#so did they miss the part where gatsby ends up floating dead in a pool and all the miserable deaths in wuthering heights#or did they miss that because there weren’t any chapters titled In Which The Sinners Are Punished For Their Errors#like. even if you require explicit moral instruction from literature it’s pretty hard to miss the comeuppance in those.
Huck Finn is about a white Southern boy who was raised to believe that freeing slaves is a sin that would send you directly to hell who forges a familial bond with a runaway slave and chooses to free him and thereby in his mind lose his salvation because he refuses to believe that his best friend and surrogate father is less of a man just because he’s black. Yes it features what we now consider racial slurs but this is a book written only 20 years after people were literally fighting to be allowed to keep other human beings as property, we cannot expect people from the 1880s to exactly conform with the social mores of 2020, and more to the point if we ourselves had been raised during that time period there’s very little doubt that we would also hold most if not all of the prevalent views of the time because actual history isn’t like period novels written now where the heroes are perfect 21st century social justice crusaders and the villains are all as racist and sexist as humanly possible. Change happens slowly and ignoring the radical statement that we’re all human beings that Twain wrote at a time when segregation and racial tensions were still hugely prevalent just because he wrote using the language of his time period is short-sighted and foolhardy to the highest degree.
I’m really kind of alarmed at the rise in the past few years of the “and we do condemn! wholeheartedly!” discourse around historical figures. it seems like people have somehow boomeranged between “morals were different in the past, therefore nobody in the past can ever be held accountable for ANY wrongs” to “morals are universal and timeless, and anything done wrong by today’s standards in the past is ABSOLUTELY unforgiveable” so completely, because social media 2.0 is profoundly allergic to nuance
please try this on for size:
there have always been, in past times as today, a range of people in every society, some of whom were even then fighting for a more just and compassionate accord with their fellow man and some of whom let their greeds and hatreds rule them to the worst allowable excesses. the goal of classics and history education is to teach you enough context to discern between the two, not only in the past but in the present
My mind just boggles at the “There’s Racism In That Book” argument. Yes, there is racism in that book, because that book is ABOUT RACISM. The message is that it is BAD.
My high school English teacher, who was a viciously brilliant woman, used to say that when people banned Huck Finn they said it was about the language, but it was really the message they were trying to ban, the subversive deconstruction of (religious) authority and white supremacy.
Huckleberry Finn can actually be seen as a powerful case study in trying to do social justice when you have absolutely no tools for it, right down to vocabulary. And in that respect, it’s a heroic tale, because Huck—with absolutely no good examples besides Jim, who he has been taught to see as subhuman, with no guidance, with everyone telling him that doing the right thing will literally damn him, with a vocabulary that’s full of hate speech—he turns around and says, “I’m not going to do it. I’m not going to participate in this system. If that means I go to Hell, so be it. Going to Hell now.”
(I used to read a blogger who insisted that “All right, I’ll go to Hell,” from Huckleberry Finn is the most pure and perfect prayer in the canon of American literature. Meaning, as I understand it, that the decision to do the right thing in the face of eternal damnation is the most holy decision one can make, and if God Himself is not proud of the poor mixed-up kid, then God Himself is not worth much more than a “Get thee behind me,” and the rest of us should be lining up to go to Hell too. Worth noting that this person identified as an evangelical Christian, not because he was in line with what current American evangelicals believe, but because “they can change their name, I’m not changing mine.” Interesting guy. Sorry for the long parenthetical.)
Anyway, the point of Huck Finn, as far as I can tell, is that you can still choose to do good in utter darkness, with no guidance and no help and none of the right words.
And when you put it like that, it’s no wonder that a lot of people on Tumblr—people who prioritize words over every other form of social justice—find it threatening and hard to comprehend.
Aviyah didn’t think she would ever get used to staying in noble houses. The Kaijitsu Villa was probably one of the more opulent buildings in the Naos District when it was in full repair. In its current state, though, the neighbors’ tongues were wagging about how the building should just be sold to someone who would actually be around to care for it. Aviyah could not say she disagreed the day they arrived. The servants--what few had been there--had made haste and left the property the moment the adventurers stepped through the door with little to no warning. Inside, it was clear that the absence of their employer had made them a little lazy. The home was still beautiful and would have only taken a day or two and some elbow grease to bring back to glory but the floors were dusty and things were out of place. Dishes were piled in the kitchen sink, unwashed from many nights of servants-only dinners and laundry remained in baskets in the washroom, untouched.
Iesha had immediately taken it upon herself to pick up the slack in her free time while the adventurers were sleeping over the past few days--much to the disdain of the neighbors, who had complained to the guard about the noise--and as they stepped back into the villa, it felt like a home again.
“Vivi! Vivian?!” They called uselessly through the house together, checking doors and hoping desperately for any sign that their friend had returned home while they were away.
“She’s not in any of the bedrooms,” Aviyah sighed, reconvening with Akane in the hallway. “And I checked the library and the study and she’s not there, either.”
“Not in the kitchen or the baths either,” Akane lamented, scrubbing a hand through her hair. Aviyah was so unused to seeing her without her hat on.
“I’m sure she’ll be home soon,” the rogue offered, “but why don’t you get cleaned up and I’ll start tea. We can go over all the new evidence while we wait.”
Before she even turned the corner, she could hear the shuffling that meant their ghostly companion had already begun busying herself in the kitchen. Aviyah watched as she floated jars and little boxes off the shelves, inspecting their labels and tossing them back in when she didn’t find what she was looking for.
“You would think a woman who runs an inn for a living would have a better selection,” Iesha grumbled, setting down a sack of salt on the countertop and turning back to whatever was already bubbling on the stove. She sighed heavily and added, “I miss the kitchen in the townhouse. Aldern was a fool but he had good taste.” Aviyah hoisted herself up onto the counter opposite Iesha to watch her work.
“Well, he did choose you, so I’d have to agree,” she joked, balancing a butterknife idly on one finger. Iesha spun around to cross her arms pointedly at the other girl as she rolled her eyes.
“I meant food,” she chided. Still, she smiled at Aviyah and drifted back to her place in front of the stove, moving her hands deliberately, her face stern as she attempted to stir the pot on the left and place the kettle on the right. The kettle clipped the edge of the stove, sending water flying across the tile. Iesha cursed under her breath and placed her hands over her face. “I swear I am never going to get the hang of this.”
“Hey, now,” Aviyah hopped down and picked up the kettle, refilling it with water and placing it on the stove. “You’ve only been a ghost for, what? A week, maybe. I’d say you’re doing very well so far.” She yanked the towel hanging from the handle of the oven to mop up the water with one foot, tossing it in the bin next to the basin with the other kitchen towels. Iesha was sitting at the table with her head tucked into her arms.
“I miss my hands,” she groaned pitifully. She glanced up to meet the amusement on Aviyah’s face with a pointed glare. “I’m glad you think this is funny.”
“It is decidedly not funny,” she conceded, stirring idly at Iesha’s project on the stove. There were bits of various vegetables churning in the bubbling pot that smelled like vinegar and garlic and something else that she couldn’t identify. She scrunched up her nose and poked at it for a moment before the wooden spoon was forcibly yanked from her hands and Iesha was suddenly beside her, looking more irritated than before.
