Free The Shattered Islands: Part One: The Rakam by Karpov Kinrade Page B

with one long stride back to my trunk. I shove aside the clothing and feel for the small lever that pops open the floorboard compartment. I move aside a long bundle wrapped in kelp and cloth to reveal a black obsidian box. I breathe a sigh of relief as I feel the heat emanating from it, sending sparks through my fingers even while still closed.
    Securing it and the kelp bundle back in place, I seal the compartment and fold my clothes neatly, returning them to their rightful place, before spreading myself over the hanging stretch of stitched kelp covered in swatches of bamboo cloth. Kelp is deceptively strong and holds my tall body and heavy muscle, suspending me in comfort as I attempt to sleep.
    My eyes flutter closed, but sleep eludes me, as it always does. Instead I see her face. Hear her voice. Smell the sun and sand on her skin as her turquoise eyes crinkle with laughter.
    Her hand reaches for me and my eyes flash open, my breathing coming too fast. I slip out of the sleeping net and leave my cabin in search of distraction.
    I find it within the great shell, in the large mainroom where the crew eats and drinks together. Most are away, either on shift or resting between shifts, but a few men and one woman occupy a shelled table in the corner, their drinks clinking together as they toast the sea goddess and drink one—or more—for their fickle deity.
    I find the bar and pour myself the sea swill I normally can't stand, clutching the shelled cup as I find a seat alone and away from the others. It's a bitter brew, with a fishy aftertaste that's acquired more than enjoyed, but it's strong and it bites my insides and burns me to the core, filling my blood with the song of the sea, a sweet far away floating that none other can match. This is why people drink the brew. Not for the taste—for the forgetting.
    Garen, a large man two heads taller than I, finger bones clanking in his black beard, raises his voice to tell a story to those around him. He fills their ears with tales of legends, of those who rode rakam and lived to tell of it. But when he moves on to the legend of Dak'Ra, I look up, curious.
    It is a version of the tale I have heard many times—of the legendary warrior of the famed Ra family from Ra'Kia'Ruu Island, who fell in love with the beautiful daughter of the Kia clan. They defied custom to be together, to make a new family separate from their first, and so they were banished to the sea. And there, under the three moons, they were taken by the depths, into the warm embrace of the Deep Mother.
    His big voice fills the room. "They say Dak'Ra and Sa'Kia still haunt the sees, searching for one another, two halves of one soul," Garen finishes.
    I down the last of the swill until I can no longer feel my lips and my head is numb. "Her name was La'Kia," I say softly.
    Garen looks over at me. "Ye deaf? It was Sa'Kia."
    I meet his eyes. He's in a haze over his drink and looking for a fight. I'm not. Not with him, at any rate. "You're right," I say, raising my cup. "I might be misremembering. Maybe it was Sa'Kia."
    He narrows his eyes. There's a stillness in the room, as if everyone is holding their breath, then the big man raises his cup and laughs heartily. "Aye, maybe it was."
    I smile at the man, whose face shifted with his smile, from menace to jovial. "Thank you for the tale," I say, grinning.
    I'm walking back to the bar for a refill when an awful sound fills all the empty space around us. It's a loud whine followed by a shriek of awful pain. I have only a fraction of a moment to react before the entire great shell is tipped to its side like a cup being knocked over, its contents spilled across the floor, the sound of teeth scraping against shell creating a discordant and frightening harmony with the cries of the great whale.
    The bar crashes into my legs, swill staining my beige bamboo pants, turning them red as blood.
    The crew members who were drinking are now shouting orders, scurrying up and out of the shell