System Lost: My Own Best Friend

It's pretty exciting boarding the ship. I've been on boats before, but this is like...a ship. One of the biggest in the harbor, with three masts, a wide hull, and sturdy wooden construction. Compared to the dozens of canoes made of reeds or much smaller single-sail boats, it stands out as something special.

"Talla, isn't wood [like], super expensive here?" I ask while we get ourselves oriented on the deck.

"It is," she confirms. "Especially hardwood like this. It doesn't grow naturally anywhere in the empire, but the Degala tribe is well known for their shipwrights."

"We were known for our fleets," Jira interjects, meandering over from where she was just shouting orders to her crew, "before the self-important tart calling herself 'empress' so generously gave us the land we lived on centuries before there was even a nation here."

Talla and several of the crew in earshot cringe at her casual disrespect of the monarch in charge, though most of the sailors don't react, presumably used to Jira's opinions by now.

"I like her," Violet comments.

"Yes, well," Talla coughs awkwardly. "Your tribe is still well respected. My cousins always insist that any ship worth sailing is a Degala. Even Maari's personal vessel was made by your tribe, wasn't it?"

Jira chuckles and nods her head. "Sold her the commission myself, oh...must have been five years back? And your cousins are right! You know how to tell our ships apart from others?"

I blink, looking around for any identifying features, but I don't know the first thing about ships. Before either Talla or I can respond, Jira gives us the answer herself.

"By the fact that she's above the river, not beneath it!"

She doubles over laughing at her own joke. After a few moments, she composes herself, wiping a tear from her eye.

"Hah, that one always cracks me up," she chuckles. "Make yourselves at home, girls. It's going to be home for the next few days until we reach Stebaari."

"That fast?" I ask, surprised. "Talla said it would be a lot longer by land, and we had a car."

Jira snorts. "Those fancy gizmos are more trouble than they're worth. I've seen a few of the Alchemist's attempts to make ships, and they all end up going the same way your little carriage did."

She flicks her fingers apart in a mock explosion to punctuate her point.

"Normally I'd have a few stops to make along the way, but Lady Shaa paid a premium for express delivery. The river's a bit low, but Goddess willing, I'll have you lot safely back in your precious brick and mortar in no time at all."

I wince. "I thought you said you were taking us as a favor."

"The favor is that I agreed to take her money at all," she says. "Maari's a decent sort—respects the river, and I respect that. And she doesn't hassle me like her predecessor did. So sure—if she wants some fancy wine from the Blessed Lands, I can arrange it. If she wants a conspicuously understaffed ranger team and their weird friend taken to the city, I'll make it happen. Either way, though, she still has to pay up."

"I guess that makes sense," I sigh, though it's disappointing to learn that I've caused yet another burden on the people supporting me. "An expensive ship like this doesn't pay for itself, right?"

Jira cocks her head at me, grinning. "That's an interesting phrase. I think I hate it."

I blink. "Huh?"

"My ship is a part of my tribe, little [baddie]," she says. "Yes, she's beautiful and powerful—just like her captain—but the men of my tribe didn't pour their blood and sweat into crafting her so that I could squeeze a few extra coins out of a generous noblewoman. She's a precious daughter of my tribe, and I won't have her disrespected, fair?"

"Sorry," I mutter, looking down and blushing.

"Accepted!" She claps me hard on the back, then ruffles my hair. "But you're right. She may be precious, but she's also greedy. I owe it to my tribe to make the most of her. After the crew's share, and maintenance for the ship, it all goes back to them. So yes—I make sure I always get paid, even if it is a favor."

Apparently finished with the conversation, she walks off again, shouting more orders to the busy crew.

"She's kind of intense, huh?" I comment to Talla.

"I've met worse," she replies. "Let's head below deck and get situated. I'm afraid this trip's about to get a lot less comfortable."

"Less comfortable than being in a car for sixteen hours a day?" I ask as we make our way down the short flight of stairs.

"Uh huh," Talla confirms, holding out a hand to illuminate the dim interior of the ship.

Her light reveals rows of simple bunks, interspersed with crates, netting, and what I can only assume are the various tools and supplies necessary to run the ship. Between the bunks are portholes fitted with oars. It's storage, berthing, and utility all crammed into a single gigantic open space.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

What I don't see anywhere are doors or stairs leading to other cabins or rooms. Instead, I see Draga having a hushed conversation with some impatient looking men at the far side of the room, and what remains of our own supplies shoved into a corner behind him.

"Oh," I say, realization dawning. "This is it, isn't it?"

"Yup," Talla confirms. "At least we could get out of the carriage to sleep."

I take a deep breath—then kind of regret that because it smells like stale sweat and mildew in here—and shake my head.

"That's fine," I sigh. "It's still better than sleeping on a cold stone floor."

"That's your standard?"

"Talla, after the convergence point, my standards are buried deep underground and encrusted with filth," I say with a shrug. "We'll survive."

"Fair enough."

We make our way over to Draga, and I take a seat on a nearby bunk, my legs dangling over the side of the Fa'aun-sized bed.

"Hey Draga," I say with a small wave. "How is the screening going?"