“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it,” she groused, turning her focus to moving the spoon back over the pot. Her fingers twitched as she worked it into a steady circular rhythm. Aviyah observed the careful concentration that crossed her features, the small wrinkle that had formed between her eyebrows, the way her eyes narrowed and she caught part of her lower lip between her teeth. Iesha’s eyes met hers for a moment as she realized she was being watched and her concentration faltered. The spoon stopped and fell onto the stovetop and Iesha crossed her arms over her chest.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry. Why don’t you just let me--” Aviyah picked up the spoon and set back to work stirring where Iesha had left off in an uneven pattern that caused some of the strange contents to slosh up over the edge and sizzle on the grate below.
“Ah! No, not--ugh. Here!” Aviyah felt the cold pressure start in her fingers and reach its way up her forearm and when she looked down again, she was being pushed in a soft, rhythmic pattern. “Who taught you how to use a stove?”
“Trick question,” Aviyah answered, watching the swirling liquid intently. “Papa taught me a lot of things. I can tie a sail and I can navigate by the stars, but gods was he a lousy chef.” She chuckled a little at the memory and added, “My brother used to sneak away and grab us pastries from the market and we’d hide them in our packs so we’d have something to eat after Papa went to sleep. We never wanted to hurt his feelings. He tried so hard.” She hadn’t even noticed as she’d been talking that Iesha had let go of her hand.
“Well, while I’m still with you we’ll just have to make the most of it,” she was grinning over Aviyah’s shoulder. “Grab me that salt, would you?”
_____________
By the time Akane joined them, the girls in the kitchen had managed to make a passable sour vegetable soup. Aviyah was surprised by how good it was, despite her aversion to the smell, and after a long day they’d spent sneaking around and fighting for their lives, a warm fire and a full stomach went a long way. They spread out the papers on the large table and talked about their next move but they collectively agreed that to go forward without Vivi would be foolish at best. The guards still had not seen her when they checked in on the way back to the villa and they were beginning to worry in earnest. It was decided they would keep looking in the morning. They bid each other goodnight and headed to their own rooms for the evening.
While the majority of the villa had been constructed in a more traditional Varisian style, the guest rooms had been designed with a reflection of the owners’ Tian Xia heritage in mind. Aviyah’s guest room was on the second floor of the house on the western side of the hall. The furniture was all made of the same polished cherry wood with delicate mother of pearl inlays. A large window on the west wall painted the room in a dim white glow from the moon, filtered by the gauzy curtains hanging from ornamental rods above. Above the low bed, a round tapestry bound in a wooden frame hung on the wall depicting a peaceful, mountainous landscape.
After a long bath and a last cup of tea, Aviyah lit the candles by the bedside, settled into the soft mattress, her back to the padded headboard, and pulled a carefully folded bundle of unfinished cloth from her pack.
The first day’s work had been tedious as she tried to remember the simple patterns the sweet tiefling girl had taught her at the Merchant’s Fortune but after several days of trial and error, the thread slipped back and forth across the fabric easily. Her work was still not as clean as the tiefling’s or as beautiful as her mother’s, but Aviyah stifled some pride at how the pattern was coming together under her hands. Over the past couple of days, the little project had become a sort of meditation to put her mind at ease when she could not go to sleep. There was some satisfaction she drew from the repetition. She took the moments of peace when she did not have to focus to reflect on the day and sometimes she prayed, mostly to Desna but occasionally to Iomedae, too.
A knock on the door startled her from her work. The house had been quiet, the only sound a light scratching on the window from a tree just outside. She hastily shoved all of the fabric with all its new stitching into her back and answered, “Come in!”
The door did not open, but Iesha’s shimmery form phased through the heavy wood and out the other side gracefully and she settled herself on the edge of the bed in an awkward half-sit that did not look entirely natural.
“I’m sorry for knocking so late,” she said, glancing around the room at the various knick knacks and paintings that adorned the walls. “I was just concerned. I wanted to make sure you didn’t leave a candle burning or something--there was light under the door.”
“Ah, yeah. Sorry I worried you, I was just having trouble sleeping,” Aviyah lied. Iesha glanced down at the pack on the floor and her brow furrowed a little.
“I miss sleeping,” she said, flopping backwards onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. “If I were you, I’d be sleeping all the time. And I miss being able to change my hair. If I had known this is what I would look like when I was a ghost I might I have taken more care to look presentable.”
“You look fine,” Aviyah chuckled and Iesha rolled her eyes a little in response.
“Ah, yes,” she countered sarcastically. “Because all I ever wanted in life was to look fine. ‘Here lies Iesha, daughter of the most beautiful woman in Varisia. She looked fine, I guess’ is exactly how I want my eulogy read. You should make a note of that.” Aviyah blushed a little and shook her head, grinning.
“Now you’re telling me that you are your own daughter?” she joked. “No one at the funeral is gonna believe that.” Iesha looked away and broke into a fit of nervous giggles. She regained her composure and sighed heavily.
“Thank you,” she said more seriously. “I know I’ve only been dead for three months but it’s been a lot longer since the last time someone made me laugh.” Her eyes slipped closed and she shuddered a little, her outline flickering slightly. “Is it terrible that sometimes I miss him?”
Aviyah laid down on her back next to the other girl and traced the beams above with her eyes, thinking hard before answering, “No. I don’t think it’s terrible.” They laid there in silence for a moment.
“I know it’s hard to believe,” Iesha continued softly. “But he wasn’t always that..whatever he was. That was the strangest thing about those monsters back at the townhouse. It was like staring back in time. I know it wasn’t really him but they got everything right.”
“Not everything,” Aviyah interjected before she could stop herself. “She didn’t smile like you do. Your smile tilts up more on one side. Hers didn’t.” Iesha turned and opened her mouth to object but decided better of it.
“I think,” she said after a moment. “I just miss people. I was never alone. I grew up with siblings and cousins and friends and when Aldern and I got married there were parties and visitors and all that but then I...stayed in my room and then he took me away to the manor and out of town. Darren was the only friend I had there and he just…” She took an unnecessary, shuddering breath. “I’m just tired of being alone. All those hours awake, alone in the dark just feel like when he... I have too much time to think.” Not for the first time, Aviyah wished she could reach out for her.
“I know what you mean,” she said instead, closing her eyes. “Living with the girls was always so closely packed. We did everything together when we weren’t working. I didn’t necessarily care for their company but it was company. And then I escaped and, well, this is the most time I’ve spent with other people since. Is it terrible to miss them?”
“I miss my family,” Iesha choked out. Her visage faded in and out as her energy wavered.
For the first time since she left the Merchant’s Fortune, Aviyah let herself say it out loud. “Me too.” They sat like that together, listening to the tap, tap, tap on the window and watching the shadows dance along the beams that held up the ceiling. Aviyah felt the chill in her fingers and curled them up around the invisible hand she knew would be there if she just had the courage to look.
“I know you can’t sleep,” she said finally. “But you can stay here with me. Read or draw or whatever ghosts do at night. If you want to. I don’t mind.”
