Facing the Storm

By Meyari McFarland

When the Tourmaline Seas docked in Atalya, Raelin expected a normal port of call: trade, exploration, loading cargo.

What she got was a stunning offer, threats from the Delbhana and an unexpected need to step into her elder's shoes.

The rest of the trip home to Aingeal raised the stakes for Raelin and her beloved ship as the lives of everyone on board rested in Raelin's unprepared hands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MDR Publishing
• Release date: May 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310821059

Meyari McFarland

Meyari McFarland has been telling stories since she was a small child. Her stories range from SF and Fantasy adventures to Romances but they always feature strong characters who do what they think is right no matter what gets in their way. Her series range from Space Opera Romance in the Drath series to Epic Fantasy in the Mages of Tindiere world. Other series include Matriarchies of Muirin, the Clockwork Rift Steampunk mysteries, and the Tales of Unification urban fantasy stories, plus many more. You can find all of her work on MDR Publishing's website at www.MDR-Publishing.com.

Book preview

Atalya's City of the Ladies gleamed in the distance, spires shimmering as if they were made of light and shadows instead of solid chunks of crystal taller than the masts of the Tourmaline Seas. Mist clung to the salt marsh, hiding everything that lay between Raelin and the City. She stood on the last bit of solid land, hands on her hips, just looking.

Captain Vevina had warned her not to go any further than this spot. She'd warned the entire crew but her eyes had stayed on Raelin's face the entire time. It showed that Captain Vevina still regretted taking Raelin on back after the Tourmaline Seas was rebuilt. Every time she saw Raelin, her brows drew together and her lips turned down in stern frown.

Raelin wasn't sure why. She worked hard, followed orders, and learned whatever the rest of the crew put in front of her. Cooking? Raelin learned to make every single meal the cook knew and then asked other people for recipes everywhere they went. Trading? If it was for sale, Raelin learned about it and got samples to bring back home for Captain Vevina and Mother to assess. Hauling line, reefing sails, navigation? Learning those was a joy that left Raelin beaming, sometimes for days.

The last five years had been everything Raelin had ever dreamed of. Chinwendu's markets filled with spices and delicate spider silk, Ntombi's sun-beaten plains and the warriors that patrolled them, here in Atalya on the exact opposite side of the planet from Aingeal were wonders that Raelin would never get tired of.

How could she? Every place had a different scent, a different taste, even different sounds. Atalya's language was all short choppy sentences with vowels clipped short. Chinwenduese flowed like the luscious silk they created, filled with complicated grammar and more genders than Raelin had ever conceived of.

It was all so beautiful, so different. Raelin looked forward to spending the rest of her life on the sea, exploring, trading and learning everything she could about the world and the people who lived it in.

You look happy, Bahb commented. She sniffed the air and rubbed her nose. No idea why. Stinks.

Low tide, Raelin said, shrugging. Don't know what you expect.

Bahb shook her head at Raelin, looking longingly back towards the market they'd wandered out of. Her skin was darker than most of the ship, not tanned that way like Captain Vevina but naturally. Her mother had gotten pregnant with Bahb somewhere between Aingeal and Jaffa and had never known who the father was. Raelin thought her darker skin and hair gave Bahb a sort of beauty lacking in her family. Though it might be her smooth hair.

Raelin smoothed a hand over her hair, smiling wryly at the waves she felt. A lifetime of fighting with her curls hadn't gotten her any closer to the smooth, sleek hair she'd always wanted. Nothing ever would short of spending hours on it or shaving her head.

Why are we out here? Bahb asked as she rocked on her toes. Can't be for that thing.

It is, actually, Raelin said. She laughed at the way Bahb groaned. Don't act surprised. I'm a Dana. You know we get into everyone's business.

Not the Ladies' business, Bahb snapped, grabbing the back of Raelin's shirt and dragging Raelin back towards the market. I don't care how little sense your family has, you know better. Haven't seen you start one fight yet.

I was just curious, Raelin protested though it wasn't a terribly serious protest. Laughter welled up like the tide coming in. That's all.

Bahb growled. That's worse! You get curious and you start being all Dana and trouble comes chasing on your heels.

