Tourna Shadow

A/N: This might be my entry for the Spring Contest, though I'm not sure yet. I'm deciding between this and my other story related to this one, Kveykva.

C/N: There is no note for this chapter.

Storming
It’s storming outside. A loud one, by the sound of it. The rain furiously pounds the walls. Thunder rolls across the sky, wrestling with massive grey storm clouds. The wind taunts the waves, causing them to rock more fiercely, slapping the sides of the ship, tossing it back and force.

Am I safe? Hardly. I could die any second.

It’s all your fault, Killane.

I know it won’t do me any good, but I start blaming everyone I can think of. Exal, you just had to find someone I couldn’t get along with. Dilan, you just had to dare me. Killane…

The ship lurches. My back strikes the wall and I put out a hand to stop me from sliding further, scraping my knuckles against the rough wood.

''Where in Tourna’s name is the Redd? Why can’t he—or she—just hurry up?''

~wolflowolf~

I’m going ahead of myself. My name is Rele. No last name, not anymore. If anyone asks, it was lost.

Still not making any sense?

Avni is the smallest town in Sureport, so small that no one’s heard of it, or refuses to acknowledge it. It’s squished at the very back of the country, and if it weren’t for Sarno, it would actually land a place on the maps.

Sarno has everything. Imported goods from Chaibol, huge marketplaces, stores for everything, villas all over the place. Taverns and pubs, shady black-market dealings, thieves and drunks and addicts. Sweaty sailors and burly workmen. The pride of Sureport.

And Avni? The most exciting thing that happens there are the annual Tamin festivals, where we all bring a meal to the feast and offer part of it to the Greats. There is always fun games afterward, but it can’t hide the fact that the nuns and monks always come to select a few of us to serve the Greats for life. Those who are selected are never seen again.

Kk-ckk-kk, I hear, as the door to the storage hold creaks painfully open. I sit there, unmoving and indifferent, my back against a crate—

''Storage. Door. Opening.''

Damn. I hurriedly move against the back of the crate, listen for footsteps, hear none, and crouch-scuttle behind the next stack of boxes. My trusty hiding place is two piles away. If I can make it—

“Eh, w’ssat, Huverd?” a man’s voice rumbles. “No, ya blithering idiot, I didn’t put the stock here. Yes, Ah’m sure. Fine, ya check if ya want and ya won’t find a single thing.”

“Shut up, Josher,” I hear another man retort. “You can take that up with Cant. He'ss the one who told me to look.”

“Well then, ya tell him everything he wanted is in the kitchen, like his majesty ordered. No one moved nothing, Ah tell ya.”

Interesting. Josher’s accent is Swengen, but Huverd sounds like he’s from Firn. What? No way. Swengen and Firn are political enemies, but I’m hearing correctly. Huverd thickens his TH’s, draws out his O’s, and mispronounces his S’s. Firnian accent, all right. So this is an illegal trade ship.

I take advantage of the banter and slide behind the next box pile. One more to go. My foot is firmly planted on the wooden floor. Dust billows up around me and I fight the urge to sneeze.

"Fine, I'll jusst be checking, then," I hear Huverd say. The door slams loudly and everything quivers. The box I'm leaning against starts to slide, and the whole stack threatens to topple.

No. No, no, no! Sweat slides off my forehead and my arm muscles burn as I struggle to hold everything still. Huverd is loudly stomping around, muttering obscenities under his breath. At least he's in the far corner. I slowly slide the stack of boxes back into the position.

My nose tickles. I know the feeling--I'm going to sneeze. Uh-oh. The only thing I can do is... "Ack-kk!" Unwillingly, I let out the sneeze, and I simultaneously let go of the boxes--the only thing that can mask the sound. They fall to the ground in a loud clatter.

Too late, I realize how stupid it seems. It would have been better to let the boxes fall when he slammed the door, but to have a pile of boxes randomly fall down...he will definitely come to investigate. I don't waste time and dart behind the last box pile, through the trapdoor and into my tiny little corner beneath the floor.

