the road is home

Theea

Believe in your destiny's hand
And fly to the skies from your land

Through the window, a golden light spills and puddles on the floor, pours over the mussed blankets of the bed. Dust motes glimmer, a handful of fine-powered mica tossed into the air. Sunrises are stunning in the Greatwood, all those brilliant rays bursting through the trees and their Flowerbirth leaves. Sunrises are so quiet, so calm, that it’s a favorite time of day—only preceded by the magic of the stars. From where I sit on the edge of the bed, I stare out the window a moment longer before I turn to my jacket, slung over a chair.

I’d finally managed to find a place to stay for the night, but I wasn’t keen on overstaying my welcome. My jacket is on, my things gathered, and I pull socks on to creep down the stairs—don’t want to wake anyone in the little bed and breakfast. I wait until I’m outside in the dim light of dawn to stuff my feet in my boots, then hop down the steps with my bag slung over one shoulder. I haul in a deep breath, and it curls into a puffy cloud as I exhale into the morning’s chill.

Another day of asking around for odd jobs. I've done a few now, and I’ve got some funds, just not enough to get on an airship. I’ve traversed vast distances before, but never alone—flying is certainly my best option. I try not to frown, try not to catastrophize and convince myself it’s impossible. It isn’t.

I turn my attention to the skyship port, slipping the strap of my bag over my shoulder. The rising sun peaks out from behind a skyship, and I lean my shoulder against a lamppost, arms crossing to admire it until I get hungry enough for breakfast. Or torment myself with it. Maybe both.

The land that you roam in times gone and far
The land that you love and all that you are

JACK

The skyship in question is called The Ark, and the rising sun sets her ruddy red sails alight to the point where they almost seem invisible - such is their purpose, for a vessel that does most of its (clandestine) work at dawn and dusk. A sharp whistle cuts through the air from where the bottom steps spill out from the skyport to the forest floor, and a man appears, walking backwards and shading his eyes to peer back up at the ship.

Jack waits expectantly, and someone appears in response to his whistle - little more than a dark silhouette, a speck against the railing of the ship. The two exchange a series of hand gestures before the silhouette vanishes again, and it's with a wolfish grin that Jack scoffs and turns to proceed forward again. Turning up the collar on his black coat against the morning chill, he brushes by Theea without much notice or care, making a beeline for one of the breakfast stalls.

Ordering a black coffee and something that can be eaten quickly and on the go, he turns to glance out at the rest of the village as he waits for the merchant to get it ready, clearly intent on not hanging around for long.

you are a quiet god
and your hunger is cavernous

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Theea

Believe in your destiny's hand
And fly to the skies from your land

It really is a sight to behold. The sails become one with the sunrise, ethereal and casting a soft, rosy glow into the rays of the sun. I smile as I watch, and then, the ship stirs with life. A whistle piques my attention, and then, a man leaves the ship’s bottom steps. My head tilts, and I follow his gaze to where someone responds with gestures to his whistles. A few more indecipherable gestures are made before the strange man strides away.

He breezes by me, and I turn, blinking. That’s his ship. Must be. He heads for a breakfast stall, and I wait a few moments, watching. I glance back at his ship. If I was a little less intelligent, I might try and stow away on his ship, but something tells me I wouldn’t make it very far if I tried to board.

And, I remind myself, it isn’t needed. I can get there without hiding to do it.

Now’s my best chance at that. I cross the road, put a charming, easy smile on—the one that gets me out of trouble when I’m lucky. “‘Scuse me,” I say as I approach. I clear my throat a little. Nervous energy crackles through me. I’ve got to get to Torchline. “That ship—” I point, one eye squinted against the sun before I look at him again, “—is she taking passengers?”

The land that you roam in times gone and far
The land that you love and all that you are

JACK

With his magic always cast like a crackling net across his immediate range, thoughts like his ship and stow away of course pique his interest, and it’s only years of experience that stop Jack from whipping his head around towards the source. Instead, subtly tracking the young woman’s movements across towards him as he accepts his coffee, he spends a moment adding honey to the drink, such that when she pipes up at his side, he’s already half turning towards her as well.

”Depends,” he rumbles, blue eyes flicking over her face, her clothes, the evidence of a great deal of travel about her. ”She ain’t a passenger ship. Ain’t no warm comforts for you on board. What’s in it for me?” And then, with something of a crooked smile as Jack reaches out to accept a pastry in a paper bag, he has to add, ”Besides, you don’t even know where she’s goin’.”

you are a quiet god
and your hunger is cavernous

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Theea

Believe in your destiny's hand
And fly to the skies from your land

His voice is deeper than I expect. He studies me for a beat, and I wonder what he sees—my travel-worn jacket over my well-fitted shirt, my too-big pants tucked into boots that might’ve passed for new a few months back. I’d had to replace almost all my clothing after my visit with Frey.

