The Mercy had relocated after the confrontation with Tyrnarm and Ryntaln, Alinyaln’s father. Ninia wasn’t quite sure where they had docked, some small town on the Retin side of Siston that had little more than a handful of buildings and a dockyard. It had now been a few days at this point, and Ninia was itching to get back onto the sea. She wasn’t sure why they had stayed in Siston for so long, but Alinyaln seemed hesitant to sail out so soon.

  The gentle swaying of Ninia’s hammock within the belly of the ship relaxed her, but her mind was too active to sleep. Not from anything in particular, just yearning to be doing something. Finally having enough of listening to the snores of the remaining Yishks, Ninia rolled out of her hammock and stepped onto the wooden flooring.

  Where to go? The thought crossed her mind before she, on a whim, shrugged to herself and went further belowdecks to pester Higlim, as the cook was likely still awake at this time of night.

  Or… Not.

  Ninia entered the very bottom of the Mercy of Dradinoor and found the cook reclined in his rocking chair with his eyes closed, breathing deeply, the man’s port belly supporting a small leatherbound book with a small pebble sized gemstone inset into the spine, glittering with a blueish light off of the cut facets of the stone. Ninia was surprised to see the man relaxing like this. He had likely fallen asleep while reading, taking time for himself instead of taking care of everyone else upon the Mercy.

  The book was lying on it’s pages, held open from it’s weight. Ninia crept closer to Higlim and tried to read the cover of the book but the symbols on the front were completely illegible to her. Were those even letters? They squiggled so wildly that she couldn’t find any congruity with them other than they were all in a row on the book cover and spine.

  Checking Yaskin’s cell, the thug was laying on his side, facing the hull of the ship. He hadn’t heard her, so he was asleep just as Higlim was. Part of Ninia was discomforted to find that she had grown accustomed to Yaskin’s presence upon the ship, as he had been with them for so long she was taking him for granted.

  But she definitely still hated having him aboard.

  Glancing at the rod of metal that Ninia had once threatened Yaskin with, her thoughts drifted to that day. It had only been, what, a week? She never found out why Higlim had left the oven burning so hot, but the cynical side of her figured it was meant to be something like a test of her resolve. The length of metal, which was probably an abnormally long poker, was probably left there on accident.

  Taking her leave, Ninia climbed up to the deck of the ship and into the open air. The sky was almost a perfect midnight blue, never turning any darker than this, and Ninia saw only a faint halo of sunlight on one edge of Midin, her own fainter light shining down onto the world. The sea water was salty, the splashing of the small waves slapping themselves on the hull of the Mercy in a pleasant tattoo of the night.

  “Huff.”

  Starting, Ninia turned to see Drags on the poop deck of the ship leaning against the portside railing, staring off into the distance. He had noticed Ninia, of course. Somehow, despite not having normal ears, the Dragonkin had a frustratingly keen sense of hearing. Climbing up the short stairway to the man, she saw a heavy and dark bottle of rum sitting next to him, glass too dark to see how much was left.

  “Having trouble sleeping?” Ninia asked him, knowing that she wouldn’t be likely to receive a real response. A moment of silence passed until Ninia nodded, “Yeah, me too.” She sat against the same railing as Drags, but left a gap between them. She didn’t know Drags very well, not helped by the fact that he wasn’t able to speak. “Whatcha staring at?”

  Drags huffed softly and pointed at the compass jutting from the center of the deck like a weathervane. It had three hands; two of which were designed to point toward the center of two of the main regions of Wrinthim, Siston, and Mikklid, each at opposing points of the world. A third hand pointed to the very center of the world, the Dead Hills. The points for the Dead Hills and Mikklid were in the same direction. Ninia wasn’t sure how the compass worked, something to do with Cloud Crafting most likely.

  “Mikklid… You’re thinking about home?” Ninia guessed.

  Drags huffed again, grabbing the bottle of rum and taking a small sip. He set it back down, the liquid sloshing around inside. Tentatively, Nina picked up the bottle and inspected it. There was no label or anything else on it to distinguish it, just an etching into the glass that she couldn’t quite make out. “Can I try it?”

