[Memory, Mature] Silent Flaming Arcs of Hope

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Fishing villages, mining towns, and the mineral-rich border with the Kingdom of Anaxas are highlights of the Western Erg.

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Aremu Ediwo
Posts: 699
Joined: Fri Nov 01, 2019 4:41 pm
Topics: 24
Race: Passive
: A pirate full of corpses
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: moralhazard
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Wed Nov 20, 2019 3:29 pm

Late Evening, Yaris 35, 2712
The Eqe Aqawe, Above Bend-on-the-Duna
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The Yaris heat rose and hovered in the air; Aremu could feel it all around them, wrapping the ship tight. At the window, there was a glimmering shine of stars overhead, splashed bright across the canvas of the world. Down below, there was a faint glimmer of lights that was Bend-on-the-Duna, and then only darkness as far as the eye could see, even the largest sand dunes swallowed by distance and night. He knew the Duna wove beneath them, but even Hulali’s waters could not stand against the blackness.

Aremu eased the shutters open wider, and stepped back to the hammock he had strung for himself in the berth. He perched on the edge of it, and lay back slowly, adjusting himself until he could see the glimmer of distant stars through the open window. He smiled, then, and yawned, stretching arms and legs out against the swaddling fabric.

There was an echo of noise in the hallway, Chibugo’s voice intertwined in laughter with one Aremu didn’t recognize. The imbala sighed, and yawned again, and fixed his gaze on the window. Slowly, his sight began to blur; slowly, what had been stars became a mass of distant glimmering light, no less beautiful for being indistinct. He thought that he was still looking, but knew that perhaps it was only the memory of them, painted against his eyelids.

“BAJEA!” Chibugo’s voice roared through the empty hallway, tucked halfway between a number of loud bangs and rattles.

Aremu twisted, and scrambled himself free from the hammock. He heard a nearby door bang open, and he was at his door at nearly the same moment, and then out in the hallway.

Uzoji was already striding down it, halfway wearing a nightrobe that looked more than a little too small and unexpectedly lacy. “What the flooding fuck, Chibugo?” He asked through gritted teeth.

Aremu held at his door, watching. He glanced back, and saw Niccolette’s small face curled around the edge of Uzoji’s door, her bare pale shoulder glinting in the moonlight that streamed through the hallway. She glanced at him, made a face as if she had tasted something sour, and turned her attention squarely to Uzoji’s back. Aremu turned back as well.

Chibugo was standing at the end of the hallway, thumping his fists forcefully against the metal door that sealed off the bridge, completely unclothed. He turned to Uzoji, scowling.

“It’s - the door’s locked,” Chibugo said.

“Locked?” Uzoji grabbed the handle, and rattled it himself. He glanced back at the door, then back to Chibugo, and raised his eyebrows.

“Is there someone inside?” Niccolette called. She had vanished back into their bedroom, and she emerged a moment later in what had to be Uzoji’s robe, dark gray and thoroughly more concealing, still tying the sash around her waist.

Chibugo glanced at her, then at Uzoji, and shifted, uneasily.

“You heard her,” Uzoji said, calmly.

“Yar’aka,” Chibugo groaned. “Yes - just some wick that - uh -“ his gaze flickered between Uzoji and Aremu, and he shrugged, a little helplessly.

Niccolette snorted audibly.

Aremu glanced back at her, and fought the urge to smile; he did not think she would like it.

Uzoji rapped on the door with his knuckles. “Hello?” He called. “Miss, would you open up?”

There was a long, unpleasant moment of silence.

“Hulali’s balls,” Chibugo groaned. “What the fuck is she even doing in there?”

There were a few more moments of silence, and then both of the galdori near the door suddenly tensed. There was a low hum of monite in the hallway, an impression of heavy syllables more than the reality of them, only just audible through the thick door; even Aremu could hear them drifting faintly through the air.

“What the flooding fuck, Chibugo?” Uzoji snapped.

“I don’t know!” Chibugo banged on the door again.

Aremu glanced up, overhead; he could not understand the words, but he knew how it felt when the ship was beginning to come to life. Even now, even like this, something about it thrummed through him, and made itself at home in his heart.

“She’s a wick!” Chibugo was saying.

The monite had ended, and all of them heard, faint but audible: “Racist fuckin’ ersehole!”

“And why the fuck does that matter, if she can use the godsdamned spells?” Uzoji roared, and banged all the harder on the door. “Miss!” He called. “Miss, just open up!”

“The anchor rope,” Aremu said, feeling the ship begin to lift.

Chibugo, Uzoji and Niccolette all turned to him, wide-eyed.

“We’re still tied down,” Aremu said.