Magnimar, Varisia
“That should be me,” Iesha finally said softly, her small voice just barely drifting on the breeze to where Aviyah sat perched on the edge of the rooftop. She scooted carefully down the tiles to settle down next to her spectral companion. In the darkness, Iesha was just a shimmer, reflecting the light from the streetlamps and townhouse windows below. Stars shone straight through her, making her look more like a constellation from a picture book than the woman they had seen earlier in the day, but beautiful nonetheless. They stared out at the city in silence, admiring the dotting of torches and fire light that painted the expanse of Magnimar in a strange shadowy orange glow. Even from here, they could hear the sea crashing against the coasts as the high tide rolled in.
“I’m sorry,” Aviyah answered. She wanted to place a hand on her shoulder, maybe take her hand to reassure her but she knew she would only find air. Iesha sighed in response and pulled her knees to her chest, laying her chin on her forearms and staring blankly out at the city she’d once hoped she could call home.
“It’s not like you killed me,” she teased weakly, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. “I’m kidding of course. I just remember the first time I saw this part of the city. It was raining but I was so awed by how extravagant it was--a far cry from the caravan trailers. You’ve seen them. I think I was just in love with the whole idea of it. Being swept off your feet by a handsome, wealthy man, having all the clothes and pastries you could ever want. It was like the stories they used to tell us at the Faire, y’know? Mama and Da were overjoyed. We’d been falling behind schedule. One of our horses died and the shows just weren’t bringing in money like they used to. I think they just wanted more for me and he seemed like the way out. They were excited about having grandchildren.” Her voice trailed off into the dark and she heaved a big sigh. “They couldn’t have known. He was kind to me at first. That first couple of months was good, truly. He was attentive and I was content to enjoy the finer things in the city for a while. It was like an extended holiday. I just wanted to see more. I wanted to experience everything and he… I don’t know. I guess he just wanted someone to tend his house and hang on his arm at dinner parties. He spent more and more time in the study and I’d spend more and more time wandering in the city and then one day the door was locked and that was that. I thought maybe it would get better when we went away to the manor but...clearly that didn’t work out. If I had just been better maybe--”
“No,” Aviyah interrupted, not turning her face from the city. “It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault. Whatever was living inside him would have come for you no matter what and if not you, then whoever else walked into that web. You were doing what you thought was right. It’s not your fault.” Aviyah felt the familiar cold of Iesha’s fingers on top of her own and they sat in silence for a while, listening to the wind rustling the trees in the courtyard.
“Thank you,” Iesha murmured. “It’s a lot more beautiful from up here than through my window ever was.” Her voice was thick like she was crying but when Aviyah turned to look at her, she saw no tears on her translucent face; just the moonlight from above and the torchlight from below reflecting off of her energy, stars in her hair that spilled onto her shoulders in the darkness.
Aviyah didn’t take her eyes off of Iesha’s profile, “It really is.” She averted her gaze as Iesha looked back at her, hastily recomposing her face.
“The first time I ever came to Magnimar,” Aviyah diverted the conversation, leaning back on her elbows on the rooftop. “I was seven. I don’t remember much except sailing into port and seeing the Irespan. I remember my Papa telling my brother and me stories about how he’d met our mother dancing in the temple down on the seaside. They were married there.”
“That sounds lovely,” Iesha lamented. She laid back against the tile next to Aviyah easily, unburdened by gravity, and she continued. “Aldern and I were married in the living room of the townhouse. I had asked if maybe we could have a celebration later--something more festive-- and he said he would think about it. That should have been my first sign. I never even got to dance.”
“I’ve never thought about being married before,” Aviyah admitted into the dark before she could catch herself. “Well,” she added after a moment. “Once. A boy, Idrian. He came to visit me often. He was kind and he never asked to touch me. We talked about running away together and then one day he just...never showed again. I went looking for him but it turns out that wasn’t even his name. He’d given me a fake name, a fake ship, everything. The men at the dock laughed at me for thinking anyone could fall in love with a whore. I never tried again.”
Iesha turned her head to lock eyes with her friend for a moment and she slipped her hand into hers again, squeezing softly. “You’re not a whore and that boy was an idiot,” she said. They giggled a little together and settled back into a comfortable lull, listening to the ocean. “I think if I had to do it again, I would. I would hope for a better outcome, you know? But I don’t know. I know I’m not where I wanted to be but I was never the careful type. If I was, then I wouldn’t be me, would I?”
“No, probably not,” Aviyah rolled onto her hip to face the other girl again. “What was your name? Before all this?”
She watched as her crystal clear eyes fluttered closed and she took a deep breath before answering, “Andreli. Iesha Floriana Andreli.” Like a caged bird singing a long forgotten tune, the words rolled off her tongue and she grinned as she said it. In that smile, Aviyah could see the bright, young Varisian girl she’d met in the townhouse, full of excitement and promise. A girl who had deserved so much better. “But no one has called me that in a long time.”
“No one will call you anything else ever again,” Aviyah promised softly. The grip on her hand grew tighter, the cold seeping into her muscles and making them stiff in the already chilly night but she didn’t dare move.
“I’m afraid,” Iesha confessed. “I don’t know where to go or where I’ll go when I’m gone. If I’ll ever be gone at all. What if she...doesn’t want me? After everything I’ve done.”
“Then she would be an idiot,” Aviyah echoed back, coaxing a small smile from the other girl. “And I’ll be right there with you. Whatever happens.”
Aviyah had reservations about joining her new friends in their home. As they approached a rickety bridge on the edge of town that led to the island so affectionately named ‘Chopper’s Isle’ by the locals, those reservations felt justified. They had asked her to come home with them--just for a while, they’d said--and made it clear that she was free to go whenever she wanted, but she still had anxiety balled up in her chest as the tall stone walls came up over the horizon. The dirt path that led to the doors was well worn, despite the structure being of obviously recent construction. Akane held open the heavy oak door and gestured her inside.
She stopped short just inside the doorway of the main hall. Her companions’ footsteps on the flagstone floor echoed off the vaulted ceilings as they dispersed and disappeared into the dimly lit corridors on either side of the huge room. A large threadbare rug was laid out in front of the enormous hearth that took up the far wall, but otherwise the room was empty. No wonder Akane and Vivi had insisted on bringing the massive caravan of furnishings from Taldor. Aviyah followed timidly as Akane led her down the long hallways, past the library and a series of small bedrooms, until she finally stopped in front of a narrow door at the end of the hall.
“This has been a guest room until recently,” Akane was explaining as Aviyah’s attention finally focused on what the other girl was saying. “But it’s yours now, if you want it. I mean, if you want to stay with us.”
“Thank you,” Aviyah said, quickly gathering Akane up in an awkward, stiff hug that neither of them were entirely comfortable with before letting her go. Akane mumbled something about needing to make sure their Drumish helpers were actually helping and not tipping all of their belongings into the ocean as she turned on her heel and disappeared around the corner. Aviyah let out a breath she’d been holding, steeled her nerves, and opened the door.
The small room was sparsely furnished with a simple, unmade rope bed, a writing desk, chair, and a small chest of drawers with an empty candlestick tipped over on its top. A high window made from mismatched, colored glass cast a beam of ethereal light onto the stone tile, the dust in the room swirling around in lazy patterns in and out of the darkness. Aviyah stepped inside and closed the door behind her, moving forward into the light. It was warm on her face and she closed her eyes against the brightness of it. Even then, she could see little starburst patterns behind her eyelids like constellations guiding her home.
