the

  vendor in rapid, fluent Isle Pidgin. The group walked away with a couple

  of bottles of a familiar rummy drunk, their purses barely lighter for

  it.

  "I think she liked you. Having a Nazari speak to her like

  that was probably fun enough to be worth the highway robbery you got

  away with, Captain," Esmeralda grinned at him as he admired his spoils.

  Isle Pidgin was mostly used between Masaku traders and

  merchants these days, whose differing dialects would often lead to

  misunderstandings otherwise. The occasional Outer Isle Nazari trader

  would pick it up in order to get on the same playing field, but their

  disdain for having to do so was usually worn right on their sleeves.

  Marama showed no such disdain, and this would seem quite novel.

  "Well, I've had a good teacher. And I find there's no

  better lubricant than meeting people where they're at." he grinned and

  wiggled the bottles in his hands. "Plus, these are the most direct form

  of talking I'll be able to do from here on out."

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  Esmeralda watched the milky liquid swirl in the clear

  bottles, cinnamon and cloves and all sorts of other delicious things

  mixed in with its sweetness. They'd spent a while during the trip

  talking to each other about how they could handle their conversation

  with Nerissa Wolfe, master metalsmith, and former Imperial Smith for Emperor Nadir,

  tyrant of the Nazari Empire. They would all have something in common:

  ultimately wanting few things more than seeing the Emperor herself

  dashed upon the rocks off the great cliffs of the southern Nazari

  shores.

  The challenge was going to be whether they could all trust

  each other enough to accept all their necks being put on the line,

  together. Three of them, and an entire ship's worth of sailors, were

  already on board. Now to convince another. And hopefully even others

  beyond that.

  The smithy didn't take them too long to get to from the

  markets, especially since they already knew where it was. They couldn’t

  risk calling unnecessary attention to themselves by asking strangers for

  its location, definitely not with Marama and Gan in tow.

  It was a simple building. One story, gabled roof, and much

  like the rest of the city, built on layers of different materials from

  the ruins of previous attacks. An open area with only roof coverage and

  its supportive columns stood to one side, with a shut down forge, a

  nearby anvil, and various tools and surfaces spread around the rest of

  the area and the walls. As busy at it seemed, it was clearly still

  well-organized, with pieces in various states of completion in something

  resembling a logical order. Pieces that were clearly valuable but were

  still just left out in plain sight, with no supervision, which felt

  notable.

  What was missing from the scene was the smith.

  Marama and Esmeralda looked at each other, and the Captain

  gestured with his head towards the door of the house proper. The doctor

  would need to lead the way from here. He handed zir both bottles and

  did zir the favor of knocking, then stepped back. He stood by Gan,

  making sure his bejeweled blouse and coat were tidily arranged, the

  aleph towered next to him as she usually did, in her much humbler robes.

  Towered behind Esmeralda, who wore zir usual, casual, and most

  importantly, distinctly Masaku dress. It was a careful blocking of the

  scene, planned days before, based on whatever loose information they'd

  managed together about this contact whose abjadtype they didn't even

  know.

  The door swung open suddenly, fully, and a Masaku yodh, a

  carrier like Marama, based on the understated color of his spots, stood

  in the doorway in casual work clothes and a leather apron with small

  tools stuffed in its pockets. He gripped a large blunderbuss in his

  hands, and seemed to be readying himself to use it when the scene the

  stage was set for played out before him: his eyes first going to the

  enormous Nazari aleph crossing her arms, then to the

  distinguished-looking Nazari yodh next to her. Both foreign. Both a

  threat for different reasons.

  Finally, more disarming than if they'd physically torn

  that blunderbuss from his hands, a smiling Masaku with deep red hair,

  holding up a pair of bottles of kokito and speaking in their common

  tongue as if they were practically neighbors, "Nerissa, yeah? Got a

  minute? My name is Esmeralda, and we all just disembarked from the

  trading ship I serve on. We're here as friends. But we do need some

  privacy to talk further."

  You couldn't have scripted this more predictably:

  suspicious eyes back to the accompanying Nazari pair, a long pause where

  he clearly thought about that kokito, and finally the blunderbuss

  pointed down at the floor. Marama's understanding of people genuinely

  scared Esmeralda sometimes, and ze was just glad he was on zir side.

  He stepped out of the way and responded, dialect slightly

  different than Esmeralda’s, but close enough for zir to parse it all,

  "Yeah. Get in. But the big one stays put."

  Esmeralda looked back at the Captain, not really needing

  to say anything to stay in sync, then turned back to the smith, "I don't

  think that would be safe for her, or give the best impression for you

  if people were to see her just standing there.”

  Nerissa frowned at that, but had nothing he could respond with.

  Esmeralda raised zir hands, still holding the bottles. “Don't worry, we're all unarmed."

