Their vessel for the journey was a curious construction, elongated in shape like a Tyrian longship, but with a much deeper keel allowing storage and no place for oars. It had two sails, and while the islanders undoubtedly called it by another na, it lay in the harbour under the moniker Lookfar, with eyes painted on either side of the hull. Besides that, the hull was made from dark, nearly black wood, unlike any hue Martel had ever seen on a tree.
“Welco aboard,” the captain told them. Like his crew, he wore trousers with an open shirt, though theirs were plain in colour while his had rich embroidery. “I’m Captain Nikau.”
“We appreciate the hospitality,” Eleanor replied. “You do not take an Asterian na, I notice.”
The weathered seadog shrugged. “I leave business to the clerks. My work is getting this beauty from one harbour to another.” He smiled with a glint in his eyes.
Martel let his belongings fall to the deck. He already regretted the fivedays that lay ahead on a ship constantly swaying. An apothecary had provided him a redy to help, but he would have to ration it.
“There’s a cabin for you,” the captain continued. “Since this is the Consortium’s prized ship, we usually run with passengers. Yours is next to our sea-worker’s.”
“Pardon, next to whom?”
Nikau flailed a hand about. “Our mage. The woman that halves the journey. You’ll have lots in common, I’m sure.” He looked over his shoulder and bellowed so orders in the islander tongue, making a sailor approach them with an anticipatory expression. “He’ll show you to your quarters.”
After they had installed themselves, the mages returned to the deck, where the crew was busy scurrying about, stowing away provisions and making other final preparations. The captain moved to and fro, barking commands.
In addition, a woman stood in long, flowing robes stitched with unfamiliar symbols. She was an islander, so forty years of age; judging by her clothing and also being the only woman among the sailors, Martel guessed her to be their ship wizard.
“Well t,” she greeted them. She spoke with an accent and less confidence than the captain. “I am Kanani, the – watermage, I think you call .”
“Watermage, weathermage, seamage, the useful tool carries many nas,” Martel replied.
Eleanor cleared her throat. “Well t,” she replied, giving a more proper greeting. “I am Eleanor Fontaine, and my companion is Martel of Engby.”
“Right.”
The islander wizard bowed her head. “A pleasure. The magister told you are famous among your kind for your feats of magic.”
“That and other reasons,” Martel mumbled.
“You work with fire only, I’m told,” Kanani continued.
“More or less. Well, I don’t expect to have much need of it on the journey.”
“So curious. You must show so ti.”
“There shall be plenty of ti for that once we are underway,” Eleanor interjected. “Speaking of which, do you know when we might be ready to depart?”
“Any mont now, I’m sure. Let find the captain.” As the islander walked away, Martel looked over the railing at the busy port, joined by his companion, waiting for the crew to cast off.
Before long, the mont had co, and their journey began. Lookfar was unmoored, and Kanani took position by the helm next to the captain. From a distance, Martel and Eleanor watched as she closed her eyes and extended her arms. He could not decipher the words she mumbled, but he felt the effect. Magic flowed from her, like rainwater dripping from her clothes to seep through the ship until reunited with the sea beneath.
In the manner of a turtle wakening from slumber, the ship began to move without wind or oar. It left the pier, seeking the opening between the arms of the harbour that protected it from storms. Other vessels surrounded them, going the sa way or entering. They soon caught up to an Asterian trader that moved slower than them. A gust of wind ca suddenly, filling the sails of the rchantman, speeding it along. Martel looked up at the tower by the harbour opening, having felt the breath of magic from that direction; a windmage stood on post, ensuring traffic flowed smoothly through the harbour.
The Asterian vessel pushed forward, gliding past the tower to reach the open sea. Eagerly, if a ship could be imbued with such an attribute, Lookfar did the sa, slightly altering course to be able to overtake. Without a wizard aboard, the local ship could only rely on the agre wind once away from the harbour mage; with ease, the islander craft surpassed it, picking up speed once no obstacles lay ahead. Martel glanced toward them, wondering if they looked back in his direction with envy.
His mind travelled back to his early days in Morcaster, walking to the harbour to see the majestic ships that sailed in and out of the harbour. Dreaming about their destinations and distant lands, imagining himself as a seamage doing the sa work Kanani did now, albeit using a different kind of magic. It had been about five years; not a long ti in the lives of most, but to Martel, it seed another age. He had little in common with the boy who had arrived to the Lyceum, head empty except for dreams and with barely the power to do anything but summon a feeble spark.
As the ship began to sway back and forth, picking up more speed, Martel was reminded of one thing that remained unchanged over the years, also being the reason why he would have made a terrible seamage; his stomach churning, Martel had just a few monts of warning before he had to bend over the railing and feel it beco empty. Once his breakfast had been consigned to the waves, Martel wiped his mouth and straightened up, glancing over his shoulder. Eleanor looked at him with sympathy while the sailors laughed. At the helm, Kanani continued to channel, and Lookfar sailed ever faster. In two fivedays, they would arrive at the archipelago known to Asterians as the Western Isles.
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