She bent and pulled out her kapenia from the bottom of her weathered rucksack. It was hard to reconcile that she was really back in Varisia. Even as she listened to the waves crashing against the coast outside, it felt like a strange dream, like she woke in someone else’s life and it carried her here. Doors opened and closed down the hall and she could hear men shouting directions one another as they started to move their things in from the caravan. For a moment, she traced the beautiful satin stitching of the runes on the kapenia and let the warmth of the sun engulf her as she let the reality of this new life wash over her. The gods were real. She had met Iomedae. Her friends told tales of their time with Pharasma. Her parents, her brother, had all gone to Desna like her father had always told her. They were together and happy somewhere far away from the material plane like the stories had all said. It was all true.
It was unfair. They’d all gone on without her. In that moment, for the first time in all her years--even the time she spent at the Merchant’s Fortune-- she desperately wished she could join them. Since she left Riddleport, she’d been so focused on surviving, travelling, protecting. She had never given any thought to what she would do when it was all over and she had to go home. The thought of going back to the empty house where she’d spent her early childhood made her stomach churn. She knew what her father would say; the only direction worth going was forward.
Her bedroom in their home in Golduria had been covered in anything and everything shiny that she could get her tiny hands on. Her mother had more than once referred to her affectionately as the cutest goblin she had ever seen. Murdoch complained about how much stuff she had shoved into the tiny space they shared, but it never stopped him from joining her under the tent she’d made from curtains, sheets, and her mother’s skirts she’d pulled from all over the house and draped over every surface she could manage. They’d pretend it was her castle and he was a valiant knight of the highest order. Their father would sometimes come in and generously play the part of the meanest dragon in Varisia, taking extra care to die as dramatically as was possible, while their mother stood in the doorway and watched with a wry smile on her face.
Aviyah took a tentative step forward and draped her kapenia over the posts of her bed, a bright stripe of gold against an otherwise drab backdrop, and it felt a little more like home.
On the route from Vigil to Sandpoint
Abadius, 4707. Kaer Maga, Varisia.
The past week’s travel had been a gruesome trek over the mountains and then, when that was over, desert. It felt like they had been walking for months instead of weeks. The beasts that carried the wagons of their caravan were growing weary and sluggish and the Drumish caravan guards were even less pleasant than they had been at the start, which was to say they were still Drumish and still complaining constantly only now everyone was hungry and tired.
Aviyah’s first view of Varisia in nearly four years was from the top of the Storval Rise cliffside. They stopped just outside the walls of Kaer Maga to regroup and decide how to make the final stretch back to Sandpoint, maps laid out all over the ground with men squabbling and pointing, shouting in various languages. She stayed in the wagon until they reached the edge of the precipice but the second she had the opportunity to escape, she sprinted from the caravan and skittered to the edge of the steep cliff face. Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared out at the vast green expanse of Varisia. Home. The air here was thicker with humidity than the mountains had been. The Yondabakari River roared beside them, plummeting down two hundred or so feet where it reconnected at the bottom, reflecting the bright,unimpeded sun and creating a crisp, glowing cut through the fields of tall grass. Little villages and towns dotted its banks, low hills and mountains like waves in the ocean of green. She held the tiny piece of Catherine in her hands and placed it over her heart. She’d been standing on the deck of the boat the last time she traveled down this river. She closed her eyes and the memory flooded back to her.
Her father’s large hand was warm against her back, a reassuring presence while her much smaller hands were trying to keep a grip on the rudder. It jerked back and forth as Murdoch was whooping loudly, creating a messy, directionless wind in the sails and kicking up choppy waves that splashed onto the deck and made it difficult for his younger sister to keep her footing much less steer the boat.
“Hold it steady,” her father said encouragingly, guiding her hands to the correct places from over her shoulder. She glared at her brother, frustration obvious on her face.
“I’m trying,” she insisted as she pointed at Murdoch, letting the rudder go and causing the boat to shift uneasily. “But he keeps making everything go all over the place!” Her brother stuck his tongue out at her from across the deck and directed a fierce shear of wind in her general direction, coating her in a spray of river water and disheveling her loosely braided hair. She started to wriggle herself free, maybe to go punch him square in the nose, when her father stopped her.
“Murdoch, that’s enough!” he said firmly, but not loudly. The wind around the boat ceased almost immediately. Badhu kneeled down beside her. He wiped the water from her face with his shirtsleeve and pushed her mess of tightly coiled hair back from her eyes.
“There are going to be things that make life harder,” he said to her, tipping her chin up with his forefinger when she tried to look away. “You’re going to want to give up but you cannot let them shake you, starshine. Frustration, anger--they only lead to a sore heart. Let’s try again.” He placed her hands back on the rudder and held them steady against the current. She could feel the water moving underneath it.
He waved his hand to her brother, whose face twisted in concentration as an even, clear breeze filled the sails. Her father let go of her hands. The boat coasted smoothly along the water as they commanded Catherine on their own. Murdoch smiled at her and shouted, “Aviyah, we did it!” She could almost hear his voice in her ears. “Aviyah! Aviyah!”
“Aviyah!” Her eyes snapped open and she saw Akane and Vivian standing a few feet away. “Are you coming, or what?” They motioned back to the caravan where everyone was loading back into the wagons and some of them had begun to move.
“Yeah, just give me a moment?” she said.
“Okay,” Vivi responded with a grin, “but if you’re not back in five minutes, we’re leaving without you!” As they turned to walk away, Aviyah could hear the familiar banter passing between them.
“You shouldn’t joke like that,” Akane chided.
“Who said I was joking? I’m ready to go home.”
Aviyah turned the last remaining piece of Catherine over in her hands and gazed out across the familiar landscape. She felt the hurt rising in her chest. She thought about all of the pain she’d been harboring in her heart, all of the anger she’d been storing for when she made it back to Riddleport someday. She thought about the years she’d spent tracking her brother only to find him gone and buried, the fear she’d had of returning home alone without a family. She looked back at Akane and Vivi and their companions gathered with the wagon and she heard her father’s words ring in her ears once more. “Let’s try again.”
On the route from Wispil to Kerse
Aithne - pronounced “En-YA”
She’d told Akane and Vivi not to worry and that she’d be back before dinner, but as she trudged down the well-worn and muddy path to the address the barhand had hastily scribbled for her she wondered if she might be walking forever--Bellis wasn’t that big, was it? The sun was hanging low in the sky, elongating the shadows of tall Verdruan trees and casting gold, ethereal light onto the puddles in the old road. Finally, she stopped at a small house, tucked into the trees about two hundred paces back from the edge of the road. Linen hung from a clothesline, flapping lightly in the breeze on one side of the house and on the other, a grove of small fruit-bearing trees was nestled against the edge of the forest. She could hear a woman singing, loudly and off-key, somewhere in the fruit grove.
Aviyah cautiously made her way up the path to the house toward the singing, stepping carefully around what looked to be deliberately dug holes in the ground, some with half-buried trinkets in them, and she raised an eyebrow in curiosity, realizing that she had no idea who she was supposed to be meeting here. She knelt down to inspect one of the items in one of the holes--half of a shoe filled with various buttons--and was immediately startled by the sound of someone or something screeching from the trees. A finely-dressed goblin came screaming from the fruit grove, yelling incoherently as he snatched the makeshift pouch from Aviyah’s hands. She raised her hands defensively, showing no weapons, as she was berated by the angry creature, who was snarling and spitting what she assumed had to be curses at her through his sharp teeth.