  There was a clicking chuckle coming from the man as he shrugged. That was a sound Ninia had never heard from him before. He held two fingers up as if he were pinching something small, showing off his scaled hands and clawlike nails.

  Hesitant as her first foray into alcohol had left her ill for several hours, she sniffed the rum. The burning smell of alcohol tingled her nose but was also tempered with the smell of… was that fruit? “What kind of rum is this, anyways?” She asked Drags.

  Drags shook his head as she glanced at him. Not rum, then, Ninia determined. With a deep breath, she lifted the heavy bottle to her lips and took a sip, and immediately gagged. The drink, whatever it was, burned far more than alcohol itself should have. She couldn’t even taste it! Whatever fruity flavor it might have had was drowned out by the liquid flames held within the dark glass. Breathing heavily, trying not to touch her tongue to the rest of her mouth to keep the pain confined, Ninia searched for something to drink to cool her mouth. The freshwater barrel was belowdecks, too far for her to reach as she would likely die before getting there. There was nothing she could do, she—

  A canteen of water flopped into Ninia’s lap, and in desperation she grabbed it and fumbled with the stopper, panicking momentarily but finally getting it off, then drained the water into her mouth to cool the flames. But the coolness was fleeting for in a few seconds the burning came back, so she drank more water. This went on for several minutes, Drags the cursed Dragonkin roaring with laughter the entire time.

  Once she calmed down and was one with the burning, Ninia tried to spat out the remainder of whatever else could be making her mouth hurt. “Why in Tarnation would anyone drink that?” Despite her not remembering that she had put the bottle down, Drags had it back in his hand and took a long pull from the bottle. He swallowed and gave Ninia a wide, sharp toothed smile. Cursed man. Dragon. Thing.

  Soon Ninia realized if she inhaled through her mouth, the air would cool her down. In retrospect it had been foolish to drink something that Drags was enjoying. Given time, she managed to relax against the railing of the Mercy again, watching the dark blue sky overhead. Gulls, with their sharp beaks and leathery wings, flew overhead, journeying from one unknown point to another.

  “Do you miss Mikklid?” Ninia asked Drags, but she didn’t look over at him to see if he gestured or not. “I don’t miss Rythmar much.” She said quietly. “Sometimes I wish I’d been able to stay home, but… That wouldn’t have been right. I couldn’t have been myself there, you know?” She looked at her hands, at the callouses that hadn’t been there a year ago. “Most people there aren’t as bigoted as my family were, I don’t know why my parents had to be so… cruel. But then I left and was ship hopping for the longest time. Until one day as a paid hand on a small merchant vessel, not even a job really just a way to get away from home, you guys looked so happy here that I stowed away.” That day felt so long ago. “Did you have any doubts, Drags, about bringing me aboard? I did. I still do. Every day I wake up a think that maybe Alinyaln will admit that he made a mistake taking me aboard.

  “But… Even if he decided I’m not worth it, I think I’m still better off having had this chance. I know more about the world now than I ever did. I know… I know what to do to learn more.” Ninia didn’t know where all of these words were coming from, but that seemed to be the end of them for the moment.

  Drags handed her the bottle of alcohol, and Ninia accepted it, taking another incredibly small sip, which was still too much. “Do you ever think about what might be past the Ice Wall?” Ninia asked once she regained her composure. “I don’t believe there’s nothing past it. Is there another land, just like this one, separated by the Ice Wall that wraps around the world? Maybe one where Dragonkin wander around regularly? Oh!” Her thoughts got away from her, “Drags, we met another Dragonkin!” She said excitedly. “Rigma! The spice merchant, he gave me this,” Ninia said, pulling out her bottle of spices and handed it to Drags.

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  The Dragonkin accepted it and inspected the bottle. He took the top off and sniffed it, then made a sound not unlike a sneeze. Putting some in his hand, he tasted it and blew smoke out of his nostrils, which Ninia would take as a sign that it was potent, even for him. He handed it back to her without a word.

  “He called you Tongueless, do you prefer that over Drags?” Ninia asked, ashamed she hadn’t thought to ask him sooner. But when Drags shrugged, she knew that Drags didn’t care either way. “Do you ever hate Alinyaln for picking the name ‘Drags?’ It seems ignorant to call you Drags since you’re a Dragonkin, like he couldn’t have come up with something better.”

