The Krita

At sunset, Jonas, Nessah and Lloel returned to the ship, where Shellah awaited with some simple dinner, a traditional savory oat porridge popular in the Shielings. She passed around the steaming bowls with some fresh bread to accompany them. She had found a rudimentary but well-shielded stove and small cauldron amongst the Reavers’ things, which Shellah made sure to scrub extra well before using.

“Any luck finding your shaman?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Nessah answered as they settled on the benches to eat their supper. “Did you get any salt?” She wrinkled her nose at the porridge.

“Nah, it’s a little pricey,” said Shellah. “You all should check out what I purchased, and we can see what else is available in town tomorrow. I imagine we’ll need another day here at least. The shipwright is coming tomorrow morning with ideas for how we can make some quick shelter here on the deck.”

“Our shamen might be busy up river,” said Lloel. “It’s sugaring season, so they’re blessing the trees. Some traders are expected in town over the next day or so, and will know more about their whereabouts. There are also a couple of camps just outside of town we can visit tomorrow.”

“We did get some good information, though, about possible locations for Resin and Hoarfrost,” Nessah continued after a swallow of porridge. “There’s a massive deadfall along the shores of a giant glacial lake which is the source of this river. That same glacier has an ice waterfall which fills that lake from the far side. It would help to know more about the lore behind those locations, so we can prepare for the challenges thereof.”

“As this is likely the only place where we can get supplies, it’ll be good to know what else we’ll need,” said Shellah. “Jonas, did anyone say if the river is navigable upstream?”

“We should ask around tomorrow. I didn’t see any bigger boats than our canoe, though.”

“Hello?” a voice called from the dock. “It’s Stew.”

“Come aboard and meet everyone!” Shellah reached over to help them with their small bag. “Everyone, please welcome Stew! They’re going to help us with the ship. You’re just in time for some dinner.” Shellah extended a hand to help them over the rail but Stew had already lightly hopped inside.

“I’m Jonas Ricer, from Northport, Corom” said Jonas. “And this is Lloel Hoarfast, retired scholar from the Shielings, and Nessah Nafissar, a researcher from the university in Corom City.”

“Hi, I’m Stew,” the teen said shyly. “From the coastal Ice People.”

Shellah stowed their bag in the bow with their other gear. “Is this all you have?” They nodded and took a seat on a bench, in the shadows. She sensed more information was not forthcoming.

Jonas handed Stew a bowl of dinner. “Welcome! Make yourself at home. Lloel, is any of that whisky of yours left?”

“No, I think we finished the last of that after the hog…” Nessah slapped Lloel on the shoulder. “Mundy Head,” he corrected.

Nessah placed her half-empty bowl on a bench and stood. “Folks, I saw a little inn in town, and I need a night’s sleep in a real bed, and a hot bath.” She pulled her bag out of the bow. “I’d like to enjoy some civilization while I can.”

Jonas tapped Shellah on the shoulder. “I’ll go. I know you’ll want to stay here.” He took Nessah’s bag and helped her onto the pier. “Lloel, are you coming?”

“No! I quite like sleeping under the stars,” he exclaimed, and then raised his hand to stifle a yawn. “And, as it’s been a long day, I think I’m going to find my favorite bench soon and call it a night.”

“We’ll be back in the morning,” said Nessah.

After Jonas and Nessah disappeared into town and Lloel was comfortably snoozing on his preferred bench, Shellah, with Stew’s help, cleaned up the dishes, and washed any remaining embers out of the little stove.

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“Stew, here’s the plan for tomorrow. Once Nessah and Lloel are off, we’re going to inspect the sail for any mends. There’s some painting I’d like to get done, I’d like to get some of this decking up on either end to see if there’s anything else stored down there. The rigger will return in the afternoon to put the sail back up and teach us how to safely raise and lower the yard with the repairs in place. The shipwright was also saying there’s a way to use the yard as a tent pole! Anyway, lots to learn about this boat. Does that sound alright to you?”

“Yes,” Stew answered. “It’ll be good to be busy.”

“Good,” Shellah answered. “And if you have any questions, feel free to ask me.” She reached into a sack and pulled out one of the many plaids the Reavers had raided. “We have a lot of these, so help yourself. See how Lloel has made himself a nest of them? That’s how we sleep at the moment. We also have a tent, for ashore.”