“Gnish?” a voice called from nearby. “Gnish what is it? You’d better not be--” The woman Aviyah had heard singing earlier emerged from the trees, a large basket of dark purple fruit perched on her hip. The two women locked eyes for a moment and the basket fell with a thump into the grass.
“It’s you,” she said quietly, taking a small step forward. The light from the setting sun illuminated her hair into a blaze of orange braided into a messy pile on top of her head. Her skirt and hands were stained with whatever she had been picking and her eyes were wide as she stared down the other girl.
Aviyah pulled the letter out of the pouch on her hip and held it out to the girl to inspect the seal, but she didn’t. Instead she rushed forward and threw her arms around a stunned Aviyah’s neck. Aviyah settled into the embrace after a moment of surprise and they stayed that way for a moment before the other girl--Aithne, she had to assume-- pulled back with tears in her bright eyes.
“Come inside,” she said. “I’ll put on the kettle. We have so much to talk about.”
The small farmhouse was quaint and sparsely decorated. Inside the door, Aviyah was ushered into a small kitchen. Pots and pans were stacked haphazardly on almost every countertop. A brass candelabra dripped wax onto a dining room table crammed into the corner. Aithne pulled out one of the mismatching chairs for her guest and set to work lighting a fire in the small wood stove, cursing under her breath for several moments before the inside began to flicker with the beginnings of a fire. She filled a small pot with water from a pitcher and set it over the grate and then turned to Aviyah, wiping her hands on her apron.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I know it’s not much to look at. Tarik was supposed to be bringing me some hooks for all these wretched pans. I keep saying I don’t need any more but there I am, bringing them home anyway. Oh, Tarik is my husband. He’s not home right now but he should be back soon. You’ve met Gnish already. I would introduce myself but, well?” She gestured to the letter that was still gripped tightly in Aviyah’s hands. “And you’re Aviyah.”
“You have a lovely home,” Aviyah replied, immediately feeling foolish. She didn’t know what else to say. If she was being honest, she didn’t know what she thought her brother’s company had been like, but she knew this was not what she’d been expecting.
“Thank you, I--hold that thought!” Aithne turned back to the stove where the small pot was steaming and dipped her finger into the water, hissing at the high temperature and retrieving the pot from the stove. “Sorry! If you let it boil, it’ll absolutely ruin the flavor profile. My mother didn’t teach me much about cooking but she did teach me how to brew tea.” As she talked, she was pouring the scalding water into small cast iron cups. Aviyah’s lips quirked up in a small smile. So maybe her brother had made some decent friends after all.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting the cup from Aithne’s waiting hands graciously, letting the warmth seep into her, feeling the clammy cold that had been plaguing them since they left Wispil slowly being swallowed up. Aithne sat down at the table next to her and they both sat there silently for a spell, absently stirring at their cups.
“I didn’t think you would come,” Aithne finally said, much more somber than she’d been moments prior. “When I saw you, I thought I’d seen a ghost. Has anyone ever told you how much you look like him?” Aviyah shook her head. No. He’d been barely thirteen years old the last time she’d seen him alive, in that awkward stage between man and boy--probably nothing like the Murdoch that Aithne had known. She had a hard time remembering his face at all.
“I’m sorry,” Aithne spoke softly, her eyes downcast. She fidgeted with a loose thread on her apron. “I’ve been imagining this meeting for so long but I never actually decided what I would say. Nothing feels like enough. Murdoch was--is--like a brother to me but I can’t imagine…” She trailed off and looked up at Aviyah, consciously making eye contact with the other girl. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me,” Aviyah replied, turning the letter over in her hands. “You did more for me than you know. I needed to thank you for treating him with dignity.”
“It’s the very least I could do for someone I owe my life to. I only wish I could have done more,” Aithne looked up as the younger girl took her hand in hers.
“I understand,” she said softly, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “You did everything you could. I am just thankful he had a friend as kind as you.” The girls embraced for what felt like ages, neither wanting to let go. For Aviyah, it was like hugging her brother one last time. She imagined that maybe it was that way for Aithne, too. Aithne sniffled gracelessly as she pulled back, her face tear-streaked and she smiled a little as she looked at Aviyah, cupping the girl’s cheek in her hand.
“He always said you’d come home,” she said through her tears. “I doubted him, but there he is proving me wrong again, even now. I can hear the ‘I told you so’ if I listen hard enough.” They both laughed a little, settling back into their chairs.
“Yeah,” Aviyah agreed. “That sounds like him.” She closed her eyes and tried to remember what he’d sounded like that day. He’d been irritated with her. Father had asked them to stay behind while he met with the supplier but she’d wanted to go to the street vendor just down the dock. She’d begged him to take her but he wouldn’t leave. “What if someone stole our boat? What then?” Every part of her wished she had listened to him.
“He never got to see how I turned out,” she said softly after a moment. She mentally chided herself for being so vulnerable with a virtual stranger, but there was something about Aithne, that invited vulnerability and welcomed it with open arms and warm cups of tea. “I never told him I was sorry.”
“He knew,” Aithne assured her, taking the other girl’s hand in hers and brushing the back of it softly with her thumbs. “I’m sorry you never got to see how he turned out, either. He was an amazing sailor--probably the best I’ve ever known. We travelled together a lot. He talked about you all the time. His favorite stories were always about you. I never got tired of hearing them. When he--well, I didn’t know what else to do. It made sense to write to you. His, uh, your father had already passed and there was no one left so--”
“Thank you,” Aviyah cut in before she could tell her any more. There was only one thing she needed to know. She cast her eyes down before asking, “Was it painful? Did he suffer?”
Aithne stiffened and looked away but didn’t let go of Aviyah’s hand. After a long pause she answered, “No. It was all so fast. I didn’t even have time to react before… Bandits, I think. We were transporting something really valuable and the wrong people found out. They attacked before we even knew they were there. They tore the boat apart looking for it. I don’t remember much, just the fire and pulling him on shore. They never found the cargo, but they took everything else from me that night. He would tell me not to blame myself but…”
“He’s right,” the rogue said, picking up her pack from the floor and rummaging through it before pulling a long scarf out of the bag. It had been washed since she first opened the package in Wispil. She had attentively darned the frayed edges in a bright embroidery thread gifted to her by one of the gnomish seamstresses and finished the end of the pattern with the end of Murdoch’s story. She turned it over for a moment, feeling the raised runic patterns under her fingers. “My father used to say that to wear a kapenia was the highest honor in the world. To wear it meant that you belonged to Varisia and its people. Murdoch was the last of my blood kin, but he wasn’t the last of my family.” She placed the kapenia in Aithne’s hands and took a ragged breath before she continued, “This belongs to you now. May Desna guide and keep you.”
Aithne’s eyes were wide, her mouth hanging open as she shook her head. “No, I couldn’t,” she said, her voice cracking a little as she held it out to Aviyah with shaking hands. She was met with a kind smile and fingers closing over hers, over the scarf.
