Daughter of Treason

The night was warm. But, the again, the nights were always warm in Islandport; the only blessing was that the dry desert air, combined with the ocean breeze, at least made it bearable. Though, thought Mirea Feyuni sadly, it wouldn't have to be borne for much longer. She gazed out the window, staring at the moonlight glinting off of the ocean; it was one of the many luxuries she enjoyed, but tonight it brought no solace.

"Vera," she said, her voice shaking, "I have one last task for you."

"Yes milady?" responded the short woman at her side, eyes swollen red from crying.

"Take Isakei. Raise her as your own. Dying for the crime of another is painful enough, but I will not see my daughter killed too."

"Please, milady, why not flee?" Vera had been pushing this agenda ever since the trial and, as she had each time, Mirea just smiled sadly and shook her head.

"Though I am sure that the charges against my husband are false, I will stay and face my fate. My house, holdings, title, even I, myself belong to Islandport, and though I know that they convict us in error, I will abide their judgment. The only thing of mine which is not the country's is Isakei." A pause as tears filled Mirea's eyes. "I love her so much, Vera. Until you're a mother, you can never truly know what love is." She paused, taking another shaky breath. "Please, Vera. Take her and raise her as your own. It is the greatest and last thing I can ask of you."

There was a long pause as Vera searched for some way, any way to convince her mistress to flee, but no arguments came. Finally, she said, "Yes, milady. I will do as you ask."

Mirea flashed a smile full of pain to her closest confidant before breathing a heartfelt, "Thank you."

The house was deadly silent; few had any cause to be up this early, and fewer still had the audacity to roam around this house in particular, rendering the whole floor silent but for the footfalls of the two women on the thick carpet as they moved down the hall. Mirea gently pushed open one of the doors, slipping inside.

"Kei," she said gently, cupping the cheek of the little girl sleeping therein. "Kei, wake up darling."

"Mmm, it's too early, Mother."

Mirea smiled again, though in the dark the daughter couldn't see it. "I know, darling, but you have to go."

The little girl sat up sleepily. "Why?"

Though her heart broke, Mirea ignored the question and said with forced cheerfulness, "You're going on a trip while mommy takes care of some things, okay?"

But children are more perceptive than adults think; the girl knew there was something wrong, and she was scared. She grabbed her mother's shirt and buried her face in it. The sound somewhat muffled, she asked, "Do I have to?"

"Yes," said Mirea, her voice threatening to betray her, "yes, little one, you have to."

"Come along now," chimed Vera, failing to hide the anxiety in her voice, "we have a bit of walking to do."

Obediently, the little girl took the hand of the chambermaid and let herself be lead towards the door only to stop at the threshold. Frightened, she turned around and looked in the eyes of her mother. Knowing more than anyone would have believed, she said only, "I love you, mommy."

"I love you too, sweetie." The tears began to flow in earnest now, but Mirea had no time to staunch their flow; the sun was rising. "Now go."

As the chambermaid spirited the little girl off into the rapidly ending night, Mirea collapsed in a chair in her daughter's room. It had been a long night, bribing some guards and slipping sleeping droughts into the drinks of others but, though it broke her heart to do it, her daughter was gone. She stared out the window as the sun began to peek over the ocean.

This,

she thought distantly,

shall be my very last sunrise.

Come noon she would find herself on the scaffold, and come evening her head would be separated from her shoulders. But none of that mattered now. Her children were safe.

<<<<<Malefactum malefactoribus beneficiumque bonis face>>>> >

Isakei Feyuni was born into a minor noble family on twelfth day of autumn, year 1441 Post Foundation in the city of Islandport to a kind mother and a loving father. As she grew, she was taught how to read and write the common language of Halastian, Elven, Pyrgian, Miasian, and even Draconic. She learned the basics of courtly manners and speech, theology, dance, and, much to her mother's chagrin, the basics of weaponry. For while her mother thought it as unfitting for a lady to be taught the 'common practice' of swordplay and archery, her father adamantly insisted that any daughter of his would know how to defend herself.

As she grew, three things became evident. The first was that she took more after her father than her mother; she enjoyed the sword and dagger lessons far more than the ones of etiquette. In fact, it got to the point where she only studied the latter because her father threatened to suspend her lessons in the former.