He clarifies that it’s not a passenger ship—merchant, maybe cargo? I watch him accept a pastry from the vendor, and his crooked smile points out that I’ve got no clue where I’d end up on this ship.

“That was my next question,” I say, grinning. “Didn’t wanna hit you with like thirty questions right outta the gate. Not that I’ve got that many ready to go.” I clear my throat. “I’m looking to get to Torchline. Soon as I can.”

I wear my best confident face—open, easy, hopeful. Worst thing he can say is no, right? 

“As for what’s in it for you…” I trail off. Easily a deal breaker. “Passenger ships charge too much. I can pay you a little, and work the rest off on the way.”

The land that you roam in times gone and far
The land that you love and all that you are

JACK

Jack sees all of that and then some, even if his blue eyes barely flick over her, and he blows on his hot coffee to cool it down - a gesture that has ice briefly frosting the edge of the cup before the heat of the liquid melts it away again. "No matter how many questions you got, reckon the first one should always be makin' sure the ship's goin' where you want it to," he remarks, taking a quick sip of the drink and stepping away from the stall so the next person in line can approach.

Clearly on his way somewhere and not planning to stop for this conversation, it will be up to Theea to keep up as he knits his way through the marketplace. "She is goin' to Torchline, as it happens. Bound for home, no stops along the way," he confirms, glancing over his shoulder at her and her overbright grin. "Yeah? What's your sailin' like?" he wants to know. "Or skyship sailin', I ought to say. Sky's a little different from the ocean."

you are a quiet god
and your hunger is cavernous

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Theea

Believe in your destiny's hand
And fly to the skies from your land

I fall into step beside him easily enough—he clearly expects me to keep up, and I’ve never been one to trail behind when I’ve got somewhere to be. The market stirs around us, morning bustle just picking up, but I keep my focus on him, on the ship, on Torchline. On the opportunity—straight to the rest of my family, no stops.

"I’ve only been on a skyship once," I admit, glancing at him sidelong. "I was a kid, but I still remember it. Wind in my hair, stomach somewhere near my boots, the kind of view that makes you forget your name." I smile. "I loved it. Thought about it for weeks after. Pretty sure I annoyed my parents half to death trying to fold paper ships out of everything we owned."

The grin lingers as I adjust my bag, but I clear my throat, tone shifting a little more serious. "I’m not experienced. But I learn fast, and I don’t quit. Ever. I’m a bit of a problem that way." A pause. "The stubborn kind. Not the dangerous kind. Unless you're allergic to determination."

I watch him from the corner of my eye as we move. He doesn’t seem like the type who appreciates sweet-talking for the sake of it. "I’m not asking for a bunk and a free ride. Just a chance. I can carry, climb, clean, haul—whatever needs doing." Then, with a wry little tilt to my head, I add, "And sometimes I even make people laugh. And that’s always a plus."

The land that you roam in times gone and far
The land that you love and all that you are

JACK

Only been on a skyship once is already as good as a no in Jack's book, his eyes on the path ahead and the few places he needs to stop by before he can circle back to The Ark to get going. But Theea keeps talking as if that's a highlight of her budding sky-sailor career, earning a raised eyebrow from the captain. "She don't fly like a paper ship," he drawls. She doesn't technically fly like a traditional skyship either if he's honest, given her strange hybrid status allowing her to sail on water as well as in the air.

Allergic to determination is a quip he can enjoy, at least, Jack pausing somewhere in the middle of a market square guaranteed to only grow busier as the morning dwindles on. "Tell you what," he says, turning to face the ruddy red sails billowing overhead in the Skyport. "Up there, you'll find a guy - a big one. Good lookin', more muscle than sense. Name's Bassian. Have him put you to work for the mornin', an' when I get back, I'll let him decide if you're worth the words you keep spoutin'."

you are a quiet god
and your hunger is cavernous

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Theea

Believe in your destiny's hand
And fly to the skies from your land

I snort a little under my breath at the paper ship comment, falling half a step behind as we reach the edge of the market. "I don’t know," I say lightly, glancing up at The Ark’s sails above us. "Paper’s surprisingly aerodynamic if you fold it right. But point taken."

Then he says it—put you to work for the morning—and I nearly trip on my own feet. Just like that, I’m in. Not on the ship, not yet, but it’s a crack in the door, and it’s more than I expected. I rein in the sudden burst of excitement before it can do something embarrassing to my voice.