“You were there for him when I couldn’t be. You cared for him, you buried him. You are family to him and so you are family to me and to Varisia.” They embraced one more time, Murdoch’s kapenia pinned between them.
She scrubbed the blood out of her clothes in the rusty wash basin the inn had provided for her--whose blood, she couldn’t be sure. The walk to Wispil had been a grueling sixty miles over two days, partly in the rain. The gnomish folk were happy to take in the Belhaim refugees for the time being (although some argued that being forced to watch the community theatre day after day was worse than being eaten by dragons). The past week had gone by in a blur. She was just happy to be sleeping in a bed instead of the floor of the old monastery for even a moment.
She could hear Akane and Vivi arguing about something goodnaturedly down the hall as she hung her damp adventuring gear in front of the small hearth to dry and she stopped short for a moment as she realized that she actually liked that sound. After the last month--had it really been a month?--and all they had endured together, she found that she admired the two women, despite their differences. They were quick to anger and even quicker to run headlong into danger without a second thought. That being said, Aviyah remembered Akane running to Kelldor’s aid with fear in her eyes and blood on her clothes to save his life, even after how badly he’d treated her, treated everyone for that matter. She remembered Vivi working tirelessly to save as many people as she could. Their many friends had stepped in to save her more than once--even the disagreeable Lyrie. Of course, there was also Seraph. She shuddered, imagining him facing the dragon alone. She’d hated to leave him there, after everything he had done and the tears in everyone else’s eyes. If Iomedae trusted him to do the right thing, she had no right to argue. Aviyah decided that there were worse traveling companions to be had. Maybe, just maybe, not being alone was okay. They deserved more of her trust than she was willing to admit.
She stared out her small window into the night sky and let herself breathe for a moment. She had met Iomedae. Even in her room, days later, the thought of Iomedae’s kind face brought tears to her eyes. A goddess had saved her friends. A goddess had stood mere feet from Aviyah, in the flesh. It was only then she allowed herself to admit she’d had doubts about the existence of deities. In the moment, she had cried. The only thought she could muster was “Papa was right.” When she was little, her father had told her stories about Desna and Gozreh and the other gods. He told her about how her mother was in safe hands, on another plane waiting to meet them again. She hadn’t believed him. She’d grown up not believing him. She had prayed every day to anyone who would listen while she was held in the Merchant’s Fortune and no one answered. She was unsure of whether she wanted to know if they were real. Now that she had met Iomedae and seen her grace, she was angry with Desna again. She was real and had not answered. Then again, her father had been right, which meant her family was waiting for her on the other plane. She ran a finger over the butterfly clasp on her mother’s bracelet. She hardly remembered her now. And Murdoch…
She reached deep into her pack, pulling out her kapenia and unfolding it on the bed. Inside, she had nestled a small package wrapped in brown paper. She’d spent over a year after she left Riddleport tracking down her brother, travelling all over the Inner Sea, holding out hope that she would find him alive. She didn’t. What she had found was a weather-worn and lovingly carved grave marker placed over his head and instructions to pick up a package in Macridi. She had been avoiding opening it since the day it had fallen into her hands. Carefully, she untied the twine that held it together and unfolded the paper. Tears immediately sprung to her eyes as the contents spilled out onto the bed. Murdoch’s kapenia, singed on the end and dirty from years of proud wear, stood out against the linen bedspread, her mother’s lovingly stitched embroidery still as beautiful as the day she’d finished it. A piece of what Aviyah thought was driftwood about the size of her palm had fallen out next to it. She turned it over in her hands and saw the corner of a hand carved letter and her heart sank. The wood left a dusky residue on her fingers as she touched it. Ash. Her father’s boat. The final item in the package was a small envelope, sealed in a baby blue wax imprinted with three arrows. She took a deep breath and opened the letter. She was met with a very neatly-written letter, yellowed around the edges.
Aviyah,
I hope this finds you in good health. If you’re reading this, it means you already know that Murdoch is gone. He talked about you often. I considered many ways to reach you but he always told me that you would find your way. I have to trust in that.
I wanted you to have this. I hope it provides some closure for you. I am so sorry.
I would love to meet the sister Murdoch loved so much. If you’re ever in Andoran, please do not hesitate to visit Bellis. There will always be a place for you with us. Murdoch was family.
Desna guide and keep you,
Aithne Diornan
Aviyah read and reread the letter, letting herself sob openly for the first time since she had started on this journey four years prior. Some tiny part of her had been holding out hope that it had all been a nightmare and she would wake up on the boat with her father at the helm and life would be good again. Seeing her brother’s kapenia and holding it against her heart as she wept made it feel too real. Her family, the boat, was gone.
Tomorrow, they would set off for Varisia. For home. Aviyah knew she still had a deed that belonged to her in Golduria. She knew she could return to the quiet, empty house and cut down the weeds and wash the windows and go back to trading like her father. She could go home. But as she heard Vivi’s cackling laughter and Akane’s indignant retorts even through her closed door as the rest of her party readied themselves for bed, she wondered if home was worth anything at all if there wasn’t anyone waiting for you there.
“Please, maji,” she begged. “It hurts. Please, no more.” Aviyah’s face was streaked with tears, her body damp with sweat and blood. The small room in the back of the clinic was cramped and the bed she laid in was small and uncomfortable, made worse by the pain that wracked her from the inside. She felt exposed with her knees and her skirt hiked up. A basin of hot water placed at her side had gone cold.
“I know,” the cleric responded mournfully, “and I am very sorry. It will be over soon.” The woman kneeling over Aviyah’s midsection shook her head and wiped the sweat from the younger girl’s brow. The other midwife in the room glanced around nervously, afraid to make eye contact with the girl in the bed. Her cleric, Jerica, had not left her side since the Madame had dumped her there late the night before with unbearable stomach pain. Shortly after, the midwives told her she had been pregnant. Madame had seen to it that all the girls took preventative elixirs and potions and home remedies to prevent such things and Aviyah had thought it was not possible. Still, she remembered a girl down the hall disappearing, and another after her. Periodically, girls just left or went missing and when someone asked about it, the Madame would strike them for being too curious. Sometimes they came back, but most times they did not. Aviyah had wondered where those girls had gone and now she was sure their journeys had ended here.
Mine might end here too, she thought. Her belly was swollen but nowhere near as large as women she had seen. She hadn’t even known--she’d thought that she was gaining weight from eating too much. As she felt like she was being ripped apart, she knew the midwives were right. She screamed loudly as another contraction seized her. Jerica closed her eyes, placed her hands on where the baby would be, and a surge of energy filled Aviyah’s body, quelling the pain for a moment.
“Maji,” Aviyah panted, “tell me the truth. He’s going to die, isn’t he?” They had never told her the baby would be a boy. In truth, she did not know. She’d imagined it hundreds of times in her daydreams; meeting a nice man, moving to a country house by the sea, naming their son after her father. She already knew the answer. The midwives all walked and paced with a worry line between their eyebrows. Jerica had not stopped to eat or drink since beginning her work and her exhaustion was obvious on her face.
Jerica locked gazes with the scared teen girl under her blood-streaked hands, her eyes welling up with tears as she spoke, “Yes.” Jerica wanted to lie and tell the girl she had seen worse, that things would be okay. She knew those things were not true. “My job is to make sure you don’t.”
