Ashen - Chapter 2: The Spelldocks

Chapter Two: The Spelldocks

At the end of the alley, Ceru came up short. She was still a grounder, and the sight of the open void struck a chord of fear in her heart. An unwanted rush of adrenaline made her take a deep breath of that foul, hot air, and she choked on it, grabbing the warm, metal railing and taking a knee. She tried to balance herself against the sight of all that infinity.

    “This must be your first time away from home,” a voice said behind her. The words were Aquan, Quelyan - the tongue of the Seas, the language of her homeworld. The voice was gravelly, slow, and deep. Ceru didn’t recognize it, but she knew what sort of creature spoke in those tones. As she reclaimed her feet, she turned away from the swallowing darkness of open space, wearing an uneasy grin.

    Sure enough, standing against a metal wall braced with stone and plastered with notices and want ads, and calls to adventure, there stood a six-foot tall, 400 pound, upright tortoise, with a long metal staff in one hand, and a pipe in the other. He eyed her with that peculiar expression that all tortles seemed to wear when they were wary but pleased to meet a potentially friendly face.

    “Fair winds,” Ceru said in Aquan, bracing herself as she let go of the rail and stepped toward the tortle, trying not to think about the yawning darkness behind her.

    “Following seas,” the Tortle returned. He motioned to the wall beside him. “I find it’s easier to take in the Void if you press your back against a solid surface. It’s almost like looking up at the night sky back home.”

    She walked to the wall and leaned her forehead against it. The warm metal was soothing. The shock must’ve somehow given her a chill, because she was comforted by this feeling, and she laid her hand and then her cheek against it, closing her eyes.

    For a long moment, there was silence between them, which the tortle was the first to break. “I hadn’t thought to find a fellow Quelyan out here in the black.”

    Ceru turned to put her back against the wall, but did not open her eyes. “I’m told we’re not that rare,” she said. “Though, to be fair, I’ve seen neither human nor halfling since I got here."

    She could hear the tortle drawing on his pipe. When he exhaled, the smoke was unmistakably eeleaf. The scent of it made her long for home. “Really,” he said, then, “hmm.”

    With her head down, she opened her eyes, for the first time noticing the large, canvas bag at his feet. “Headed home,” she asked before braving a glance up into the stars in front of her. She shut them immediately. It was so much easier on a boat, where you might not be able to see the horizon, but at least you can trick your mind into thinking it’s there. Here, you look off into space and it’s just…

    Nothing. Stars and nothing.

    “No,” the tortle responded. He tapped out the charcoal remains of his pipe and slipped it into a nook somewhere in his enormous shell. “I’m setting out for Ashen in a few hours. Gonna’ see what a dead world looks like.” He said this last with a grin and a thoughtful look in his eyes that gave tremendous weight to the idea of it.

    “Your Odyssey?”

    Now his smile turned genuine, mixed with a little surprise. “Just so,” he said. “Here I am, so many thousand leagues from home; and not only do I find a human, but a human who knows me?”

    Ceru shrugged. “I was born near Ongmar,” she said. Her voice grew cold when she added, “and I spent time on Tortuga after my parent’s ship was torched. When I escaped, the first friendly port I found was Honu.”

    “I know of this village,” the tortle said, pursing his lips, he raised a hand that almost found her shoulder, but fell away. She was looking off into the distance, at the weird scaffolding that made up the Madinat Alnnahas docks - built vertically on the side of the great, burning stone upon which the city was founded. “I visited there once in my youth.”

    “It was nice,” she said. Her voice trailed off, however, leaving the impression that she hadn’t been in the mood to enjoy it.

    The tortle stood, turning his back to the stars so that he could face her. “I am pleased to meet you, human,” he said, offering his open palm toward her after the manner of his people. “My name is Oquee.”

    She smiled back at him and took his hand, sandwiched between her own two hands. “I am Cerulean Crowe,” she said. “My friends call me Ceru. It was nice to meet a friendly face.” She released his hand and added, “thanks for the tip, it did help."

    “Indeed.” Oquee hoisted his bag up over his shell and held it there with one hand. “I take it that you too are setting out for the stars. What is the name of the vessel on which you will be traveling?”

    “The Black Ophelia,” she said. “I’m early, but I don’t know where it is, except that it’s on this side of the docks.”

    “How fortuitous!” Now Oquee did put his leathery hand on the young woman’s shoulder, gently turning her toward the narrow boardwalk and nudging her into the maze-like scaffolding. “I too am sailing on the Ophelia.” His eyes widened with the promise of adventure, “we are to be crewmates!”