Laughter won over Raelin's attempts to be serious. She let Bahb drag her back into the market's narrow alleyways between low-slung tents. The entire city, other than a few core government buildings, was tents. Big round ones that stood two stories high that never moved, little ones that were just a couple of sticks with a blanket thrown over top, and everything between.

The people of Atalya moved constantly. They passed little old women dressed in shapeless black coats sitting under their blanket awnings with their wares laid out on fine-woven cream rugs who constantly tapped their knees or rocked while humming hymns, the ends of their turbans swaying with their movement. Little kids wearing nothing but heavily embroidered aprons weaved around people's legs, laughing when adults scowled.

It was like walking the length of the Tourmaline Seas while they were in full sail on heavy seas. Nothing stayed still. Raelin's legs were still used to the deck's heaving movements so even the ground felt like it moved, making simple walking an adventure.

Atalya was the opposite of Aingeal in so many ways. Where Aingeal was increasingly secular, Atalya was so devoted that people would 'sell' their wares for a prayer and a donation to their temple to the Goddesses. They moved where Aingeal dug in and stood their ground. Where Aingeal homes were full of a thousand different scents from potpourri of every sort, the Atalyians seemed to avoid all forms of incense or perfumes other than the sacred fires of the Goddesses.

And while men were free to move about as they wished at home, in Atalya men were expected to cover up and hide away from strange women's eyes.

Bahb dragged Raelin around a corner into the section of the market dedicated to pottery. Their arrival set off a wave of movement as men in carefully embroidered hats covered with beautiful shawls and veils slipped back into their tents rather than meet their eyes.

Hate that, Bahb grumbled quietly in Aingealese. No one here was likely to understand it, not on the other side of the world.

It's their culture, Raelin said with a philosophic little shrug that finally freed her shirt from Bahb's grip. The older woman glowered at Raelin, silky black hair falling forward to shadow her eyes. What? It is. How many petticoats do you see when you travel the seas, hmm?

Bahb choked on a laugh, waving one hand that Raelin had a point. Yeah, but at least at home you get to see the men's faces.

And here you get to see their legs, Raelin said. Bet they move around a lot easier than the boys do back home. Petticoats three yards in diameter might as well be hobbles around their ankles.

Bahb stopped, staring at Raelin as if that was a revelation. It wasn't to Raelin. She'd heard entirely too many complaints from her twin brother Aravel about the stupidity of modern fashion to be unaware of how much of a struggle Aingeal society's fascination with making men's kilts look like an upside down bowl. If Aravel had his way he'd never wear a single petticoat in his entire life, not that he had a choice in the matter. Cadfael, their little brother, would have collapsed from sheer horror at the thought. Not to mention Father and Mother's disapproval.

The men in the pottery shops peered out at them, pale eyes curious. Raelin reached out and, very deliberately, brushed Bahb's hair back so that it wasn't in her face. As expected, Bahb blushed and cleared her throat, flapping a hand at Raelin as if to say 'not in public'.

Bahb wasn't that much older than Raelin, seventeen to Raelin's fifteen. Captain Vevina had already had a stern talk with Raelin about 'inappropriate attentions' that had nearly brought her to the point of punching her captain in the nose. Where Captain Vevina seemed to see inappropriate behavior everywhere, Raelin's relationship with Bahb was both much simpler and more complex.

They flirted. They teased. Bahb bullied Raelin into letting her Dana curiosity and drive to trade go while Raelin bullied Bahb into doing more exciting things than she'd naturally attempt. They were friends and Raelin already knew that nothing sexual was going to happen between them, not when Bahb's reaction to meeting Aravel had been dumb-struck awe and lustful comments for weeks afterwards.

Raelin was fairly certain that Bahb had been Aravel's first lover.

They coming back out? Bahb asked, lips barely moving. Her cheeks flushed brick red, though, so Raelin smiled just smugly enough to make Bahb huff at her. Idiot.

Mm-hmm, Raelin murmured. So what sort of pottery were we looking for?

Cups, small bowls and maybe one of those painted spoon rests that can be hung on the wall, Bahb replied. And knock that off. The Captain's already as touchy as a mother seal with fresh-laid eggs.

Raelin's laugh tempted the majority of the men back out of their tents. She strolled up the alley, awnings brushing her head as she walked. There was a bare hands' width between the awnings on each side so Bahb had to duck and peer underneath them as she followed. It was a pretty good system of ensuring the vendors didn't get too hot under the midnight sun. This time of year the sun barely touched the horizon in Atalya so day and night blended together.