"Bassian," I repeat, nodding once. "More muscle than sense—I’ll keep that in mind."

Then, almost as an afterthought, I glance back toward the ship and ask, "Should I be worried about protocol? Password? Secret handshake?" My brow lifts slightly. "Just trying to avoid the part where I get tossed back down the ramp for showing up unannounced. Do I tell him you sent me, or is that likely to make it worse?"

A beat passes, then I offer, more sincerely, "I’m Theea, by the way!" A simple statement, no fanfare. "Figured I should introduce myself before I go audition for passage."

The land that you roam in times gone and far
The land that you love and all that you are

JACK

"Tell him Jack sent you," he rumbles around another sip of his quickly cooling coffee, the captain already turning away even as she offers her name. "Yeah, I don't care," he drawls. "See you later, maybe." And then he's off into the crowd again with a rustle of paper from the breakfast pastry and a steady thud of boots on stone.

Bassian, at least, is someone that Theea will find much more agreeable when she scrambles her way up to The Ark. Dark haired, bright eyed and with a golden tan and biceps big enough to likely pop her skull like an egg, he'll offer her a cheerful introduction to the ship and the people on it, before handing her a mop, a bucket, and a bunch of other chores that he would have to do otherwise need completing before The Ark takes off.

you are a quiet god
and your hunger is cavernous

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Theea

Believe in your destiny's hand
And fly to the skies from your land

Meeting Bassian is easier than it should be. He gives me a once-over, grins like he’s already decided I’ll do just fine, and wastes no time assigning chores or pointing out which end of the ship is which. His kindness throws me a little, but I don’t dwell on it. I take the mop he hands me and get to work.

By the time I'm pointed below deck, my arms are sore, my shoulders tight, and my sleeves soaked even after pushing them up. I’ve scrubbed clothes raw against a washboard, chipped grease off dishes that may or may not have been alive, and hauled enough buckets to make my arms tremble.

Lazarus, the cook, doesn’t even glance up when I step into the galley. He jerks a thumb toward a pile of root vegetables, mutters something that sounds like "slice those, don’t bleed," and returns to his vat of something delicious-smelling with the reverence of a man guarding a sacred relic.

I shrug out of my damp jacket and take my place at the prep counter, settling in with a sharp knife and a stack of root vegetables. Peel, slice, drop, repeat. I know the rhythm. I’ve done this in dusty cabins and snowed-in shelters, usually while my dad told me I was over-seasoning things again.

After a few minutes, I glance over at the pot. "Not to be dramatic, but I’d scrub another mountain of socks just to get a bowl of whatever that is." I smirk slightly. "And that’s after I already did my time in sock hell today, so that should tell you something."

The land that you roam in times gone and far
The land that you love and all that you are

JACK

Amid Lazarus's low rumbles of laughter, two shadowy ghosts appear in the doorway to the kitchen. One, of course, is the ship's captain, Jack's blue eyes dark in the gloom of belowdecks, his shoulder leaning casually against the doorframe to watch Theea mill about like a good little worker. A very good little worker, he's noted, not just from Bassian or from the thoughts of all the other crew she's been around, but in particular from both the mind and remarks of the shorter man at his side. A man who is pointedly not Bassian.

The Ark's first mate is olive skinned and dark haired with eyes as black as sin, and whilst Bassian might have been the one tossing her the orders, Murphy has been making note of every single one, silently judging her ethic, her skill, her willingness to learn. Jack has plucked the words enthusiastic and adaptable from his head in just the past few moments, translating that to malleable for himself, and it's after Murph's quick nod that he speaks up.

"Take a bowl," he says, voice smoother now than the rough tones of the morning. "You're in. We leave in an hour. If you get sky-sick, you're cleanin' it up. An' that whether it's on the deck, or on the outside of the ship."

you are a quiet god
and your hunger is cavernous

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Theea

Believe in your destiny's hand
And fly to the skies from your land

I go still, the knife paused mid-slice. It takes me a full second to realize he’s actually talking to me—that I heard him right. You’re in.

I blink, glance up, and there he is in the doorway like he’s just said something casual about the weather and not just set me on the course I'd been fighting to get to. My heart stutters in my chest, then kicks up like I’ve just been caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to—but in the best way.

"Thank you," I say, the words simple but solid. Honest. Then, with a flash of a grin and a lift of my chin, I add,  "And if I do get air-sick—which I won’t—I promise it’ll still be less awful than the socks I had to wash this morning. You’ve already had me clean worse."

I pick up the next potato, and I find that I can't stop smiling to myself as I start skinning the last of them.

~FIN

The land that you roam in times gone and far
The land that you love and all that you are