  Drags held up a finger, claw shimmering in the light of the moon, a signal for Ninia to stop. She blushed at the silent rebuke. “I’m sorry, Drags.” Ninia said after Drags put his hand down. “I know Alinyaln saved you, it wasn’t fair of me to criticize him for that.”

  Eyeing her, Drags nodded then turned back to his contemplations. And, for once, Nina didn’t break the silence. Ten minutes passed between them when Drags pulled out a small piece of metal from his pocket attached to a long silvery chain. He handed the metal to Ninia, but held onto the chain. Ninia took it and inspected it in the dark light. It was a metal flower, one made of seven delicate petals that looked to be swirling around the center, each one unique in ways that Ninia couldn’t quite discern. There was also writing on each petal, but even for the ones that she could read, the lettering as too small for her to distinguish. But she understood, each petal of the flower had a writing from each of the main regions of Wrinthim, and she assumed that the petal that represented the Dead Hills had an ancient writing on it from before the quiat, before the sun was lowered down onto the world.

  “It’s beautiful,” Ninia said softly. Which became even more true as she noticed that the silvery metal which she had thought made up the entire piece was actually intertwined with a copper colored metal, creating a surface that reflected different colors of light.

  The man tugged gently on the chain so Ninia let Drags pull it back. He held the flower before him, dangling on the chain, then blew a thin stream of his inner fire onto the flower, the trinket being engulfed in the flames. Once Drags stopped, only the reddish metal was glowing in the darkness, the lettering and edges of the flower vibrant orange against the dull silver.

  “What kind of metal is that?” Ninia asked. “The silver should be glowing too, shouldn’t it?” She reached out to touch it, but then stopped herself. That would have been a very bad idea. “I love it, Drags. Thank you for showing it to me.”

  Smiling, Drags put the pendant back into his pocket. Ninia was prepared for the smell of burning fabric, but none ever came. The time passed without interruption after that point, and once Ninia started to grow tired she stood up. The Dragonkin held up the bottle in way of a farewell, but Ninia took the bottle and took a large drink of it, then handed it back with a smile. “Thanks, Drags.” She said with a wide smile, then made her way belowdecks.

  Where she promptly dipped her entire head into the icy cold water of the drinking barrel, the spice overwhelming. She wished she had seen the look on Drags’ face when she took the drink and walked off like it was nothing, but now she was regretting it. The water felt nice on her head, but it didn’t do much for the burning of her mouth.

  As she began to lift her head above the surface of the water, a hand grabbed Ninia by the neck from behind and held her down, causing her to—in her panic—gasp and inhale the water as she thrashed. Swinging wildly to ward off her assailant, Ninia felt her elbows come into contact with meat once, twice, three times, but the hand didn’t let go. Next she tried her feet, but from how the angle of the hand adjusted she knew that the attacker was out of kicking range.

  Her thoughts were becoming muddled as her lungs began to burn. She was going to die here. With a hope she reached into the darkness that surrounded her, her fingers brushed against something—something substantial. Working her fingers around it, she pulled, screaming from the effort which only made the rest of the air in her body escape through her mouth in a torrent of bubbles.

  The water barrel tipped, pulling Ninia along with it out of her assailant’s grasp. It rolled with her upper body still inside of it, water draining out across the wood of the ship. She coughed up water, spitting it out as she bumped her head against the edge of the barrel. Her eyes were bleary and water filled, making it hard to see the pair of hands reaching down to pull her out of the barrel.

  “Stupid bitch,” a gruff voice said from above as Ninia was yanked out of the protecton of the barrel. “I was tryn’a make this easy on ya.” The owner of the voice kicked Ninia in the ribs, knocking what little wind she had out of her. Another kick came and she curled up to defend her ribs with her arms.

  Kick after kick came, Ninia tried to grab for her knife but her hand was kicked instead, the fingers bending back painfully. They might have broken but she couldn’t tell, all she knew was the pain of the attacker’s foot hitting her in all of her sensitive bits that her arms and legs couldn’t defend.

  The last kick was softer than the others. Was it the one that finally took her life? There was a grunt that came along with it from the attacker, and with it came the smell of old rum and stale beer. Ninia opened her eyes through her tears and saw a red haired man standing above her, holding a metal banded wooden club in his hand.

