Alliance

"Arcelia requires your immediate attention." Morag sighed, she had just settled down to work the blood from her blade. It was beginning to crust within the gilded etchings.

She stared down at the small, sticky puddle forming at her boots. The raggedy black rug taking up the floor of the cabin would be stained. In truth, the rug was a sail she kept to remind her of the journeys she'd made, at sea and in life.

It maintained a few short voyages. The gold earned from raids was more than sufficient, funding thicker and more reliable canvas.

"Pardon my absence, Keeper." Suddenly aware she had waited too long to respond.

Nodding, Frederick turned, hurrying through the heavy pine door.

She was not yet accustomed to taking commands. Morag preferred some time after a battle to reflect upon her life, as well as those whose lives she had taken.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins, she felt bile rise to the base of her throat. Rising from the hardwood bench, the captain sheathed her sword, leaving it behind to rest on the table.

Emerging from the cabin, Morag took a moment to observe her crew. They had taken some losses of their own. It was not a detrimental loss from an operational position. The enemy had lost all but their cooks, spared only due to their lack of resistance.

Her head throbbed as she tried to recall what went wrong.

The slain from each crew was being wrapped in various silk tapestries. Each handwoven piece had been given by the Shih company, as a gesture of peaceful passing into Morag's territory on the Broken Sea.

The tightly wrapped bodies would soon be moved below deck to prepare for their last voyage.

"Perhaps I can be wrapped in my bloody sail-rug when they send me to sea" Morag pondered as she looked across the deck.

The gods required your body to be given back to the holy realm of your guardian deity. A final sacrifice to ensure your place in the afterlife.

The deity of water, Lynna would be given 55 souls before sunrise. It was said she spent her youth gazing upon the dry world, with longing for something more.

As Morag imagined her execution, the stories her tutors shared from the ancient books flooded back.

Grun, Lynna's brother and the creator of the earth, one day grew weary of his sister's mounting despair. Unmoving, sturdy, and content with what he had made, he grew increasingly irritated with his sister's constant requests to change things. Dismissing her woes, Grun demanded Lynna leave his world, for he could not bear her complaints of what he found to be the perfect creation.

Eventually, a fight broke between them. Grun opened deep chasms within the earth. He attempted to fool her with promises of adventure within the caverns. Secretly, he planned a trap. Assuming Lynna's excitement would encourage her recklessness, Grun underestimated his ignorance.

Lynna, though at times naive, knew her brother's intentions. The broken land Grun had created from his wrath, became a new opportunity to fulfill her desires.

Lynna allowed herself to cry. Traveling across the world, filling each canyon, chasm, and crevice to form the lakes and seas. To her delight, this sparked an unintentional effect, creating the foundations for ever-changing life.

Lynna had declared her children's souls shall not be confined to the restrictions of the earth. Life at sea promised a blessed afterlife, dancing within the great halls of Lynna's seashell palace.

It had been a long day, and their ship had not been docked for more than an hour, Morag sensed the crew's discomfort. They needed to move as soon as news of this meeting reached them. Hesitation could mean the end of everything they had worked so hard to achieve. The crew would have the sense to elect a new leader.

Morag caught her reflection in the silver plate hanging above the bell, fashioned to the right of the cabin's thick doors.

Her hair had grown long, the reddish mass of curls and knots cascading over her broad shoulders. Green, bloodshot eyes stared back at her on either side of a broken nose.

She touched her cheeks, the scars that met either corner of her cracked, full lips. Running her slender fingers from one end to the other.

Her velvet-green waistcoat covered a loose blouse. The golden sash about her hips signified her status as Captain. She hoped her simple attire wouldn't insult Arcelia.

Morag stepped from the plate, turning toward the main deck she began to walk. Frederick met her at the base of the ramp extending from the ship.

Morag hesitated, wondering how best to bring up the question. "Can you give me any details of this meeting with Arcelia?"

Frederick kept pace with her as they navigated the busy merchant streets. Morag thought again to the battle fought before arriving at the docks. The merchants were not the enemy, they were under the command of Arcelia herself.

"They attacked us. We met with the merchants to restock our reserves, trade a few fine goods." Morag stopped walking.

"It was a trap" Morag blurted.

Frederick stared at her, she felt her soul sink to her stomach. He gestured to keep moving.

Morag assumed she would meet with Arcelia in the great manse hosted by the Lady of the Sea. Instead, Morag found herself inside a dirty inn.

Frederick led her past the main dining hall, through the kitchen, and down a staircase into the cellar. Resting on a table, was a raggedy black book.

In the center of the book, was a dagger. It seemed to her it was pulsing. With every beat, it changed from murky green to a pale blue.