There was a sudden scramble of movement, then, and Aremu was first to the door, heaving the heavy thing open and scrambling out onto the deck. He lunged forward for the rope that held the ship to the platform below, already strained taut and creaking.

The ship began to tilt, slowly, angled sharply upwards, the engines and propellers and balloons straining, the end of the deck pointing sharply towards the ground. There was a loud bang from something not meant to make such a noise, and Aremu winced but did not hesitate.

Niccolette, last out the door, stumbled and screamed, and grabbed hold of one of the handholds just in time, her feet coming off the deck and hardly able to plant again. Uzoji was wide-eyed, chanting a low, steady stream of monite, reaching for Niccolette to brace her; Chibugo was clinging to another handhold, groaning.

Aremu held tight to the railing with one hand and worked at the knot with the other. He could not do it with one hand alone, and so instead he hooked his legs through the railing and let go, busying both hands with the rope as it pulled harder at the railing.

“Let go!” Uzoji was yelling, whatever spell he had been trying done and over with; Aremu could not see that it had made any difference, except that Niccolette was firmly planted now. “If the railing comes free - damn it, Aremu!”


The knot was pulled tight with the pressure, but Aremu wriggled his fingers into it, the rope burning at them, and he loosened it - and it snapped free, then, and dropped straight down, coiling away into the night.


The ship leveled out, slowly, and Aremu grasped the railing, holding tight against the sudden surge that threatened to pitch him over.

Uzoji was there, then, grabbing his wrist tightly, holding on with all his strength. “You fool,” he said, but Aremu knew him, and knew his face, and he knew Uzoji’s shaking was more relief than anger.

Aremu grinned, and straightened up, and clasped Uzoji’s wrist as well. “You’re welcome.”

Niccolette was watching from against the wall.

“Glad we didn’t destroy the deck,” Chibugo spat. “Now what the fuck are we going to do about - uh –”


“Do you even know her name?” Niccolette asked into the silence.


Chibugo grimaced. “Naafa?”


Niccolette sighed a long exhale, and shook her head slightly.


“Doesn’t matter,” Uzoji said, squeezing Aremu’s arm one last time and letting go. “She can’t fly long. Where’s she taking us?”


The words fell like a stone onto the deck, and the four pirates looked at one another. For once, Aremu thought, there was a wordless understanding between them; this was a question best not answered.

“Can you cast on her?” Uzoji asked Niccolette.

Niccolette grimaced. “Without seeing her...” she glanced down the long stretch of deck that led almost - almost but not quite - to the windows on the bridge.

“I can lower you,” Aremu said, looking at the Bastian.

Niccolette’s brows shot up, and she stared at him. “What -" she scowled, and glanced at the side of the ship.


“I can anchor to the roof and lower you over the side,” Aremu said.


Uzoji stared at the two of them, and he cursed, fluidly. “No," he said.


“Well,” Niccolette said, slowly. “It is rather a good idea,” she shrugged.

“No,” Uzoji repeated. “I - “ he glanced between them.

Aremu looked at him, and he waited.

“I shall dress,” Niccolette shivered, and waited, pointedly, until Chibugo opened the door. She glanced meaningfully at the older galdor, and smirked faintly. “It is cold out here.”

The door slammed shut behind her, and Chibugo snorted. “Hell of a wife you found, Uzoji.”


And then the three of them were laughing - even Aremu, a laugh that had started wild somewhere in his chest and tickled its way out of him, impossible to contain.


“All right,” Uzoji sighed. “Chibugo, you and I will keep trying the door. At least if this Naafa is out, she can’t take us anywhere. We’ll still need to get the door open. Aremu, will you be able to see us at the door if we come for a signal?”

“Ea, iora,” Aremu said.

“Bhe, don’t call me boss,” Uzoji groaned. “What a flooding mess,” he eyed Chibugo. “Go put some pants on, desema,” he slapped the other man’s back, taking the sting from the words.

Aremu held at the door with Uzoji, and nodded once to his oldest friend.

“Well,” Uzoji said, and sighed. “Shame to lose the ship when we’ve scarcely flown.”


“We won’t,” Aremu said, softly, and he set his aching hand on Uzoji’s shoulder, over the lacy silk, and squeezed. “I will not let her fall,” he promised, softly, and he wondered if Uzoji would know he spoke truth.

“I know, poa’xa,” Uzoji met his eyes for a moment, unhesitatingly, and then he grinned; this close, Aremu could feel a ripple of something through his field, a break in the heaviness that felt almost like laughter. “If you’re going to wear a harness, you might want to put some pants on as well.”

Aremu brought the laughter to life again, and shared it between them, and then he hurried inside after his friend.

