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[YF] Chapter 229: Recruitment
🕑 Added 2024-09-05 21:55:24 +0000 UTCAs our ship slides alongside another — our bulwark a metre taller than the neighbour ship — Sylvan leaps across the gap. Wasting no time, half the crew jump after him, while the rest are abandoned to struggle against the ship’s momentum with large sweeps of their oars.
Curious about what the steersman will say to convince the other heqet, I form a part of myself into a small falcon. The bird is indistinguishable from any real one, save the eyes.
Looking at myself like this is strange no matter how many times I’ve tried it in the past months. I grew up unable to see myself. Reflections were a thing, sure. But the glass we had in our tribe was never used as a mirror, and it’s not like anyone would dare peek at their appearance in the surface of water. I’ve always had an intimate knowledge of my body through the fire that forms it, but a discrete image was impossible.
My first experience seeing myself had been in New Vetus, but even their mirrors were small and did not give the full experience from the perspective of another.
Through the eyes of my bird form, my natural form is far different from the young girl I’d been when first landing within Leal’s home. Now, when I look at myself, I see my mum. I’m not a perfect copy; I can see similarities with Auntie Kay and even Uncle Rivin — those who took some part in raising me — but Mum’s reflection is startling.
It is… strange to see her again after so long, even if in such an indirect way. For such a long time, she’d been just a figment of my memory; fleeting. She was already gone, and I had long since accepted I could never see her again.
But seeing her in myself… it makes me happy, and also sad that she can’t be here to see how far I’ve come.
The bird me is smaller than I usually make; the size of my hand. Tiny for the falcon species I modelled the form. Though, now that I can analyse the organ structure of creatures, I realise why all aed eagles are… well, eagles. The species they copy has the best sight of any other animal in the wasteland. Considering their job, good sight is important.
Of course, I’m still attached to the first form I made for myself, so I keep it and simply change the eyes to match that of the better bird.
I leap off my own arm, and fly low over the waves, away from sight from those aboard the ship Sylvan leapt to. Separating myself like this is impossibly strange. It hasn’t gotten any easier to deal with, no matter how often I do it; like my thoughts are delayed and muffled.
This close, the difficulty isn’t all too distracting, but I will avoid splitting myself over vast distances as I did on the chthonic island.
I swoop upward, using the sail to hide myself from the crew and land on a nail half-way up the mast. No word said below will miss my ear, but if they look up — and spot me behind the sail — the heqet will just think I’m any normal bird.
It is somewhat difficult to see from up here, but that’s not a problem with the other half of me watching on from the ship that has finally pulled to a stop near the front end of the vessel Sylvan now strides across as if it were his.
If there’s anything he’s trying to hide from us — any plans he has to use us — I’ll know about it when he tries to convince this other ship to follow him. I’m ready to catch him on any scheming he’s planning.
Only, there is no talking. The first thing Sylvan does upon reaching his fellow steersman is throw his fist. His peer, completely blindsided by the attack, is thrown into the hard wood of the back of the ship. Sylvan’s punch to the man’s jaw is so hard, both my bodies hear the crack.
The man is knocked out. He hits the wood and slumps to the deck. Instantly, his eyes snap back open and he tries to regain his feet. The effort is in vain, as he stumbles and face-plants the timber.
“You lot will follow me,” Sylvan shouts. He’s obviously addressing the crew, but his eyes never leave the steersman.
With his speech done, he jogs across the deck and leaps back aboard our vessel, landing almost perfectly by his rudder. Despite his speed, he still has to wait for his crew to follow before they all sail for the next ship.
Really, what was I expecting? A sneaky chat between steersman about how they were going to take advantage of us? I don’t even know the Heqet all that well, and this already feels right up their alley.
Leal pats my back with a slight smirk of amusement. Ah, my groaning was audible, was it?
Sylvan and his crew did the same for the next dozen ships. Most of the time, the steersman put up at least some sort of fight, or order their crew to fight for them, but it always ends up with Sylvan victorious. He treats each as if there is no other outcome than him coming out on top.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t wait around to make sure they follow his command. Strange. Surely, one of those he’d beaten up would refuse, or at least take his absence as a reason not to listen. But no, each of those ships he conquered sails in tow. Sluggishly, but they do follow.
I fly after each ship as he boards them. In case there is one he speaks more than the few shouted commands. It is, of course, for nought.
When he is finally ready — and has repaired the mast — a dozen ships of varying sizes follow in our trail. A dozen ships leaving the war they clearly want to stay a part of. And the battle is heating up again. In the time it took for Sylvan to gather his force, the sea of debris has cleared enough to allow ships to push through. It isn’t often, but the cracks of cannon fire are growing more frequent.