Cessair say whether she had a color or pattern she wanted? Raelin asked as she knelt down to inspect a series of lovely little blue and white glazed bowls about the size of her fist.

Nope, Bahb said, shrugging when Raelin looked up at her, frowning. Just bowls, cups and a spoon rest, hurry it up, girl, time's wasting.

Raelin snorted. That sounds like Cessair. I still can't believe she hasn't retired, old as she is.

She picked up one cup with a casual nod towards the vendor who peered at them from behind his tent's flap. He had the standard pale grey-blue-green eyes of an Atalya native and skin as creamy as Raelin's own. But he didn't appear to have freckles covering his face, not that she could see much of it behind the heavy veil that covered everything but his eyebrows eyes and a small portion of his nose.

Not bad, Raelin said in her rapidly improving Atalyani. Good and sturdy. Nice weight.

Base? Bahb asked, also switching to Atalyani.

Raelin rubbed it over her palm, nodding. Won't slide much. How many?

The cup was actually gorgeous. The vendor, if he was the one who'd done the throwing and glazing, had done an incredible job. It was just the right size for a grown woman's hand with a series of comfortable ridges around the outside that made it easy to grip. Inside, the cup was smooth, making it easier to clean, plus the glaze was a luscious cream that would accentuate whatever was put into it.

Of course, given that this was Atalya, the outside was painted with luck symbols tied to the Goddesses Chin, Tahira and Ragna. The Atalya claimed Ragna as the scholar, Chin as the warrior and Tahira as the healer. Every country had their own choices on that and no sailor worth her salt ever commented about it.

Ragna's books were scrolls on the cup, not bound books like home. Chin was shown in a curving scythe with a short handle and Tahira had an embroidered bandage that ran around the bottom of the cup, all of the images painted in white on a beautiful indigo blue background.

Cessair said six, Bahb said. Matching?

No, no matching, the vendor said and then ducked behind the tent flap when Raelin glanced his way. We do not do matching designs. It is bad luck.

I see, Raelin said, nodding calmly.

The word she used, 'zeugen', could mean pretty much anything in Atalyani, depending on the context. 'I see', 'I understand', 'it will be done', 'it is understood' were all valid definitions of the word. As far as Raelin could see zeugen meant the same as one of Mother's grunts: you have been heard and understood.

She pulled out five other cups, all of them the same size with the ridges on the outside. Raelin made a point of picking ones that had cream glaze on the inside and that lovely indigo on the outside but other than that she didn't worry about the designs matching. Every single one had religious symbols so it was close enough.

You will pray, the vendor offered.

Ah, Raelin said, ducking her head and then smiling wryly towards his feet. We must pay. Money. It is required.

Raelin deliberately used the same 'required' that Atalyians used when they spoke of going to pray to the Goddesses or the gathering of food for the long, dark winter months. The vendor started, ruffling the flap of his tent while his neighboring vendor poked his head out to stare outright at Raelin.

Our… Captain? Raelin turned and looked at Bahb who snorted and grinned down at her. What's the word for 'captain'?

There isn't one, Bahb laughed. Call her 'leader' and that's close enough.

Right, Raelin said, turning back to study the man's shoes. They had lovely wool embroidery of religious symbols that Cadfael would probably coo over, not that Raelin really understood embroidery. Our leader has ordered. Pay only, not prayers. She will do prayers, not rest of us.

The vendor grunted thoughtfully. He eased out of the tent, bowing with his hands over his eyes, before crouching opposite Raelin. She leaned backwards as he carefully picked up each cup in turn, studying the designs painted onto it. Then he nodded slowly. Jewelry jingled behind the veil so he had to be married, possibly a father. Unmarried men in Atalya didn't wear jewelry as it was a sign of their worth, their value to their wives and families.

Six, the vendor offered.

Each? Raelin asked. Six of the simple silver coins that the Atalyians used for every monetary transaction was high for one cup. But six for the whole lot would be horrifically low and she'd have to ask about lead in the glaze.

Each, the vendor agreed.