The second was that her intelligence was matched only by her grace. While her instructor indicated that she lacked a certain 'flair' in her dance lessons, she made up for it by delving even further into gymnastics and acrobatics. Once again, her mother might have preferred the more courtly dances to the flashier acrobatics, but the extra grace with which she carried herself was good enough, so no comment was made.

The third and final thing was that she would become very beautiful. Her smooth, light brown skin and almond-shaped es were well-complemented and framed by her long lack hair and figure that, while still undeveloped this early in life, was fit and promised curves in all the right places. This, combined with the old adage that 'beauty is found in happiness' made all who knew her glad that they would be able to watch her grow into a beautiful woman. But, alas, it was not meant to be.

On the third day of summer, year 1447 PF, just under six years after the birth of Isakei, the Feyuni Family was put on trial and found guilty for High Treason. It was on the evening after verdict that Isakei's mother approached her chambermaid with the plea to see her child to safety. Although the household had assumed that, as a child, she could not understand what was going on, she knew more than they gave her credit for; she knew that her father had a job buying and selling things from across the sea, she knew that someone had found something that wasn't supposed to go across the seas, and she knew her father had nothing to do with this forbidden thing for which he was in trouble. But it wasn't until she saw how sad her mother was, and how strong she was trying to be, that she realized that she might never see her parents again.

That night, in a new and unfamiliar place, so close to home yet at the same time so far, Isakei cried for the first time in years.

Isakei never asked what happened to her mother; she always suspected the worst, and as she got older and learned more and more about the world around her, she became more and more certain on her mother' death. Although Vera was as caring a foster mother as could be asked for, even working as a chambermaid for a lesser noble she simply could not make enough money for the both of them to live with any semblance of comfort. And so they moved in with Vera's cousin, Raul, but the sanctuary they found was only slightly safer than the one they had left. Between the time-consuming job and housekeeping to pay for their board, there simply wasn't much time for speaking, so it was not she who began to notice how, as Isakei grew older, her figure filled out and her beauty became much more apparent.

Some men began to harass her. At first it was easy enough to ignore, just catcalls and so forth, but soon they began outright molesting her. It continued to escalate, them attempting to cop a feel and she attempting to escape and evade, until they crossed a very dangerous line. One man had been grabbing her by now considerable bust when, with a lecherous grin, he grabbed the shift covering it and jerked it down, exposing her chest and adding a large rip to the garment in the process.

Isakei acted without thinking, the self-defense training taking over as she yanked the dagger on his hip out of its sheathe and slashed him across the chest. He cried out in pain, calling for aid from his watching comrades, but she had already rolled into some nearby shadows, sprinted down an alleyway, clambered over a high wall and begun to run the whole way home.

She never told Vera about any of these encounters, not wanting to worry the poor, overworked woman who had become like a mother to Isakei. She never told Raul because he wouldn't care. So after that encounter, only three things changed. One, she began to always carry the dagger with her, two, the men began to leave her alone, and three, she began to practice weaponry again. She had to use sticks, discarded sheathes, whatever was at hand as placeholders for actual weapons, but she remembered enough to take up practice once more. And so life became manageable for a good long while until, in the winter of 1458 PF, an influenza epidemic took Vera's life.

When it was the three of them, there was no problem. But Raul was a regular drunk and a hot-blooded male, and without the counterbalance of Vera, it was only a matter of time before he gave into his baser urges. That time turned out to be nine months.

To his credit, he lasted longer than many would have, given the booze and he beauty of the prize in question. But as with murder, the reasons matter little when compared with the act in question. So when Raul cornered Isakei with the intent to take what he wanted from her voluptuous body, she did what any woman would do. She stabbed him in the heart.

<<<<<Malefactum malefactoribus beneficiumque bonis face>>>> >

Her breath caught in her chest as his stopped entirely. His features were set in an expression of surprise as he slumped down and, as his body hit the floor with a dull 'thud!', the panic set in.

Oh gods,

she thought,

I just killed a man!