Despite their openly vicious nature, the heqet follow hierarchy with significant loyalty. It explains why each ship doesn’t just attack their neighbour, but it also raises the question whether there is another such leader that Sylvan is stealing command from. We’re not going to have any problems, are we?
“This is going well, isn’t it?” Leal says. “I didn’t expect them to gather themselves so quick.”
It’s as she says; Sylvan said to give them a few hours to prepare, but it didn’t even take one. “He must really want to push into this Jarl Anoures’ territory. What do you think she has that he wants?”
Leal turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “You don’t think it’s war itself he wants? He is a heqet, after all.”
“He has war here,” I point out. “But I don’t know. It just feels strange that someone would jump so quick into something like this. I mean, we’re strong, but he’s got nothing to tie us to his bidding. Is it really wise for him to rush forward like this when we could leave them surrounded by their enemies at any time?”
Sure, he could gather a decent fleet, but considering the numbers of this battle, they have no chance at an assault on some other heqet’s stronghold. Especially not someone influential enough to be called a tyrant.
“You talk about us as if it isn’t only your ability that they’re after.” Leal smirks slightly as I twist to her. “Hey don’t look at me like that. It’s true. I can do more than I once did, but I still focus my research on utilitarian pursuits. You are the one that rules the battlefield. Even water mages find your presence too difficult to deal with.”
The humour drains out of her tone as she speaks of war, but she continues. “There are many generals that would sacrifice their army for the chance of using your destructive capabilities on the enemy. I’ve seen such people amongst the ursu. The heqet are unlikely to be different.”
“So you think we shouldn’t work with them?” I ask.
Leal hesitates, clearly thinking over her words before she speaks. “No. If Sylvan is anything like what I think he is, working with him directly will be best.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised. Leal wants us to go to battle for Sylvan?
“Either we cooperate with what he wants while with them, or abandon them now,” she says, staring hard. “Any other option will only result in more death.”
Leal seems sure, but I’m not certain I understand. Would it not be better to stand aside when they battle, or force them away from their fights? I mean, even Sylvan said he wants us to keep out of their fights — not that I believe that — so what is she so worried will happen in such a circumstance?
As I’m about to ask, Leal turns to look out over the dozen ships and ends the discussion with another question. “So, who’s going to be boosting these ships? You or me?”
When I see how far each ship is from each other, I wince slightly. When we talked about increasing our speed, I’d expected to only have to make the current ship faster, not a fleet.
“How long do you think you could last?” I ask Leal.
“Wind production for this many sails, spread out over roughly three hundred metres… probably a few hours. I could switch to water and push them that way. It will be far more efficient on my reserves, but that would sacrifice speed.”
A sigh escapes my lips before I can stop it. “Alright, I’ll take care of it. But you can take over when I eventually get a headache.”
Leal smiles, as if she expected me to volunteer. “Thanks,” she cheers.
“Sylvan,” I shout across his ship. “Tell the other vessels to sail closer together.”
He looks at me oddly before nodding and yelling at one of his crew to pass on the order. The heqet, grumbling, climbs the mast. My other half dives off the nail I’d been using as a branch before the man can reach me. While it is slightly uncomfortable, I want to keep an eye out on our surroundings and an ear on our steersman. A few slight changes to my form allow it to be indistinguishable from the occasional sea birds around. Maybe a particularly observant heqet will notice the same bird has followed them around for a while, but I find it unlikely.
The heqet finally climbs to the top of the mast and pulls out a pair of long cloths from a chest pouch. He waves both black and bright red banners for a minute before stowing them again and scrambling back down to retake his place attending to the mess of ropes below the sail.
It’s a simple way to communicate, but the system feels too well considered for the aggressive heqet. I really thought they would just yell. Or throw an axe with a message tied to the haft. Something along those lines. How would this method work in the dark? The Ember moon gives some light, but I doubt the red tint would allow colours to be distinguishable. I’ll have to wait and see if their forethought extends that far. I mean, they make these ships, so their entire race can’t be completely truculent.
Eventually, when all the ships are sailing within a hundred metre radius, I burn the air again. A ball of fire settles behind each sail. Like with Śuri’s glass-boarding, I spin my fire in a way that creates powerful gusts blowing directly into the sails. It’s hardly the most efficient use of fire, but the ships move. And do they move. The sails snap to full mast and many ropes strain under the force, and the vessels accelerate through the water.
I could make this so much easier on my focus by simply linking each part of myself, but doing so would be expensive. If I want to power these ships indefinitely, I’ll need to get used to this jarring split in my focus.
If Sylvan doesn’t have an island for me to burn after this, I’ll eat his ship.