Aviyah did not cry or scream again as Jerica doubled her efforts. Aviyah felt nothing. Her eyes were glassy and heavy; she focused her attention on the small sliver of moon against the dark sky peeking through the curtains and prayed silently.
Aviyah was, above all things, proud of her strength. She had called upon it many times in her life and relied on it to get her through the most difficult of situations. She had lived for years in this pleasure house, seen countless clients. None of the men’s belts or open hands had hurt as badly as this. The Madame had given her some time to recover once the clerics had tearfully returned her to the house. Aviyah had spent the first week sobbing into her pillows and unable to move. In these moments, she did not feel strong. Her body was weak and tired, her heart heavy. She woke from her fitful sleep with nightmares, screaming aloud into the dark, scrambling to escape the imaginary hands that clawed at her skin.
And then she was finally expected to work again. Aviyah was consumed with anxiety the first time she saw her name on the schedule after her return. The first client she was scheduled was a regular, but she did not know his name. He was not plain, but not handsome. He was never cruel and treated her respectfully. She never understood why he needed her in the first place. Sometimes he only wanted to talk, other times he wanted much more than just talking. This was not a talking day. She pushed down the bile that rose in her throat when he touched her and attempted to steady her breathing. He kissed her and her head swam, her body felt like it was being pulled underwater, and she struck out with her hands for anything she could hold onto.
When she looked again, the john was lying on the ground, unconscious. Her bedside lamp was broken on the floor, the smell of kerosene that had seeped into the carpet permeated the air. He had bits of glass in his average face, blood trickling down over his eyebrow. She scrambled down to the floor to check on him, holding a hand to his mouth. He was breathing. She let out a sigh of relief that he was not dead, but her relief was short lived as she saw the badge sewn onto his jacket pocket. A gang symbol, a crow sitting on an empty chalice. Slags. If she was caught for assaulting a member of the most prominent gang in the city…
She had rehearsed this escape in her mind hundreds of times, but she had never considered how much harder it would be when her hands were shaking, covered in kerosene, and she could not breathe. She stuffed her very few belongings unceremoniously into her rough rucksack. Finally, she grabbed the pouch of coin she kept hidden underneath the drawer of her dresser and tucked it inside her bodice.
She threw open the window of the small room and took a split second to look back at the garish pink walls and gold silk curtains. She glanced down at the man, still unconscious on the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the kind man’s deaf ears and then she hauled herself up over the window ledge and onto the drainpipe she would climb to the roof. She had done this too probably a hundred times, oftentimes for practice, sometimes just to be closer to the stars and out of her hellish bedroom prison. Now she felt uncertain, like every step would send her crashing through the ceiling and into Madame’s waiting hands. Still, she leapt from eave to eave, sliding down the tiles of the steep roof top until she reached the lamp post on the edge of the street. She looked carefully for signs of onlookers in the dark. Satisfied that she saw no one, she slid down the lamp post and took off at a brisk walk away from the pleasure house toward the port, never looking back.
The sun was just sneaking back up over the horizon when she threw open her window and clambered up to the tile roof of the Merchant’s Fortune. She made her way quietly across the rooftop and down to the ladder that was always leaning against the kitchen garden wall. She retrieved her shawl from the crack in the bricks hidden by planters filled with various vegetables and wrapped it around herself--a perfect picture of a Varisian woman, out to shop for her family before breakfast. It wasn’t a clever disguise, but it did enough to hide the tattoo on her forearm that marked her as a courtesan of the Merchant’s Fortune. She hurried down the narrow alleyways, stepping over chickens and questionable puddles before finally finding herself portside in the trade district. The streets were bustling with ships unloading cargo and merchant’s hawking their wares. She slipped in and out of the crowds easily, making her way to a rickety ship at the end of the dock. A man stood at the gangplank, watching his crew carry crates and sacks off the deck and shouting orders.
“Downing!” she shouted, scurrying past a group of men howling and gawking at a lady walking past on her other side. The man running the small boat turned and opened his arms to her, a smile on his face.
“Miss Avi,” he greeted her warmly. “I was beginning to think I wouldn’t see you this week.” They shook hands and Aviyah pulled the small coin purse from her satchel, shaking the contents out into her hand. It had been a slow week at the pleasure house; the men had been loose-lipped and tight with their coffers and she hadn’t managed to steal or charm anything extra from her visitors. She held out her palm and dropped the small contents into Captain Downing’s much larger hand and he counted it disparagingly.
“That’s barely half of what we agreed on,” he said quietly. She fidgeted with the fringe on her shawl.
“I know,” she replied. She rummaged through her bag and produced a couple more copper pieces and offered them up, embarrassed. “I promise it’ll be better next week.” He sighed and closed her hand around the copper.
“I believe you,” he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his broad nose with his fingers. He placed a hand on her shoulder and leveled his gaze with hers. “The offer is always open. I have a spot on the crew for you. If you want it.”
Aviyah smiled sadly and shook her head, removing the man’s hand from her shoulder and she resituated the shawl around her shoulders. “I work for what I get, sir,” she asserted. “When I have paid, I will take my passage. That was our agreement.” She saw a familiar form step off the ship docked next to Downing’s and she couldn’t hide the smile that crossed her features when he waved curtly at her.
“I’ll see you next week!” she promised Downing as she took off running down the dock. She slammed into Orik Vancaskerkin’s foreboding form, wrapping her arms around his waist as he sighed at her from above, glancing around at the other people milling about the boardwalk.
“Do you have to do that here?” he muttered gruffly, brushing off invisible dirt from his cotte and shooting her an irritated glance. “The last thing I need is people thinking I’m courting a child.” Aviyah rolled her eyes at him and pulled him by his sleeve behind her down the dock. They made an odd pair, admittedly. He was about a head and a half taller than she was and twice as broad, dressed in mercenary roughspun.
“First of all,” she chided, pushing through some merchants shoving bolts of silk in their faces. “I am not a child. I am sixteen. Second, no one thinks you’re courting me--they probably just think you’re my brother or something.” He stopped short and gave her a raised eyebrow, gesturing to his pale skin and then to her much darker complexion.
“Right,” he said sarcastically. “And sixteen is still a child, I think.” She kept leading him down the street and he kept following her, despite his obvious disdain for being led around.
“Then maybe I’m your daughter,” she joked. “Or a niece or a servant.” They waded through densely packed merchant stalls, crates, and barrels that littered the winding alley that led to the pastry shop tucked in behind the Old Chapel.
“Why would my servant be hugging me in public?” he asked her dryly as she slapped her copper pieces down on the counter and the woman handed her two biscuits wrapped in brown paper.
“Maybe we’re friends,” she said. She continued tugging Orik along as she found a seat at the base of the chapel steps. He plopped down beside her, resigned to his fate, and accepted the biscuit from her reluctantly.
“Maybe,” he replied. He took a bite and then, thinking better of it, shoved the entire thing into his mouth at once. Aviyah stifled a giggle as she pulled hers apart into dainty pieces with her fingers.
“You’re not that much older than me, y’know,” she reminded him, watching the feet of passing men in front of her idly and leaning back on the steps in a decidedly unladylike fashion.
