28

Hamasa sunk into the crowd, unnoticed and ignored, while his gaze jumped from ship to ship. Many were easy to pass, when he realized they were unloading cargo and unlikely to be leaving anytime soon. Others were filled with passengers with multiple gangplanks leading to different layers, which made Hamasa’s hopes rise. Hamasa dithered at the end of the docks, eavesdropping on conversations to hear when the ship would leave. It was then, as a poorly dressed man whispered urgently to his partner, who was holding up a weary-eyed toddler, about how much money they had after paying for passage, that Hamasa’s stomach began to sink.

Money.

He forgot he didn’t have money. The few coins that weren’t in Valerius’ money pouch were in Marya’s pockets. Hamasa looked back down the road, but the group he had been with had long since been swallowed by the crowd of sailors and traders heading into the city. He licked his lips, and began to keep looking and listening in, the wheels spinning in his mind. It seemed as if passengers were being separated by how much they could pay, and the poorer passengers, who were walking onto the lower decks of those massive ships, were paying in silver. Marya did have a few silvers, but not many, and it would mean sharing his room with maybe a dozen strangers for the entire journey. Surely no one would notice his oddities if they didn’t have a cause to look closer… right?

Maybe a ship with less passengers would be a better idea. Although it meant he would have to do something far more unforgivable than just asking a friend for a few coins.

Dusk had spread over the horizon and Cantina windows lit up with welcoming torchlight while the first strains of music filled the air. His body heat was rising, his heart thumping, and desperation clenched a fist around his throat. Finally, he paused at the end of a dock as his eyes travelled over the obviously older, more weathered vessel than the Siren’s Call. Sea salt and sea air had faded the wood to a silvery grey, the sails a dingy off-white, and the ropes were a little more frayed than he was completely comfortable with, large though they were. Two men were standing on the docks watching the heavy loads being lifted high overhead. A woman’s voice rang out moments after a full net was lowered into the ship. There was another flurry of motion on board before more than half the heads disappeared below decks. The two men, one rather tall and lean and the other shorter and stout, began to walk up the gangplank.

“Wait!” Hamasa shouted, running forward. The spell slid off him like water off a duck and the countdown began to the moment when his group remembered to think about him.

The men paused to watch as he approached. The shorter one looked curious, but impatient, his heavy black beard twitching around his mouth trying not to frown. The other was completely inscrutable, or perhaps Hamasa was too distracted by hair a shocking hue of black and iridescent green: it was soft and thin and ruffled like a bird’s feathers in the wind off the bay. Just barely, Hamasa could smell that tang of Other from the green-haired man, tasting it on his tongue when he inhaled deeper.

“Who’s the bairn?” the shorter man asked. His accent was heavy and strange, and his slang confusing.

Green-hair raised an eyebrow at him. “You think I know him?”

“H- Masa, my name is Masa,” Hamasa said, quickly correcting himself. “I need to know where you’re going,” he begged in a rush.

“Where… aren’t ye supposed to tell us that?”

“Shamus, quiet for a moment,” Green-hair interrupted, not quite sharply. His eyes were a gleaming yellow that pierced Hamasa’s. He swallowed nervously, but refused to step back under that gaze. He needed a ship. “We’re heading to Dreikstan Islands.”

“When?”

“Are you assuming you’ll be on board?” Green-hair asked with a smirk.

Hamasa clenched his jaw even as his knees knocked. “Hoping.”

“We’re not coming back this way ‘til next trading season, so we’re not taking passengers,” the man called Shamus replied. His eyes darted towards Green-hair, though, as he frowned. “Not that I know of.”

Green-hair kept his eyes on Hamasa, still smirking and unreadable. “We’re leaving at first light. And it’s two silver coins when done the proper way.”

“Calum, we have to ask the Cap before you offer her boat,” Shamus said with a frown. The full, thick beard and bushy brows made him seem even angrier.

“I can be here. With two gold coins if you could forget the proper way this once. Please… please take me with you,” Hamasa asked, just shy of begging. Or maybe actually begging. His gaze darted between them as he gnawed on his lower lip.

“He’s small enough. Margita’ll never notice,” Calum said with a wave of his hand.

Shamus groaned once and rolled his eyes heavenward. “All right, but you’re telling her. And you,” he pointed both his gaze and an index finger at Hamasa, “you will be here ‘fore sun gets above that horizon, or we won’t let you on for five gold.”

“We’ll definitely let you on for five gold coins. Margita likes gold more than she cares about another hammock in the berth,” Calum said with a smirk. “But try not to be late. Masa.”