Aremu harnessed himself to Niccolette before they began the climb; Uzoji put it on her himself, standing in the hallway, and Aremu checked the ropes three times, pulling on them as best as he could. The ship pitched – Chibugo cursed, distantly – and Niccolette caught herself against the wall, and then pulled the ropes at her waist tighter.

“Let us go,” she said, looking squarely at Aremu.

Aremu turned to the door, and kept his gaze away as she said a brief good-bye to Uzoji. Niccolette followed him outside, and looped her wrist through one of the handholds.

Aremu stepped back, as much as the space allowed, glancing around. “Here,” he said after a moment. The roof of the cabin jutted out over the deck everywhere except next to the door. He hesitated, looking at Niccolette. “I shall – to steady you…” Aremu was not sure if he had really been alone with her before, even in all these months; they had passed one another in the hall, or been the only two in the kitchen.

Niccolette was looking at him still, and he felt her field in the air around them, bright and sharp and strange, like nothing else he had ever felt. “I know,” the Bastian said, casually. “Shall we?”

Aremu nodded, and took a deep breath.

Niccolette began to climb first, above him. Aremu held to her pace, carefully, leaving her just enough of the slack rope to be able to move. She crouched on the roof of the cabin.

 “Grab the balloon’s ties!” Aremu shouted into the whipping wind. Niccolette nodded, and wrapped gloved hands around the heavy chains that held the enormous chainmail-wrapped balloon to the ship. He heard a hiss of pressure above them, and Aremu dived forward, and grabbed hold of Niccolette, holding her against the chain, one arm wrapped tightly around her.

Air rushed past them, one of the chambers venting as the balloon ascended further, lifting higher into the air. The swirl of it whipped at Niccolette’s hair, battered it across their faces, and pulled at the sensitive skin of their noses and mouths, jerking them forcefully into the chains. Aremu wrapped his hands into the heavy metal, unhesitatingly, and held the Bastian in place as best as he could, gritting his teeth against the strain.

The balloon sealed again, and Aremu shuddered, and let go of Niccolette, looking down at her. “Are you all right?” He asked, worriedly.

“Fine,” Niccolette said, raising her eyebrows. “Why do we wait?”

Aremu jerked, once – and then he laughed. “Next handhold,” he said, unable to help grinning at her. “Go, then.”

Niccolette grinned back, suddenly, and Aremu felt the pressure of her field in the air lighten around him. He had seen her grin so at Uzoji, at Chibugo – at other galdori that they had met, for she had a sharp and vicious and terribly funny sense of humor – and he had not quite dared to imagine she would smile so at him.

And then she went, and Aremu went too, and the wind tugged at them, but it could not shake either of them. When they were in position, Aremu hooked himself to the roof of the cabin and to the chain that stretched overhead, and bent his knees, holding himself in place. “Turn towards me,” he told Niccolette.

The galdor nodded, and turned towards him. “Backwards?” She asked.

Aremu nodded. He took a deep breath. “Lie down when you get to the edge,” he told her. “Go over with your legs first. Then – the rest. You will hold with the rope. Don’t be afraid.”

Niccolette snorted, and took her first step back, then another, and another. She wobbled, more than once, but she went, gloved hands holding the rope – and at the edge of the roof, she lowered herself down onto her stomach, and squirmed pant-clad legs back over the edge of the ship. She glanced up at him once, and nodded – and pushed herself back off the roof.

Aremu grunted, and jerked, feeling the pressure of her against the ropes. He strained, his whole body shuddering, and then he settled into it, and held, because he had no choice. He fed out the rope, slowly, until he felt Niccolette jerk on it, sharply, and then he let her hang free in the air. He took the weight of her, and he knew he could bear it, and he wondered at the trust that stretched between them alongside the ropes, new and fragile and strangely precious.

“Ready?” Aremu heard Uzoji’s voice, distant, and he glanced towards the edge of the deck, just barely able to see the glint of his friend’s eyes in the dark. Aremu gestured a yes, and Uzoji went back inside. Aremu jerked the rope, lightly, and he heard Niccolette’s voice began to chant heavy syllables of monite, strange and rhythmic in the dark air. Aremu closed his eyes, and breathed deeply through the strangeness and the weight, the sharp distant prickling against his skin.

And then it was over, and he heard a distant bang from beneath him. Aremu began to pull up the rope then, dragging Niccolette back over onto the roof. The Bastian was grinning, wickedly, blood smearing her upper lip, and she grabbed hold of Aremu’s hands without hesitation to get back to her feet, and let him lead her across the roof, harnessed close.

There was a loud bang from beneath them, the door flung open, and a Mugrobi woman with a heavy of bead-filled braids stumbled backwards onto the deck, her face a twisted mess of blood and glinting teeth in the moonlight. She spat on the deck, gripping a wicked knife in one hand, the blade smeared with blood.