  Not that it would matter. Both Marama and Gan could hold

  their own in a situation like this without so much as a knife. Not that

  ze would tell Nerissa that.

  With a grunt, the smith assented, "Whatever. Just get in.

  And you better have a reason for bringing these..." he looked at the

  bronze-skinned pair and reconsidered his words, "...for bringing this

  nonsense into my home."

  And so they all walked in after he got out of the way, "I'll grab some mugs for the kokito."

  Esmeralda caught Marama trying to hold back a smirk. He

  had to keep pretending he didn't understand, for now, but he was

  probably tremendously amused about playing the helpless, clueless

  foreigner that has no idea what anyone is saying.

  Ze took the chance to look around as they were all led

  into the main living room area: various items painted with the Masaku

  flag, featuring the subtle difference in shade color from the "Imperial

  Approved" variety—something mostly those "in the know" would recognize

  as a nationalist signifier. Various instruments, horned masks, and other

  artworks, along with what was clearly Narissa's own decorative

  metalwork and even weapons and armor.

  A busy scene, but he clearly took great pride in

  surrounding himself with these items—these symbols of who he and his

  people really were and what they stood for. No such decoration had been

  visible from the outside.

  "Tell my guests they can sit wherever."

  Narissa came back shortly after a brief trip into the

  kitchen, holding the two bottles in one hand, and carrying four small,

  finely-crafted silver cups with his other hand's fingers, setting it all

  down on a low floor table in the center of the room, surrounded by

  plump purple cushions. More subtle nationalist symbolism.

  The three found their places. Esmeralda knelt, like,

  Narissa, while the other two knew they were better off playing their

  expected roles and sitting on their asses like the ignorant colonizers

  they clearly were. Their host seemed satisfied with expectations being

  met. They needed to have an economy in unexpected moves.

  He poured out the white, speckled liquid into each of the

  cups as he led the conversation, "So why the fuck are you here and why

  do you have a pair of soupes in tow?"

  Soupes—a weird word that, at this point, no one knew the origin of. Likely just a shortening from the full name of the Nazari Supreme

  Empire. Casually used among the Masaku themselves when referring to the

  Nazari, even in neutral ways, but easily charged with venom and disdain

  in the right context, and when aimed at the right ears. The Nazari, of

  course, would often have a knee-jerk reaction to it, calling a slur—a

  fighting word, even. It was a convenient way for Masaku to demonstrate

  the fragility of their colonizers and oppressors with the smallest bit

  of resistance.

  But it was also useful as a test. And so neither Gan nor

  Marama so much as reacted to it being spoken out loud in their presence.

  They each took their cups and sipped from them quietly, and made

  general approving sounds and short remarks in Nazari to each other.

  Nerissa looked between them before continuing. He seemed

  satisfied. Likely more satisfied yet that Esmeralda didn't jump to their

  defense.

  Esmeralda took zir first sip of the drink. The rum was as

  sharp as you could expect, yet smoothed out by the milk of koko fruit

  mixed into it and copious amounts of honey to sweeten the deal, a flavor

  further enriched by the blend of spices unique to every family—even a

  single island or settlement could have a hundred subtle differences in

  their recipes, all recognizable as the same general thing.

  It was the taste of home, regardless of where ze drank it.

  Esmeralda put the cup down. They could proceed.

  "My Captain here," ze gestured towards Marama, "is

  sympathetic to us, and would like some help with building the

  relationships we need in order to do that. We learned that you would be

  an ideal person to start that conversation with."

  Their eyes met.

  Nerissa’s narrowed.

  “My sib, this kokito is good but it’s not that good, and I recognize the exact flavor of where you got it from. You better have come here with more than that.”

  Ze grinned at that and made a point of looking over to

  Marama and nodding, keeping up the act. The Captain responded by nodding

  back, and reached into his coat, pulling out a jeweled medallion that

  he then placed on the table.

  Nerissa’s jaw fell slack and his eyes widened in

  recognition. He immediately reached for it, but found his hand firmly

  rooted in place by Gan’s, before he could retract it. She smiled at him,

  sweetly, with her cute little underdeveloped tusks.

  Esmeralda continued, “You know what it is, then.”

  “Yes, but how—“

  “—that’s not a thing we can talk about right now. Sorry. I’m sure it makes sense why.”

  “And it’s genuine?”

  “Of course. And I’m sure someone with your skills and history will be able to tell.”

  “You’re damn right I can!”

  “And someone with your skills will also be able to do some

  very useful things with it with a bit of extra guidance on what subtle

  details to watch out for.”

  There was a pause in the back and forth, “…yes.”

  Esmeralda nodded to Gan, who lifted her hand and sat back

  in her cushion. The metal smith pulled back and greedily held her

  medallion in both hands, examined it closely, turning it.

  “You’re fucking kidding me, this thing is real.”

  “Yes, that’s the idea, and we can confirm that it’s valid.”