“I rather hate tents,” Stew said. “I’d rather be on the water and see the sky.”

The next morning, Nessah and Jonas returned to collect Lloel for a second day of searching for the whereabouts of the Ice Peoples shamen. Shellah and Stew checked the storage deep under the deck in the bow and stern. They found two odd prong-ended poles which Shellah made a note to ask the shipwright about later. She then inspected the black sail in the strong morning sunlight, finding the fabric to be tightly woven and sound.

“Let’s paint these figureheads white, it’ll make them look less creepy, I think.” She handed Stew a jug of paint.

“What’s the name of this boat?” Stew asked. Shellah envied Stew’s youthful balance as they hopped up on the bow’s rail to start work on the leering serpent’s bloody face.

“Huh. The Reavers never told us,” she answered. “I guess when you’re busy taking people hostage you don’t share niceties like that.” She looked at the expanse of black sail laid flat across the deck, and in an uncharacteristic spontaneous flourish, she took a brush of white paint and drew a big birdlike swoosh across the fabric. “Does this look like a krita to you?”

“Maybe?” Stew looked at her skeptically. “Let me fix that.” They hopped down and touched up Shellah’s hastily drawn sketch, soon altering it to a recognizable soaring seabird.

Shellah nodded in approval. “Yeah, this boat is now ‘The Krita’. It just soars above the waves, without a care in the world.” She sat for a moment just to admire the ship. Its tall mast, graceful lines, expert workmanship, well-woven sail, clever storage. The Reavers were terrible people but they crafted excellent ships.

“You know what Krita also stands for?” said Stew. “Kicking Reavers In The Ass.”

“So it does!” Shellah got up and returned to painting the serpent’s tail at the stern. “I’m going to like you, Stew.”

The rigger and shipwright returned in the afternoon, and showed them how to raise and lower the yard with the mast repairs, and how the heavy pronged sticks fit into two curious round holes in the benches and deck to secure the yard as a big tent pole. There were also places along the rail where fabric could be secured for a tent. The shipwright noted the sailmaker might have a torn sail for cheap the right size for the project, and went to fetch her.

“How are you paying for all of this?” Stew asked as Shellah handed some coins to the rigger.

“Well, this is currently Nessah’s project. But once she’s finished, I suppose, from my own savings as I figure out how to turn this ship into a business?” Shellah pondered that for a moment. “Nope, don’t have all the answers yet. Ever had a day when everything you assumed you knew about your life changes? Well, that just happened.”

“Yeah,” Stew said, pausing to consider. “When you said last night you knew what it was like to be an outcast, what did you mean by that?”

“Well, in the Shielings, on the small islands anyway, like where I was born, the sons remain on the island and the daughters wed off island and move to their new homes. I have two older brothers and a sister. When I was a little younger than you are now, something happened which made me unmarriageable material. Let’s just say I’ve been kicking Reavers in the ass for a long time. So my father apprenticed me to the Swordsmen as I showed a talent for that, and it got me off the island. Was I an outcast? Not really, my family loved me and appreciated what I did. But I no longer fit into the ordinary order of things, and with two brothers and their families on little Skyfast, it was full.”

Stew sat quiet for a moment. “We’re not staying here in Boraeia, right?”

“I think once we’re done with whatever errands Nessah needs to accomplish here, we’re gone. Back to Northport, I imagine, or Corum City.”

A voice hailed them from the pier. The shipwright returned with the sailmaker, and soon plans for the deck tent were made, and she could have it sewn for them by the morning. Shellah and Stew wrapped up the day’s chores, relaxing to await the return of the others. From atop the mast, the patches on the Corum flag could barely be seen, its crescent moon insignia flashing proudly in the setting sun.

“Whoa, lots of changes here!” she heard Jonas say. “Shellah, want to head to the inn? Nessah and Lloel have found their shaman! She suggested we eat there. Less oats.”

“Alright. Give me a moment to tidy up.” Shellah found her comb in her belt pouch to neaten her braid. “Stew, interested in joining us?”

“No, I’ll stay here,” the teen said, stretching out on a bench. “I want to imagine Corom City.”