“Yes,” Orik said through a mouth full of biscuit. “But it’s enough to matter. What if she heard about that? I’d be done for.” Aviyah let out a loud, barking laugh at that, straightening up so he could see her quirked eyebrow clearly.
“She? You mean Lil? Oh, man,” she said condescendingly. “The only way she’ll ever fall in love with you is if you douse her in love potion and I don’t know any alchemist with enough skill to make one strong enough for that.” He shoved her shoulder roughly and furrowed his brow as she continued to giggle at him.
“That’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had,” he told her, brushing crumbs off his jacket. “And please. Remind me again why I bother with you?”
Sometimes Aviyah asked herself the same question. Orik was in and out of port as work would have it, but against all odds he was her anchor in the storm sometimes. They’d met when she was delivering her first payment to Captain Downing. She was shy and unsure of herself. She’d been watching her feet so carefully she didn’t even notice when a man reached out to grab her. The stranger never got to touch her, however, as his hand was quickly severed from his arm by a large, scary man with an axe in his hands. He walked her back to the Merchant’s Fortune, made sure she got inside safely and that was that. Except it wasn’t. Every time he turned around, the girl was there. They kept bumping into each other and one day he stopped fighting it. The rest was history. It was hard for him to reconcile that he’d been doing this for nearly three years.
“Because I am a hopeless, pitiful little girl who can’t fend for herself,” Aviyah said sweetly, cheeking up to his shoulder. “And you love me.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he grunted, hiding the smallest tug at the corner of his lips that one might describe as a smile.
Aviyah could remember the last time she had seen her family with painful clarity. She’d been eight years old and until that moment, she’d been left with her grandmother in their small home in Golduria. It was the first time her father had allowed her to come with him on the keelboat to trade in the city. They had pulled into the port at Roderick’s Cove at dawn and she’d been given strict instructions to stay on the boat with her brother Murdoch while he spoke with the merchants on the shore.
Badhu Faraji was an outwardly fearsome man, tall and broad-shouldered from long years of sailing the Varisian ports, with a stern face made for bargaining, but Aviyah knew better. She knew her father as a man who read to her at night. He spoke softly and his deep voice could lull her to sleep better than any lullaby. He would read her stories about the goddess Desna and taught her how to follow the stars to find her way. He taught her to defend herself, to speak clearly and without fear. She loved him more that the entire world put together and she used to tell her brother she was certain he could lift the sun if he tried.
On this day, he knelt down beside her to look her in her eyes. His dark Mwangi skin was a sharp contrast against the sun coming up over the harbor and she had to shield her eyes to properly see him.
“Aviyah,” he began, “my starshine you mustn’t speak to anyone, okay? Murdoch is here and I am only a shout away. Do you have your knives?” She proudly unsheathed her two small daggers from their sheaths at her hips for his inspection. He turned them over in his hands, saying a small prayer over both as he always did before he placed them back in her small palms.
“You should practice your knots while I am away,” he said. He pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “I will see you soon. Be careful.”
She had rolled her eyes then. Her father had been fearful for her since her mother’s death the year prior and had never been the same. He was always saying things like that. Be careful, be safe, be smart. He ruffled the messy mop of dark curls on top of her head before throwing two large sacks over his shoulders and jumping down to the dock below and he disappeared into the crowd below.
Aviyah climbed up onto the upper deck where Murdoch was reading a book, quietly, alone. He was two years her senior and her only real friend. They’d spent countless days running along the docks together and playing pirates and dreaming about their days at sea with their father. Only now, they were actually at sea and they had realized that it was not as exciting as they had imagined and it was in fact quite boring. She spent an hour tying knots, another watching clouds, another reading over Murdoch’s shoulder until the smell of something cooking nearby made her stomach grumble. She could see from the upper deck that there was a street merchant cooking some sort of meat in a huge metal pan less than 100 paces from where the keelboat was tied. It wasn’t too far and maybe if she asked nicely?
“Murdoch,” she began sweetly, “I know papa said we need to stay on the boat but--”
“No,” he snapped, cutting her off before she could even finish her thought. “You don’t know what kind of people there are out there.”
“But I’m hungry,” she said. She knew she was whining but the idea of eating dried herring again made her nauseous.
“When Papa gets back, we can ask him to take us but we can’t leave the boat, Avi,” his voice softened a little and she could tell he was probably hungry too. “What if someone stole our boat? What then?”
So she had waited until he had gotten involved in his book again, taken a couple of bronze pieces from her father’s coffer, and snuck down the gangplank to the dock. She looked back to make sure Murdoch wasn’t looking and she sprinted down to where the merchant was handing out what she now realized was chicken on skewers. She handed him the bronze, took the treats from the man, and started her way back down through the crowd. She was focused on not losing her way, so much so that she was caught unaware when a man placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her toward him.
“Oh thank goodness, I thought I’d lost you,” the man had said and for a split second she thought she’d been caught by her father only to look up and realize the situation was much worse. The man was large, larger than her father, and he pulled her in close to whisper in her ear, “Scream and I’ll kill you. Don’t make me tell you twice.” She felt a small knife at her back as he led her away. She felt the pinprick of tears behind her eyes and wanted to scream for her father. She saw the masts of the boat disappearing as she was escorted the other way. Murdoch was going to start to wonder where she had gone. She switched both of the skewers to her left hand and reached for her dagger with her right. She was small, if she could just run, she was sure she could lose him. She gripped the handle, said a small prayer for strength under her breath and turned quickly and slashed the man on his wrist. He howled in pain, reaching out to grab her by her scarf. He yanked her hard and she fell to the ground, but not before slashing his face from his eyebrow to the corner of his mouth. He was bleeding fairly profusely now and had attracted the attention of the crowd. Men stepped forward to try and break up the fight and more fights broke out.
“Papa!” she screamed over the noise. “Papa, help! PA--” A hand reached out of the crowd and clamped down over her face, she reached for her other dagger but her hands were grabbed and held together by another stranger. They used the noise and commotion of the riot they had caused to shuffle her off to the edge of the dock and onto another keelboat not unlike their own. Her hands were tied, she was gagged and thrown on the deck. Before she knew it, they were moving. Through the cracks in the distressed wood of the boat, she could see the dock and the men yelling and punching one another. And there, towering over the smaller men and reaching out for the boat over the railing of the dock was her father.
Aviyah Faraji
Human, Knifemaster Rogue
21 years old
Bonuwat Mwangi-Varisian Descent
Worshipper of Desna
Chaotic Good
Aviyah was born the second child to a Bonuwat Mwangi father and a Varisian mother. After her mother’s death from a wasting disease, she lived on their father’s keel boat as they traveled the Varisian coast for trade. She was abducted by sex traffickers at the age of 8 from her father’s boat and lived and worked in a pleasure house in Riddleport as a maid and later as a courtesan for the remainder of her youth. After a particularly violent incident involving a very wealthy client, she fled the pleasure house and escaped on a boat headed for Magnimar. She returned to her family’s home to find her father had died looking for her and her brother had left to trade somewhere farther from the pain of home.She set out to look for her brother, traveling much of the Inner Sea region until finally she found that he too had perished following a fire on the boat. Her brother’s friend left her a letter and his kapenia at his grave site, instructing her to meet them in Andoran. It is shortly after this, she meets her traveling companions and party members and our story begins.