Hamasa pressed his hand to his chest, unconsciously holding down the beating of his too fast heart. Both men were already heading up the gangplank, Shamus throwing bemused looks at him. Hamasa quickly shook his head and took a step back, looking around to memorize the neighboring ships and get a look at the name of this one. The Squall was carved deeply into wood that looked newer than the planks around it. And at the prow…

With another startled step back, Hamasa barely kept in the surprised gasp. A dragon snarled with all its teeth bared at him from the prow. In wood almost black with age, an approximation of the First Shield had been carved crudely, the expression more savage and dire due to its harsh lines and sea-weathered curves. Two thin whiskers trailed down from its snout, and a round pearl was clamped between its splintering teeth. The legends didn’t quite get it right, but the sight of that wooden pearl had Hamasa’s fingers, already pressed to his chest, clutching at loose folds of wool. Slowly, he retreated down the dock, eyes darting to the two sailors walking onto the ship above his head, and then to the figurehead.

A carving of a Storm Dragon of yore and a pearl that wasn’t even real shouldn’t be making that icy chill run down his spine. He licked his lips, breath leaving his mouth shakily, and turned. He had a jog ahead of him and a story to concoct.

Guilt curdled in his belly.

The crowd thinned the darker it got. He rushed to the last place he saw his group and torch posts were lit one by one by city lamplighters. Spheres of light spilled out over the dirty cobbles and lit up the faces that laughed and caroused outside the buildings. Sailors smoked from every doorway and alley, and the scent of burning tobacco tickled his nose and damp lips. He stopped in the street, frowning thoughtfully, eyes darting from sign to sign, head jerking towards every horse he saw.

“Asa!”

Relief warred with the guilt that still curdled. He turned, raising a hand, and promptly had his arms full of Marya. The fresh scent of sweat and road-dusty hair blocked out the cloying odor of tobacco and decaying kelp and the dozens of different meals being cooked in the cantinas and hostals around them.

“Marya,” Hamasa greeted with a weak smile.

“Getting lost already? C’mon, you better stay close to me. I swear, Wally was about ready to run down the crowd on horseback to find you,” Marya said.

“You really shouldn’t call him Wally.”

“It suits him better than Emerens. Anyway, we’re up here at the Wharf’s Mouth.”

***

Marya shook her head in condescending amusement and completely missed Arash’s dark stare in Hamasa’s direction. Hamasa sunk further against the wall and drew his knees up to his chest, bare toes curling into blankets. The room Valerius had paid for had two beds (one of which Hamasa currently sat on) and a little table with a basin and urn. Steam curled gently from the surface of the basin and water sloshed over the sides as Marya rinsed most the road dust and grime off her face and neck. Hamasa dropped his eyes and traced the rough linen of the blankets beneath him with the tip of his index finger.

“Got lost in less than a second after you got on your own two feet in the city. You’re lucky if Valerius don’t keep you tied to the bed for the next two days we’re stuck here,” Marya said with a laugh muffled by her small towel.

Arash scoffed lightly. “Unless he has a pair of those disgusting cuffs, he won’t be able to keep Hamasa tied anywhere.”

“Arash,” Hamasa sighed, voice tinged with warning. Arash rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I guess he’s right. If you could get your spells working right. Maybe you should try to do a giant blast like you did on my farm? Actually that might be too much. A little blast? Distract ‘em long enough to make a run for it?” Marya suggested, wrapping the towel around the back of her neck and frowning pensively.

“Giant blast?” Arash asked, eyebrow rising. “Just what do you think Hamasa is?”

“Arash, please,” Hamasa groaned wearily.

“No, Hamasa, I really want to know. What excuses has she made for you? Or did you make it all up yourself?” Arash asked. Hamasa’s lips pressed together thinly.

Marya looked between Hamasa and Arash. There was a flicker in her dark eyes, and something tight and thick twisted in Hamasa’s chest in response. His pulse sped up, eyes widening, wondering what would come out as her mouth began to open. Then, the moment broke and Marya grinned, wide and guileless, while rubbing at the side of her nose.

“A wizard, yeah? Not a very good one, but you need enough to make a boom! A little boom,” Marya emphasized with some concern.

Hamasa looked away and licked his lips. Was that really what she’d been thinking, what she’d been about to say? The weight of her honest lie was a yoke around his neck. Arash snickered and Marya glared at him.

“I really hate when you act like you know more’n me,” she snapped.

“I’m a dragon. Of course I know more. Not that it’s difficult to know more than you.”

“Arash, stop,” Hamasa interrupted loudly. Arash’s teeth clicked and his jaw tensed.

“Hamasa—”

“No, just stop. Both of you,” Hamasa said before Marya could continue. “This fighting needs to stop. Both of you are my friends and you’re going to have to figure it out!”

They stared at him. Marya broke first, rubbing the side of her nose sheepishly.

“Sorry, Hamito.” She tossed the towel aside and grabbed a relatively clean shirt from her bag. “Want me to get you something from downstairs? You can stay up here. I know you don’t like crowds.”