Sure enough, I hear Huverd's heavy boots clomping toward the sound. He grunts in aggravation and returns to his search. I let out a quiet sigh of relief and sit down blindly in the darkness--and leap up again. Ugh. My pants are wet. I've sat in a puddle.

''Puddle. Water.'' Where would the water come from? A leak? I'm at loathe to light the oil lamp I've smuggled--who knows how much elk fat I have left to burn, and I don't think I can steal any more--but I also want to find the water source.

The decision is made; the lamp is lit. A corner of the floor above is leaking water. From the storm no doubt. This nags my mind, but in all my eagerness I push my inner warning away. I don't have anything to catch the water with, and Huverd hasn't left the storage hold yet.

It's time to be resourceful. I tear a corner of my blanket off with the knife, as well as a corner of my cloak, and tie the two strips of fabric together. I then pinch the other two corners in between the wooden boards. It's not the best for saving water, but I'll snag another container when Huverd leaves.

A loud thump behinds me sends liquid-white fear racing through my body. A click, and light--not the measly glow from the stolen lamp, but fatbulbs attached to the ceiling that have been switched on with a pull of a string. A tall man is standing behind me, wearing a dirty apron and holding something made of iron in his hands. I can't tell what it is--a weapon?

"Ah-ah-ah," he wheezes, turning his look onto me just as I'm about to dart away. His eyes are intense but unreadable beneath his thick eyebrows. "We have a stowaway, I see."

Droplets
I dangled my feet in the dark water, watching the way the currents swirled around my feet. Next to me, Killane was kicking arcs of water aimed at Dilan, who sat on a large rock a few metres away. He retaliated by cupping water in his hands and blowing streams at her.

"I wonder who the nuns and monks will pick," I said absently. A stream of freezing water hit me in the face. "Watch it!"

"Oops," Dilan said sheepishly.

"He has terrible aim," Killane told me in a stage whisper. "But really, I'm thankful he didn't hit me. The water is fruiking cold."

"As I noticed," I grumbled. "Anyway. What are you doing for Tamin?"

"I might try the brandy game this time." Her eyes sparkled. You poured brandy over a bowl of sugared fruit, lit a piece on fire and ate it. Whoever made it through the bowl first won.

"Tried it last time." I poked her shoulder. "The record's two minutes thirty-six seconds. Think you can beat it?"

"Are you kidding? That's lame. I've been practicing." I nearly fell off the dock. Not in her hut; she'd burn the place down if she wasn't careful. Besides, the brandy game was dangerous for your throat. "Relax." Killane caught sight of my expression. "I'm kidding. Don't want to light anyone on fire."

"Praise be to Tourna," mumbled Dilan. "Think I'd get lucky if the nuns chose you?"

"You'd be just as lucky if the monks chose you," Killane retorted. "You still wouldn't have to see me either way." They both laughed and I relaxed visibly. Killane and Dilan got on very well and seldom fought, but when they did...

"Don't joke about them." Killane's expression suddenly turned deadly serious. "Don't even talk about them."

"Why not?" I asked curiously. All children under eighteen were apprehensive toward the nuns and monks, who always arrived from the Brigantian Islands toward the end of Tamin. Killane poked fun at them, though it was easy to see that she was afraid of being chosen. This wasn't afraid; it was downright terrified.

"Yeah, why not?" Dilan chimed in. The two were twins, but looked close to nothing alike. They did, however, share an incurable curiousity which often got them in trouble.

"Oh, uhm." She cast her eyes at the water and scratched the back of her neck. "I kind of—"

A clap of thunder sounded in the distance, startling all three of us. Dilan nearly fell off his rock. A moment later, it started to rain, the fat drops plunking indents in the water. We stood up and headed for the cliff before the rain made it too muddy. By the time we reached the top, my hair was already soaked.

"See you tomorrow?" Killane called.

"Definitely. We're supposed to be decorating the feast, remember?"

"Oh. Right," she said absently. Her mind was on other things. "Let's hope it doesn't rain at Tamin."

I headed home and tried to shake the worry from my mind.