"Keeper, what is-" She turned around. Frederick had vanished, though she did not hear him leave.

Stepping forward to grasp the hilt, Morag pulled the dagger from the book. A piercing cold filled her lungs. Nearly fainting, the feeling was gone as soon as it had arrived. Closer inspection found that it was no longer pulsing. She sat the dagger to the side of the table.

Morag picked up the book. She could just make out the faded writing on the cover, "The Book of Alliance." Just as she began to open the leather cover, she heard a loud crash.

Standing beneath a fallen shelf, was a small child. "Girl." Morag snarled, "Leave now, I expect you have chores" Instinct caused Morag to grab the dagger from the table when the kitchen supplies had crashed from the shelves.

"Oh Morag, you fool, put down that dagger." The girl was dusting herself from the fall she had taken. Morag studied the child for a few moments, enraged that someone would dare call her a fool. This little girl, with her chin-length, wisping black hair was unusually dressed for a servant of an inn. She wore a dress of fine lilac silk, sapphires lined the silver sash about her waist.

"Arcelia?" Morag's face must have shown her horror. Waving away the question, Arcelia walked to the other side of the table to sit on an empty bench. She clasped her hands together and did not speak for several moments, her gaze fixed at the spot where the book had been.

"Morag, I must apologize for our...situation, we are in desperate need of your help." Arcelia looked to Morag, "I see you found the book, you could not resist, just as I had seen."

"Excuse my absence, my lady, I would have come sooner had we not been attacked." Morag sensed that the merchant ship may have been a trap, but it would now seem that it had not been set by Arcelia herself.

"Sit." She motioned to a small stool resting beneath the table, Morag pulled it out and did as she was bid. "Morag, we are at war. It brings me no pleasure to recruit a thief such as yourself to take on a mission as important as this, but we need someone who possesses the talent of silence, cunning, and well, thievery."

Morag shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "What does this have to do with the book you wanted me to take so badly?"

"Everything." Arcelia put out her palm, "Your hand, Morag, quickly now." Morag laid her hand on Arcelia's "You must see for yourself."

Everything seemed to transform, at first, her world was swallowed, and she was surrounded by empty nothingness. She couldn't breathe. Tearing at her throat, Morag realized she was drowning in a cold black sea. She kicked frantically, desperate to swim up and break the surface.

Just when she was about to scream, the scene faded again. This time, she was standing in a field, fire surrounding her, she was tied to a thick wood post. She screamed as her tears evaporated on her face. Calls of "Demon" and "Witch", and other names she could not understand over her fits of coughing, were being thrown at her from all directions.

One last shriek and she was kneeling on an executioner's block. Tears streamed down her face once more, a priest wearing the sigils of gods she did not know, stood above her. Her hair balled in his hand as he spat her accusations to the crowd. He let go, and spoke in a tongue she did not understand. She felt a cold sting at the back of her neck.

Suddenly she was back at the table. Morag jerked her hand away, and stood, knocking the stool to the ground in her haste. She tried not to scream, remembering they were in a secret location for a reason. "What was that, what was that Arcelia?" She managed to whisper, her throat raw and burning. The pain was starting to fade, but the horror remained.

"My dear, you witnessed the fate of so many before me who tried to make this world less cruel, those who tried to use their magic to improve upon the lives of their many subjects, in the name of all that is holy and sacred." Lost, Morag sat down again, the burning in her throat fading.

"But why," she asked, "Why did you show me these things, why did you summon me here, and why are you a child?"

"I have seen your death in the salty depths of the cold black seas. I have seen deception, betrayal, it ends with you choking beneath the wreckage of your Lynna's Woe. I have seen my death as well, this is why I had to disguise myself as a child. I have to keep my whereabouts secret or all hope is lost. There are forces at work that you do not yet understand. We must come together to stop the coming storm."

Morag took a deep breath, "This book of Alliance, what is it?"

"The Book of Alliance is an ancient text which gives the holder knowledge of any relationships regarding trade, war, and politics. It is the key to ruling the world as we know it, and some would use this book to create chaos, rather than to build a stronger nation for all."

"And the glowing dagger?" Morag held it up for Arcelia to inspect. "Morag, did you hit your head when you were attacked? This dagger does not glow." Assuming she must have been mistaken, Morag secured the dagger to her sash to let it hang from her right hip.

Several hours later, Morag emerged from the Inn, 20,000 gold richer for accepting the mission. She knew what she needed to do, it would be a hard-fought and bloody voyage. She hoped her crew would be up to the task. Slaying a great lord was one thing. Killing the Earth Deity, something else entirely.

She embraced her destiny. Morag would end the droughts, famine, and endless wars plaguing the land, she would free Lynna from her brother's earthy prison.