  Nerissa frowned and looked up, looked at each of the two

  foreigners, looked back at Esmeralda, “what does this mean? What do you

  want from me, really?”

  Esmeralda took the liberty of pouring zirself another cup

  and swirled it around, watching the vortex of brown specks as ze

  responded, “like I said, we need connections. We brought this here to

  build trust with you, and also so we can work together on something much

  bigger.” Ze let that sink in for effect, “And so, we are going to trust you to hold onto that, to prepare what you need, but to not do anything rash with it. Nothing big yet.”

  Ze took a sip, spices tickling zir nose and numbing zir

  ever so slightly, blended such the alcohol, “When the time is right,

  we’ll put everything into motion. We’ll make use of what you and your

  friends have built with us, together, and we’ll go further than the

  minor changes you—we’ve been struggling more than a century over.” Ze set the cup down.

  That got a bit of a rise out of Nerissa, “Minor? You call what we have all been fighting and dying for minor?” He slammed a fist on the table, goblets almost tipping over and as their contents splashed the surface, “Have you seen the buildings in this town? I know you fucking noticed.”

  Esmeralda’s expression darkened as ze picked up zir cup

  again, wiping the sides, and lowered zir voice. Ze responded slowly, “we

  will be going so much further than our people have ever dreamed of. By

  the time it’s all over, you’ll wonder how you could’ve been willing to

  sacrifice so much and spill so much blood for the prospect of mere scraps.”

  Silence filled the room. Nerissa was in some kind of

  shock. Esmeralda timed things for it stay that way for a bit, to let it

  all sink in.

  “The medallion is yours as a token of our good intentions. It is yours now.

  You are free to study it as you will, even take it apart if you really

  need.” Ze smiled, genuinely, heartfelt, “what we ask is that you work

  with us, and be patient as we get all the other pieces in place before

  we all make our respective moves together. Can you do that?”

  Nerissa frowned, clutching the bejeweled, glittering golden piece against his breasts. And then he nodded.

  Marama rose first, smiled, and bowed deeply. Gan and Esmeralda followed.

  Ze placed zir palms together and bowed zir had, “Thank you

  for your hospitality. We’ll see ourselves out.” Ze straightened,

  “Please seek out the people we will need introductions to and talk to

  them. We plan on being at port for at least a week. We’ll be waiting for

  you.”

  Ze shared a gentle, empathetic smile with him as he just

  stared, “Please, consider it. My Captain here has helped me embrace the

  dream of a much better world, and I hope he can do the same for you.”

  Nerissa simply nodded, still kneeling, watching as they all walked out his front door.

  The trio was well clear of the house when Esmeralda let

  out the biggest sigh of zir life, switching back to zir musical Naziri,

  mainly for Gan’s sake—she was definitely slower at picking up languages.

  Ze dropped all pretension at the cool composure from earlier, “Holy

  shit that was scary never make me do anything like that again how did

  that even work this is insane.”

  They had rehearsed the entire scene weeks in advance,

  covered different scenarios, gotten Esmeralda to learn to act like

  something other than the awkward nerd ze usually was. Ze had complained

  constantly and repeatedly and even cried about it so much, but the

  Captain insisted this was the only way to make it all work.

  “Can’t promise that, friend. Unfortunately,” Marama

  laughed, slapping Esmeralda’s back playfully, “we’ll be doing a bit more

  of this while we’re in this part of the seas, as I’m sure you can

  guess. At least until we bold enough trust that I can start doing the

  talking myself.”

  Esmeralda rolled zir eyes, “what would you do without me, Cap?”

  He smiled fondly back at zir, then squeezed zir upper arm

  gently and did that thing again where he gets suddenly really earnest,

  “Same as with anyone else on the crew—I’d be lost. Thanks for doing

  that. I know it was a lot. And you did great.”

  Fucking hell, he was better at disarming people than the most expert fencer. Ze smiled down at him, “…thanks, Cap.”

  And then ze remembered something on zir mind, “Oh right.

  You didn’t want to tell me before, but do I get to know what the hell we

  just handed over to one of the main cell leaders of the fucking Masaku

  resistance?”

  Marama smirked back at zir, “That, my friend, was a bona

  fide Imperial Bureaucratic Envoy medallion.” He explained further,

  driving the point home, “A legitimate one will get you a free pass right

  into any Imperial fort on the Isles, no questions asked. And they’ll

  treat you like royalty about it too, probably. At least if you kinda

  look the part.”

  Marama and Gan kept walking.

  Esmeralda did not.

  Esmeralda yelled.

  “We just gave him fucking what?”

  Marama put his palms up and shrugged as he kept walking, Gan laughed.

  “And Gan—you fucking knew?”

  And Gan shrugged too. Guilty as charged.

  Esmeralda cursed under zir breath, and let out a frustrated groan as he jogged to catch up with the other two.