Hamasa dredged up a smile, ignoring the sting in his eyes and nose. “Yes, that w-would b-be nice.”

Perching on the edge of bed, Marya leaned forward to pat his head and brush hair away from his eyes. “It’s been a long week, but we’re gonna be all right, Asa. We’ll figure it out, even if it takes ‘til we get to Riyushu to do it.”

Hamasa buried his face against his knees and nodded mutely. He hated it. Hated himself. Hated his choices. His running. His lie after lie. Marya’s hand, warm and friendly, left his head, and the door scratched the floor on her way out.

“Hamasa.” He twitched, squeezing his eyes shut tighter at Arash’s voice. The same hoarse voice from their reunion in the stable. Whatever Arash said next would be the last thing Hamasa wanted to hear. “You can’t expect any of them to be truly your friend if you aren’t truly yourself. I’m not even sure I know you anymore.”

Hamasa flinched. “I don’t know either,” he admitted.

Cool air brushed his bare arm and he immediately heated in response. An even cooler hand touched his back, fleeting and brief. Kind in a way Arash only was with him.

“You think you’re making choices, but you’re not. You’ve just been reacting blindly for seventeen years,” he said quietly.

“I thought… I thought if I tried… maybe I could be like my father. But I’m not, Arash, I’ll never be like him,” he whispered. The stinging in his eyes burned and finally they fell, slipping down his cheeks and drying instantly on his flushed face.

“If you know that, stop trying, Hamasa.”

Hamasa sniffled and his arms tightened around his shins. A faint sigh whispered over his head and the chill of Arash faded away. The door shut soon after. And Hamasa let them come for real. Falling fast and thick down his face, so much that they couldn’t dry fast enough and dripped to his lap. Downstairs, Marya would order something spicy and new, she’d laugh and sing and make friends, excited for every part of the adventure. Arash would sneer and refuse to eat fish, but he would probably give in. Hamasa chuckled wetly imagining Arash’s face when he tried spicy Mekshan food for the first time. Valerius would pay for some of their ship’s passage with gold that wasn’t his, and the two Others would try to pry the full story from him. Tight-lipped and too serious, Valerius would never say a word more than he needed, but soon enough they would be on that ship. Heading towards Riyushu, towards her. To the person he betrayed first and most terribly. Not even Arash knew how far he had sunk in his cowardice.

He would never be his father. Except maybe in death. In the end.

Hamasa lifted his head and rubbed at his face with the heel of his palm. He scuttled off the bed, going for the pack with the armor wrapped and fit neatly inside it. It wasn’t locked or magically protected in any way, nor were he, Marya, or Arash in possession of the room key to lock the door. However, if a thief got into the room and then into the pack, seeing the crest on the armor inside would have the would-be thief backing off. No one stole from the Lances of the Realm. Rather than fear, Hamasa had to swallow down his own guilt at the thought. Lingering long enough to brush his thumb over the crest, the white lance on a blue shield with a three-peaked top and gently curving sides to the single point at the bottom.

“The day he was knighted… he gave up his inheritance,” Hamasa whispered to himself, frowning slightly.

A loud crash and glass shattering out on the street made him jump sky-high, a yelp barely suppressed behind his hand. Then, an awful, off-key singer wailed a jaunty, ribald tune. Shaking and moving quickly, he dug past wool and steel to the mostly empty leather pouch beneath. While Valerius carried enough on his person in a smaller pouch to get by day-to-day, the rest of the gold Kelso had thrown him was here, in Hamasa’s hands.

Wincing and mouth dry, Hamasa counted out five gold coins. Bile burned his throat and he placed one back. Uselessly. He was nevertheless stealing four gold coins. He wanted to promise himself he would give it all back one day, but that wasn’t the plan. He wanted to leave Mekshi and never return. He couldn’t return to face all these people he was about to let down. Whom he’d already let down. His hand curled around the coins, the blunt, round edges digging into his palms and fingers.

This was what he wanted. This was his goal three weeks ago. To never see Mekshi or Riyushu again. Never see Marya. Never see… her.

Blue eyes shined in his mind’s eye and he shook his head wildly to get rid of them. Only for those eyes to be replaced with Valerius’. Dark and honest and certain and seeing right through Hamasa in every way.

No, not every way. Valerius didn’t know… not really.

Hamasa’s mouth tightened, knuckles whitening. He shoved the coins into his pockets, two to each so they fit into the deepest, narrowest point. Once he was sure they wouldn’t rattle, he checked over the pack to make sure everything was back exactly as it was before he dug through it. Satisfied, Hamasa got to his feet, dusted off his knees, and moved towards the door. He would eat one more meal with Marya and Valerius. Arash would forgive him eventually and find him one day. They could relearn what it meant to be friends, rather than whatever Arash thought, or used to think, they were meant to be.