Ship of Destiny

"Erlida," she insisted. "And it was not a farmer, but a riverside pot-maker that she was given to; a man who spent all his day patting wet clay. He made heavy, graceless pots, fit only for slops and chamber pots." She turned away from him, to stare ahead over the black sea. "That is how the tale goes. And I should know. I knew Erlida."

Ke

The figurehead snorted contemptuously. "Because we are not as stupid as humans, who forget everything that befell them before their individual births. The memory of my mother, and of my mother's mother, and her mother's mother's mother are all mine. They were spun into strands from memory sand and the saliva of those who helped encase me in my cocoon. They were set aside for me, my heritage, for me to reclaim when I awoke as a dragon. The memories of a hundred lifetimes are mine. Yet here I am, encased in death, no more than wistful thinking."

"I don't understand," Ke

"That is because you are stupid," she snapped bitterly.

No one, he had once vowed to himself, would ever speak to him like that again. Then he had cleansed their blood from his hands, and he had kept that promise to himself. Always. Even now. Ke

She turned back to him, the corner of her mouth lifting in a sneering smile. "Ah. So the insect has a bit of sting to him. Stay, then. Speak to me, pirate. You think I am not real? I am real enough. Real enough to open my seams to the sea at any moment I choose. You might wish to think on that."

Ke

As he lay gasping on the deck, the ship righted herself. In an instant, all was as it had been before, save for the querying voices of crewmen raised in sudden alarm. A soft but melodious laugh from the figurehead taunted him. A smaller voice spoke by Ke

Ke

"There are dragons and dragons. This one would just as soon not spend eternity tied to a heap of bones. Turn back. Defy her. Challenge her."

"Shut up," he hissed at the useless thing.

"What did you say to me?" the ship demanded in a poisonously sweet voice.

With difficulty, he dragged himself up. When his crutch was in place again, he swung across the deck to the bow rail. "I said, 'Shut up! " he repeated for her. He gripped the railing and leaned over it. He let every bit of his fear blossom as anger. "Be wood, if you have not the wit to be Vivacia."

"Vivacia? That spineless slave thing, that quivering, acquiescent, groveling creation of humans? I would be silent forever rather than be her."

Ke

The figurehead reared her head back. If she had been a serpent, Ke

"If she is not you, then she has as much a right to be the life of this ship as you do. And if she is you… well, then. You mock and criticize yourself. Either way, it matters not to me. My offer to this liveship stands. I little care which of you takes it up."

There. He had put all his coins on the table. He either would win or be ruined. There was nothing else between those extremes. But then, there never had been.

She expelled a sudden breath with a sound between a hiss and a sigh. "What offer?" she demanded.

Ke

Despite her haughty stare, he had seen the brief widening of her eyes that betrayed her interest. Her next words made him smile.

"What's in it for me?"

"What do you want?"

She watched him. He stood straight and met her strange gaze with his small smile. She ran her eyes over him as if he were a naked whore in a cheap house parlor. Her look lingered on his missing leg, but he did not let it fluster him. He waited her out.

"I want what I want, and when I want it. When the time comes for me to take it, I'll tell you what it is." She threw her words down as a challenge.

"Oh, my." He tugged at his moustache as if amused. In reality, her words trickled down his spine like ice water. "Can you truly expect me to agree to such terms?"

It was her turn to laugh, a throaty chuckle that reminded him of the singsong snarl of a hunting tiger. It did not reassure Ke

Ke

She chuckled again. "So. You accept my terms?"

Ke

"You accept them," she said to the night.

He did not deign to reply. Instead he gripped his crutch and made his careful way across her deck. At the ladder, he lowered himself to the deck, and managed the steps awkwardly. He nodded curtly to two deckhands as he passed them. If they had overheard any of the captain's conversation with the ship, they were wise enough not to show it.

As he crossed the main deck, he finally allowed himself to feel his triumph. He had done it. He had called the ship back to life, and she would serve him once more. He thrust away her side of the bargain. What could exist that she could want for herself? She had no need to mate nor eat nor even sleep. What could she demand of him that he could not easily grant her? It was a good agreement.