Chibugo followed her out, one arm bleeding heavily, and he held his body between her and the door, and stayed there.

“Don’ come any closer, ye chen?” Naafa hissed. Her eyes flickered up to Aremu and Niccolette on the rooftop.

Aremu gritted his teeth, and he unhooked the harness between them, and hooked Niccolette to the ladder rungs in the same motion. He dropped down to the deck and drew the knife from the sheath at his back, his eyes fixed on the woman.

Naafa feinted at him, and struck, and Aremu jerked his blade up, catching her swing and forcing it to the side. The ship shuddered and jerked in the air, beginning to descend again, and Aremu knew it must be Uzoji’s hands on the wheel once more. Naafa stumbled, and Aremu lunged forward and struck at her again as he caught himself against the railing, his knife biting deep.

“Soulless fuckin’ desema!” The wick cursed, and she lunged for him again.

Chibugo was there, then – he slammed into the wick, and she jerked – the ship jerked too – and Naafa lurched, up, and half-flew over the railing. Chibugo yelled once, and made to reach for her – but she was already tumbling away, distant, towards the long-lost ground below.

Aremu grimaced, and sheathed his knife, holding onto the straps with one hand. He sighed.

Chibugo was sick over the railing, gasping for breath, and then again.

“How do I get down?” Niccolette called, and it was Aremu she looked to. He looked up at her, and then he pushed away from the railing, and made his way back across the deck, and helped her descend, slowly and carefully, until he could bring her inside.

It was dawn by the time the Eqe Aqawe returned to Bend-on-the-Duna. Aremu secured them back to the platform with a new rope, and climbed back up the ladder with aching, rope-burned hands, more than a little bruised and battered, bathed in the pale gray-pink light of dawn as it chased away the stars. He hung just below the deck, and watched it spill over the desert landscape below, glittering on the Duna and in the distant dunes, and he sighed, soft. And then Aremu pulled himself over the railing, and made his way inside.

Uzoji stood at the stove, kofi already steeping, and another batch of lentil fritters coming to the table. Niccolette nibbled at one, idly; she had stopped flinching at the heavy spices, Aremu noticed, but he could not have said when. Chibugo sat wrapped in a blanket at the table, still looking more than a little nauseous, his arm wrapped in a crisp white bandage. He reached for the kofi when it came, though, and sighed at the first sip.

“Well,” Uzoji brought the kofi and the plate both to the table, and set them down. He rested his elbows on the metal, and looked at each of them in turn, even Niccolette. “We can’t have this again,” he said, rubbing the thin layer of stubble on his head.

“I won’t bring anyone aboard again,” Chibugo said, bitterly. “Fuck, I’m – I’m damned sorry, Uzoji,” he looked up at him, and grimaced.

Uzoji nodded. “Maybe that’s wise,” he glanced at Aremu, and raised his eyebrows.

Aremu shrugged.

Uzoji nodded again. “No,” he said, slowly. “Floods, Chibugo, I – uh – you’re a man, and I wouldn’t…” he grinned, sheepishly, glancing at Niccolette.

“Do not ask me,” Niccolette grinned, and took another tiny bite of her fritter.

Uzoji nodded. “Some rules, then,” he said, simply. “No guests in the helm – no guests unless the helm’s locked up or manned. No guests in the engine room. Better if they don’t stay overnight, if you can avoid it. What else?” He glanced at Chibugo, who shrugged, and then to Niccolette.

Niccolette nibbled on her fritter again, and turned to Aremu. “What do you think?” She asked.

Aremu was on his third fritter already, and considering a second cup of kofi. He held, surprised, and looked at Niccolette, and he knew without looking that Uzoji was doing the same. There was a smile on his friend’s face, warm and growing, and Aremu did not dare do anything to spoil it.

“I could rewire the sequence,” Aremu suggested, and he looked from Niccolette to Chibugo and to Uzoji. “That way – even if someone… did get in, again, they wouldn’t be able to start the ship. Just – which order the levers need to be pulled in, which levers even. It’ll take some time, but we have the schematics. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Excellent,” Uzoji wasn’t doing any better at hiding his grin. He drank another sip of his kofi, and sat back.

The sunlight had risen further, and it spilled in through the kitchen’s tiny window now, bathing the four of them in its warm glow. Even Chibugo straightened up a little at the brush of it, and sighed, and took a fritter for himself. As one, they waited, and they rested, and they simply were. Aremu smiled to see it, and he did not take himself away, did not look for the stars above or the distant desert below, but felt – in that moment – that he had all he needed, there before him. Sitting there in the growing glowing light, he could not feel any lack; sitting there, he could feel at home.

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