"Not as well as your language, Miss Allie," he sighs. "You were more intoxicated than I've ever seen someone last night and still speaking...mostly understandable Fa'aun."

I shrug, eyeing the men Draga was interviewing. "I'm a pretty quick study and an experienced drinker—though I guess I overdid it, sorry."

Most of the sailors are either openly staring at me or surreptitiously casting curious glances my way. They're a lot less interested in Talla than the townsfolk were, but I'm still a weird outsider. One of them stares straight ahead, studiously ignoring me to the point that even when I joined the conversation he didn't so much as react.

I prop my chin on one hand and cock my head, pointing at him. "Not that one."

Draga blinks, and the man finally acknowledges my presence by giving me a confused look.

"Me?" he asks. "Have I done something to offend you, Miss?"

I shake my head. "No."

Draga narrows his eyes. "Could I ask you to explain your reasoning?"

"I don't really have any," I answer with a shrug. "But the way he's pretending not to be interested makes me think he's...[crap] what's the word? More correcting for something."

My own phrasing makes me wrinkle my nose. I meant "overcorrecting" but Fa'aun's compound words can be tricky sometimes.

"I was just trying to be polite," the man insists. "That hardly warrants an accusation."

"I'm not actually accusing you of anything," I reply. "It's just a feeling. Intuition? In my language I'd call it a [vibe check]."

"It's not my decision to make anyway," Draga grumbles. "Much less yours. And even if it were, I'd need more than just a 'feeling.'"

"That's fair, I just thought I'd mention it."

I'm not actually that worried, and like Draga says, it's not much to go on. Maybe he's just awkward.

The men depart, apparently having just finished their business anyway. The one I singled out gives me an annoyed glance and I smile apologetically in return. Maybe I should have waited to say something, but I'm still a bit tired and maybe just a tiny bit grumpy.

I let Nipper down to explore the bed that I've just claimed while Talla checks our gear. Draga gives me a searching look while I quietly kick my feet in the air.

"You have the look of somebody whose mind is elsewhere," he comments.

"Well, I almost died last night," I sigh. "That sort of thing makes you think. Though I'm mostly thinking about how little I'm thinking about it."

He takes a seat on a bunk across from me and leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. "You get used to it. Death is fickle. It likes to play with its food, linger on the edges, coming close enough to tease and then dancing away at the last moment."

I snort. "You make it sound like death is a flirt."

"That's exactly what it is," he replies with a chuckle, then grows somber. "Until it isn't. Until the day it doesn't dance away. But until then, it grows familiar, almost friendly. You forget to fear it."

"Great," I deadpan. "I can't wait until almost dying is so common I get bored of it."

Draga laughs and shakes his head. "Death comes for us all eventually. You don't need to fear it as long as you respect it."

"I need to respect it?" I ask incredulously. "Draga, where I come from, the average number of people a person has killed is basically zero. A fraction so small that I don't know how to express it in Fa'aun. Here? I feel like if I told someone I was feeling guilty about killing seven people they'd just ask 'Only seven?'"

"Most people don't kill each other here either," he says with a frown. "And most that do aren't inclined to count."

"Reyna, Kiera, Kellah, Goro, Saban..." I recite from memory. "I didn't get the names of the two from last night, but I won't let myself forget them."

"Allison, none of those were you," Violet says.

So? It was my body—our body, I mean. It was us. I'm not going to duck responsibility by blaming the others.

"It's good to remember," Draga says with a nod. "But don't let those memories become chains. That's not a burden anybody can carry."

I draw my knees up and sigh. Dang it, I guess I'm still in a mood today.

"Do you miss him?" I ask.

He cocks his head curiously. "Pardon?"

"Saban," I clarify. "He was your friend, wasn't he? Before we—before he died."

Draga scratches the base of his horns awkwardly. "Not as such, no," he says. "He liked to keep to himself. And I keep telling you that it wasn't your fault."

"What was he like?" I ask. "Outside of work. I know you said you weren't friends, but you still knew him, right?"

"A bit," he sighs. "Saban had a closer relationship to death than most. He wasn't a soldier like me, but he was a killer. I didn't pry. He and I are hardly the only rangers who joined the order to distance ourselves from our pasts."

Talla comes over to join us, fiddling with one of the mana candles. "Most rangers are outcasts to some degree or another, but Draga has a talent for finding the outcasts among outcasts."

I smile—that tracks. I thought Draga was a bit stiff at first, but he's been generous with us since the beginning, and he's got his soft spots when he's not on the job.

"You're hardly an outcast, Talla," I point out. "We've barely been in civilization for two days and your connections got us on a ship straight to the city."

She chuckles half-heartedly. "You haven't seen how I get along with the rangers outside of my own team. If not for Draga, I'd have quit years ago. Or died."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't," I murmur. "I'm pretty sure anybody but you guys would have just killed me—or at least left us for dead."

"We're not that special," Draga hedges. "I'm sure plenty of other rangers would have done the same."

"Maybe," I yawn. "But I'm glad it was you. I think I'm gonna rest here a bit, if that's okay. I'm so tired."

"Good," Talla says. "I was worried I was going to have to insist."