  And now Ninia could see that her attacker was none other than Yaskin. He was just asleep in his cell, Ninia thought slowly. She tried to push herself up off of the ground. “Ti—Timphinny?” She asked quietly, voice rough.

  Timphinny turned his head but kept his eyes on Yaskin, “Stay down, lass,” He grunted at her. She could see that Yaskin was down, kneeling on the floor and holding his face where a trickle of blood oozed from between his fingers. In Ninia’s wisdom she tried to stand, but she ended up collapsing and coughing violently. She could feel more water escaping her body.

  “Damn girl,” Timphinny growled, turning his full attention to her. “I told ye to—hurk!” In Timphinny’s time of distraction, Yaskin had leapt upward at the drunk and slammed a long butcher’s knife into Timphinny’s back, the point of the knife protruding out the front through some ribs. Timphinny dropped to the ground holding his chest, but there was nothing that he could do. The knife slid out as he fell, Yaskin still holding it in his hand. His face was black with blood and his teeth shone in the dark moonlight as he smiled.

  Ninia was too shocked to say anything, she could only look at Timphinny on the floor as Yaskin kicked him over onto his back. With a wheeze, Timphinny held his hand up in defense when Yaskin knelt down, repeatedly driving the knife into Timphinny’s body, the heart, each lung, the stomach, over and over again, blood splattering with each strike.

  The club had rolled next to Ninia’s foot. The cold shock that had once filled her heart was rapidly being replaced by a hot fury at Yaskin. She wouldn’t let this pathetic excuse for a man do something like this to one of her friends, she—

  She had already let it happen. In an instant the fury turned into determination. It was too late for Timphinny. In her stupidity and inability to listen, Ninia had caused Timphinny to get distracted. Revenge, then.

  Ninia grabbed the club in cold trembling fingers, standing up on shaking legs. The worn leather of the club was slick in her hands but she managed to hold it. She stepped toward Yaskin but the splashing of the water around her alerted Yaskin to her presence, the would-be slaver and definite murderer was enjoying his butchery too much to notice her before.

  Swinging, Ninia felt too slow as Yaskin jerked his head backward out of her reach, and in response he swiped at her with his knife, a long cut appearing on her forearm. The knife was so sharp she barely felt her skin part. She staggered and fell from the missed swing, the club taking her along with it to the ground, the wood thudding against the corpse beneath her.

  Yaskin laughed. “Pathetic.” He kicked Ninia down and flipped the knife over in his hand, pointing it downward in his fist. As he dropped to plunge the knife into her throat, a torrent of white and blue flames engulfed him.

  The screams that emanated from the burning figure curdled Ninia’s soul. He was a silhouette in the flames, agony incarnate. The heat burned Ninia but her pain was nothing to what Yaskin had felt in that moment before he collapsed, limp and charred on the floor beneath him, the water hissing as his body made contact with it.

  The smell, that too achingly similar to pork smell, revolted Ninia. She vomited up on herself, and what had made it from her stomach onto her cut began to burn.

  Slapping steps in the puddles of water came toward her. “Ninia,” the Captain’s voice said softly, the man crouching down next to her.

  “C—Captain?” Ninia asked, coughing again. “Ti—Timphinny…”

  “I know, lass,” Alinyaln said, sitting Ninia up and cradling her in his arms, uncaring of the state of her. There was a coldness as someone, probably Drags, rinsed off her cut and there was the rip of fabric, which was then wound around her arm.

  “Captain, I don’t think I can see anymore,” Ninia choked out in one rapid burst. Her vision was black. Had the flames been so bright that they had blinded her? She felt hot tears sting her eyes as she began to cry.

  “Easy, lass, easy,” Alinyaln said quietly, stroking her hair like she was a child. “You’ll be alright, I promise.”

  There they sat for several minutes until Ninia managed to get her breathing under control. Alinyaln let go of her but still supported her with his arm. “Drags,” He said quietly, “Take her down below to Higlim.”

  Ninia felt strong arms lift her up and carry her down the stairway to the belly of the ship, the smell of the spicy alcohol on Drags’ breath tempered by that of char.