Raelin sucked her teeth, rocking backwards just as Bahb had told her Atalyians did when bargaining. There was a little laugh from further up the street. She didn't look to see who it was, instead staring at the cups a bit regretfully.

Three? Raelin offered. Need bowls, spoon rest... she gestured because she had no idea what to call the thing in Atalyani, thing. Too.

The vendor laughed, twisting so that he could pull one of the spoon rests out of his tent. He held it up for Raelin so she nodded and wagged a finger at the thing.

That, Raelin said. Need one to hang when not used. And bowls.

No bowls, the vendor said, chuckling as he offered the spoon rest to her. Four each and leader says prayers of thanks?

Prayers of thanks. Raelin bit her lip, studying the spoon rest. It had the same blue and white glaze but the potter had sketched the goddesses themselves on it, Ragna small and slim with her scroll-book, Chin big with a hand-scythe and Tahira plump and pregnant at the base where the bowl of the spoon went.

All the wares were religiously oriented. She didn't blame the vendor for asking for that but she really didn't want to tell the Captain that she'd agreed to make her do prayers that she didn't know about.

Too low, Raelin said mournfully, gesturing at herself while Bahb snorted and kneed her in the back lightly. Young, new to ship. Can't tell leader what to do.

Four for cups, the vendor laughed, flapping a hand at Raelin reassuringly. Two for spoon holder.

Agreed, Raelin said. Basket to carry? Or scarf?

Scarf, the vendor declared despite the laugh wrinkles all around his eyes.

Raelin dug into her belt pouch and produced the required coins, all twenty-six of them. The vendor took them, bowed his head over them and then ceremoniously set them aside so that he could wrap up the cups and spoon rest. Rather than crowd him or offer to help, something she was pretty sure would get them in trouble, Raelin stood and rubbed her legs as if the crouching had tired them out.

Hopefully these would do for Cessair. More importantly, Raelin hoped that Captain Vevina would think they'd done a good job on their little mission into the market. After five years, she didn't expect that it would change Captain Vevina's opinion of her but Raelin still had a faint thread of hope that it would, someday.

2. Ship Duties

Huh, Cessair grunted as she examined the cups and bowls that Raelin had delivered to her. Not bad. These should work pretty well. How many prayers you have to promise?

Um, none, Raelin said. She winced at the dubious frown Cessair leveled on her. I said I was too low of rank to make promises for the Captain. Which I am.

You're Dana, Cessair scowled so ferociously that her whole face wrinkled up. Our rules don't apply to you, Rae.

At nearly seventy, she looked like she was made out of old leather and twine, brown and steel grey with eyes so dark they looked like bright black buttons peering out of a wrinkled waistcoat. Despite her age, Cessair was sturdy enough to haul line with the youngest of the crew and strong enough that she could lift whole bales of Chinwenduese silk by herself. Not that she'd carry a bale far anymore.

She fit perfectly into the tiny kitchen, arms just the right length to grab any of the shiny copper pots hung on the floor joists overhead or to reach into any of the locking drawers set into U-shaped set of cabinets. Cessair almost might have been constructed at the same time as the Tourmaline Seas was repaired. She fit that well into it. Raelin didn't fit quite as well, just a hair too short. But she wasn't that far off. At least she didn't have to bow her head to avoid braining herself on the pots and pans like some of the crew.

They do, too, Raelin grumbled. "No matter who my family is I'm still just one of the sailors on the Tourmaline Seas. That's all."

Cessair snorted, shook her head and hooked a thumb for Raelin to take up a post at the sink. She started passing over bowls and cups for Raelin to wash. The little sink couldn't hold everything and Raelin didn't really want to have to haul a bunch of water around so she poured water from the kettle on the stove into one of the bowls, wetting her rag and soaping it up. That was enough for a first cleaning. The cups were only dusty.

You'll never be just a sailor, Rae, Cessair murmured as she carefully hung her new spoon rest on the wall. It hung perfectly from the hook, replacing the one that had broken while off Minoo when the cabin girl Dallas had startled Cessair late one night.

I can try, Raelin complained, scrubbing at the fourth bowl with unnecessary vigor. You know I don't give a damn about family politics. All I ever wanted to do was sail.

Cessair chuckled. When Raelin peeked, Cessair was shaking her head, face wrinkled up in a grin that exposed the three teeth she had remaining in her head. Raelin went