In a rush, she grabbed everything he could which would help her as she fed; another few knives, a thick traveling cloak, what little family silver there was to supplement the meager coin Raul hadn't yet spent on booze, and, on impulse, the rusty old sword which had made its home over the fireplace for the past twenty years.

Oh gods, I just KILLED a man!

With this thought echoing in her mind, she fled the now empty house and began to make her way to the docks, stopping only to buy a sheathe, some rope, and another few daggers, all at the expense of the family silver and the last of her coin. Finally, fully supplied and with her naked rapier hanging on her hip, she made a bee-line for the docks.

About halfway there, she found her way blocked by an angry crowd, shouting things like "Kill him!" "Kill the thief!" "Kill the elf!" At this last comment, Isakei bristled. Islandport was a human city, and the only elves known to be seen were the nomadic desert elves who rarely passed through civilized lands, so all the common folk knew of elves were rumors and old wives' tails. Unfortunately, both of those were unkind to the elves, fair or weathered, making racism was rampant. So, when Isakei shouldered her way through the crowd, the first words out of her mouth were, "What the hell is going on here?"

"This filth was stealing from me!" exclaimed a fat man, likely an innkeeper, gesturing to a desert elf whose head lay upon a chopping block. Cries went up from the crowd to the tune of "yeah!" I saw it myself" and "he's a fucking elf, kill the bastard!"

A tall figure in an executioner's hood added, "We have found this elf guilty, and the penalty for thievery is death."

Isakei scowled. "I don't see any staff of office here, so unless you have an Arbiter's uniform on under those grimy rags, I'd say that it's not your call to make." Glancing at the accused, she asked quietly in elven, "Did you steal from this man?"

The captive shook his head, replying in kind. "No, I was looking for a place to rest!"

"She's an elf!" cried a heckler, prompting more cries of, "She's speaking to the worm!" and the like.

I just killed a man!

This time the thought held no panic. Now it held confidence. Throwing back her hood, she exposed her face and shouted, "These look like elf-ears to you, dog?!"

"How do you speak to that filth, then?" interject the innkeeper. "Is it that you are an elf sympathizer?"

"Know thy foe," she replied sardonically, "and unless you'd rather be an ignorant slug, I suggest you follow suit. What exactly did he take, Mr. Would-Be Arbiter?"

Looking down at the elf, he said, "He robbed me of my business! He drove away the customers!"

The executioner looked at him. "That's it? That's all?"

The crowd faltered; this was not the beheading they had expected. Isakei took the opportunity to get another word in, "I think your own stink did that. He," she said, jerking her head towards the elf, "just happened to come along at the wrong time. He stole nothing and now you've lost nothing but what little respect may have existed for you."

"He's still an elf!" shouted a heckler. The executioner turned to face the man who had spoken and said simply, "Shut up you fool." Turning to the captive, he said, "Get up, elf." Turning to address the crowd, he continued, "There is no crime here. Move along."

Grabbing the newly freed elf's arm, Isakei ushered him away from the crowd and into a maze of alleys as fast as she could. When she judged them to be far enough away to be out of immediate danger, she took him in for the first time, and for the second time that day, her breath caught in her chest. His skin, a bronzed tan, was stretched over a well-defined if lanky frame, but it was his eyes, his golden eyes still sparkling from tears of fear, which sent a flush through her cheeks, among other parts of her anatomy. "Thank you so much," he said in his native tongue.

Isakei gave him a slight smile, still trying to master her emotions. "Think nothing of it," she managed before continuing, "Though if you enjoy having your head on your shoulders, it may not be wise to stay in this city."

"Oh." He sounded disappointed. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just used to Fractoria; it's a little more civilized there." Fractoria, a city across the desert in the Pyrgian Empire, was far to the east.

Shifting her cloak over her shoulders, she drew a dagger from its sheathe under her arm and held it out to him, pommel-first. "Here. If there's one thing I learned today," she said darkly, "it's that you need a knife to survive."

"I can see that," he said, eying the tunic exposed by the shifting of the cloak. The blood had thoroughly soaked the fabric, and though it had already begun to dry in the hot desert air, it still cling to her curves, but the display was far more grotesque than provocative.

