Monarchies have successfully withstood the trials of time, for only those borne of pure, royal blood could manifest with theurgy strong enough to lead and protect a nation against its enemies. The Kingdom of Surikhand is no exception.

—Tides and Times of Surikhand, an histoire by Setja Asmaradan

10

↝ THE FISHERMAN'S DAUGHTER ↜

Isla should have been relieved. She was safe, for now. If anyone was waiting to accost her when Tempestorm made berth come the morrow, she would not be there.

The waves fought to pull their boat back towards the ship from which they had just disembarked; but the fisherman rowed on, making for the Kingsfisher in the near horizon. He looked exhaused, which only amplified Isla's guilt. There she was, a burden to him and his family. They have no clue what dangers they've rowed themselves into.

'Before I forget,' one of his daughters yelled over the sound of wind and crashing waves. 'This belongs to you.'

The girl, whose name Isla later learned was Kusuma, pushed Isla's trunk with her feet. 'You were able to find my room.'

'Your salamander was a most spirited guide. I did lose sight of it a few times, but it always came back to show me the way,' Kusuma said with a smile. 'We weren't expecting it – Captain Stirling didn't mention it as part of our plan.'

Aware that it was the topic of conversation, the salamander popped out from Kusuma's sleeve and scurried across the deck towards Isla. She scooped it up and kissed it gently. 'Good job, Pep.'

'Is that its name?'

'I suppose it is. Pepper.'

A second girl gave a long whistle. 'It must be well-trained, not to set the ship on fire. How long did you spend at sea?'

'Three weeks.'

'One and twenty moonfalls! I would've lost my mind!'

'I would've loved it.' A girl sitting beside Isla stretched, looking wistfully back at Tempestorm, now a fading silhouette behind a thickening fog.

Kusuma only laughed harder. 'Eppi would spend the rest of her life alone in a deserted island if it were up to her.'

'People are a lot more tolerable when they're miles away.' Eppi's smile was contagious.

'My daughters talk a lot,' the Fisherman said above the girls' continuing banter. 'Make sure you stuff your ears before bed or you'll never hear the end of it. Kusuma there is my oldest. Eppi's a year younger. In fact all my girls are a year apart. Next is Persepa, and my youngest there is Sabri.'

The girls nodded in turn at the mention of their names. Isla smiled weakly in return. She was not good with names – especially not when they came all at once. Isla studied them even as she made conversation; finding some way of distinguishing one sister from the other.

Kusuma's hair was longest, and she was also the largest sister. Her voice carried and she had a hearty laugh Isla was instantly drawn to. Eppi was tallest, judging by the way she kept folding her long legs from one uncomfortable position to another. Persepa was prettiest of all the sisters, while Sabri seemed to be the most shy, with curly hair that clung to her cheeks and hid her eyes.

'And you.' Isla turned her attention to the fisherman. 'You must be Master Shapor.'

'Pah. Master. Makes my bowels freeze just to hear it.'

'Papa!'

'Yes, yes, Persepa. No, you call me Bartol. In fact, just Bart.'

'Well Bart, I want to thank you and your family for doing this.'

'Pah. Enough of that –'

'It's no small risk. I know Captain Stirling has put you up for this, but you could have refused.'

Bartol laughed at that. 'Refuse my employer? May as well refuse my family dinner for the next decade!'

Kusuma sniffed. 'Don't listen to Papa. He'd jump at every opportunity to stick a metaphorical knife into Surikhand's back.'

'You should not have given them your ship's name, though,' said Isla. 'If they come after me, it will only be a matter of time before they find and question you.'

'Ha! The Kingsfisher is one of our numerous rival fisheries.' Bartol winked. 'Also family-run. Except he has about half a dozen children, and counting. Don't you worry about us. This isn't our first knife-sticking.'

'Ours is called The Water Lily,' said Kusuma, 'and there she is.'

After a turn spent on Tempestorm, the ship looked tiny in comparison – but there was a homeliness to it that Isla could not explain.

Bartol secured their cockleboat onto the side of the ship and helped the girls up. By the time they had all their luggage and sylphid onto The Water Lily, all five girls were yawning and aching.

The fisherman rose his voice to rouse them. 'We don't have time for rest just yet. Kusuma, Eppi, set up the sylph. We're making for shore.'

'Aren't we going to wait for tomorrow?'

'There's no time for waiting, Ep. We better be far gone in case someone on Tempestorm notices their missing passenger. Pers, Sabri, reel in the cockleboat. Isla, I need you to come with me.'

Isla followed Bartol onto the bridge as his daughters scattered across the ship; his two youngest towards the guard rail whilst his two eldest balanced the six sylph cages between them and made for the sails.

'Do you have your papers with you?' Bartol asked as they passed the helm.

'Always.' Isla tapped her chest. She could feel the thick scrunch of paper in her inner pocket.

'From now on, you'll want to keep that safe, but hidden.' Bart pulled his cabin door open, revealing a small room hid in darkness.

He groped for a lantern on the wall and adjusted its dial. Bright blue flames lurched alive, filling the room in an soft teal glow.

'You'll want to be careful with this. Ifrit gas. Smell alone's enough to tranquilise a bull-horned rhinoceros.'

Isla knew too well the dangers of ifrit flame.

Bartol hung the lantern back upon the wall and stepped aside to allow Isla in. 'We depend a lot on daemons these days. Not a good idea, if you ask me. Wicked creatures that they are.'

Pepper peered out of Isla's pocket and chirped in protest.

'I don't mean you elements.' Bartol made for a cluttered desk and sat, shuffling through his paper in search of an empty parchment. 'It's the demidaemons I'm concerned about. All these large ships, relying so much on marid or djinn ... one wrong word of binding, say hello to a watery grave. But it is, what do they call it? – progress. Yes, that's the word ...' His voice trailed away into a series of incoherent mutters as he dedicated his attention to penning his letter.

'Why have you brought me here?' asked Isla.

'I need you ... to sign your name ... next ... to mine ...' Bartol ended his letter with a flourish. 'There. Right there. Go on, have a read. It's to be sent to Osmer. Captain Stirling, that is. They'll want to know we've got you safe and sound.'

Isla read through his hand-written note. Her eyes misted over – not that it was a particularly touching letter. In fact, it was brisk; almost curt in its directness.

Sylphid acquired. Daughters safe. Making way ashore.

Bartol had closed the letter with the date and his signed name. He passed Isla his quill, and she jotted down her initials after a pause. This was it. The only thing that could connect her to Noi and Aldir.

'That should do it.' Bartol took the note from her hands, ripped the segment off the larger parchment, and rolled it into a finger-sized scroll. He made his way to a bird cage upon a corner of the cabin, Isla trailing close behind. 'I want you to meet our little messenger. Zen, say hello to our new friend.'

Isla leaned closer to the cage. The air inside shimmered and swirled. A sylph took shape, perching on a silver bar set across the cage, and shook its wings. It was the colour of an evening sky; all soft hues of blue and purple that shifted and twirled in the nonexistent wind. 'It's beautiful.'

'And fast. Osmer has crew spread across all the continents. Tradeships, fisheries, passenger ferries ... this is how we communicate.' He opened the cage door and dropped the note inside.

There was a draft; the rolled parchment took flight – floating and spinning as the sylph engulfed it with its body. Within seconds it was barely visible; a piece of spinning dust caught inside the element's whirlwind.

'Our sylphid are attuned to these cages, so they'll always know where to find us. There are at least seven of them. Cages, that is. One happens to be in Osmer's cabin.' Bartol held out his left arm and Zen hopped onto his wrist. 'I know you're just about dying to stretch your wings. Don't take too long, though. Osmer needs to see this in three days.'

It had taken three weeks to sail across the Great Ters Altum Sea – and they had not even arrived, yet. Isla knew sylphid were fast, but she could not imagine one crossing the distance within three days.

'Here.' Bartol was holding something out for her. A pocket book; bound in sheepskin and only a few pages thick. She recognised it, for her own identification papers were of the same make.

Lilja Shapor, it said, right as she turned to the first beeswax-coated page; and below the name, a date.

Seventy-and-second day of the year 317 pos forma. Forty-second day in the season of harvest.

Here in the barony of Jeddar, Pior Lam.

First daughter and eldest child of Bartol Shapor and Adjure Shapor-born-Halim.

'Remember the details. They might ask questions if they start to suspect your identity.'

The season of harvest. Summer, in Eastern Isle terms. Isla found it easier to remember things the Eling way.

'It won't be easy to learn a new name.' Bartol walked to the door and waved Isla on ahead of him. 'You must get used to it. Lilja. That's your name, and those are your papers.'

Lil-ya. Isla echoed the sound silently. She repeated the names to herself, willing it to commit to memory. Eldest child of Bartol and Ajure.

Before she knew it, they had returned to the deck, where Bartol released Zen into the night. When it shot into the horizon – a trail of blue and purple light – Isla knew that three days was more than enough time for the element to reach its destination.

Eppi and Kusuma had secured their sylph cages into the masts, just behind the sails. Bartol gave his eldest daughter a nod, and with a whistle and a word of command, she set the sylphid aflutter. The anchor was weighed. The sails stretched, full of sylphan wind, and The Water Lily glided forwards.

     
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