Looking first down, then away, she looked for a replacement tunic. Finding one on a clothesline nearby, she pulled it off, then pinned up her last silver to pay for it; she was already a murder and wasn't about to become a thief, too. "Look," she said as she did this, "you shouldn't stay here. I'm getting out of this city; you can tag along if you want." She took off her cloak and handed it to him. "Just cover up your ears and try no to let on that you're not human until we're safely away."

He nodded as she pulled on the second tunic, and the two made a bee-line for the docks, she checking over her shoulder to ensure that he was following and none others were, he doing his best to appear invisible. When they reached the docks district, Isakei realized a flaw in her plan; in her hurry to escape, she had spent all her money. Turning to the cloaked nomad behind her, she asked, "I don't suppose you have any money, do you?" When he shook his head, she sighed. "Alright, then. We'll have to try to work to earn our passage, or else hope they extend credit." She paused. Isakei was not trained as a sailor; in fact, though she vaguely remembered hearing about how it affected the economy of Islandport, she hadn't a clue of how to go about sailing herself. Slowly, an idea came to mind. She didn't like it, but it would have to do.

She lead them to one of the dock's many taverns and began asking around, trying to find a ship that was leaving as soon as possible, preferably through dangerous waters. When her new companion signaled her aside and asked why they would seek out dangerous waters, she responded, "I heard someplace that fear of misfortune is often much greater than the actual chance of it. Since we cannot afford passage ourselves, we shall capitalize on that and hire ourselves out as marines."

While technically true, she had head that in her philosophy studies ages ago, and even that was talking about the fear of death, not the fear of being waylaid, captured, tortured, then killed. But she could think of no alternatives, so when she was directed to the Maiden of the Salt, a ship that was sailing to Cromwell, going around the dangerous Fractorian Bay, she decided to take it.

As it turned out, the Maiden of the Salt was rather close to the inn, so by the time she spotted it, it was still loading up the last of its cargo. Walking briskly to avoid attracting the attention of the guards, she paused just off the gangplank, her etiquette telling her that it would be rude to board uninvited, and waited. A man who had previously been leaning against a railing, shouting orders to the other seven laborers, grinned down at them and called, "Ahoy there! Where d' you two think you'll be heading off to, eh?"

Speaking much more confidently than she felt, Isakei called back, "My friend and I are seeking employment or, barring that, passage."

He considered them for a moment before shrugging. "Come aboard, then, and let's talk t' th' captain; he'll be wanting to meet you."

As they ascended the gangplank, Isakei took in the ship; though she had no training in appraising such things, even she could tell that this was a run-down vessel; the hull was formed of woods of many different color and texture, each one representing a patch at a different time, and the bulwarks, normally solid and circumventing the entire ship, had long since fallen off and been replaced by rickety railings everywhere but the port stern, and even that remaining barrier looked to be rotting. The masts had several planks nailed to it, no doubt to reinforce it so it wouldn't snap in a gale, and several of the lines looked frayed. But it was a ship, and if they had work, then anything to get them out of the city would do.

The man led them to the stern of the ship, where the cabin door was. Knocking, he shouted in Miasian, "Captain, a couple of kids looking for work!" The call to enter came from the other side of the door, but Isakei was already processing; Miasis was a brutal land, and the folks didn't tend to go so far away without reason. So they either had regular trade routes to there, or else had their origins on that continent. And sailors who came from Miasis but did not want to return usually were on the wrong side of the law.

As the door swung open, Isakei was fairly certain it was the latter; after being ushered inside and having the door closed behind her, she took in the very tan Cromwellian man, complete with eye patch and parrot on his shoulder. Though his tan but still light skin insured that they were not Miasian natives, the word 'pirate' flashed through her mind for just an instant, shortly followed by the much more pointed thought, 'Murderers don't get to judge.' She bowed.

"No need to bow, matey, all are welcome on my ship; we're all sea dogs here." An unwilling smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she straightened; at least he was an egalitarian brigand. His eyes turned over to the elf. "Ah... A desert elf. It's been a while since I have seen any of you desert folk." The captain and elf had a brief exchange in a tongue unknown to Isakei, making her a bit nervous, but when he next spoke, some of that anxiety was erased. "So you saved his life from the bloody racists, I see."