Homura | Northbound

“A whaler route?”

The old greybeard gave a curt nod before taking another puff of his wood pipe. Homura needed passage to Sorcis, but the fares had gone up. They were now much more than she could afford and she didn’t have the time to earn the difference. Not with bronze masks everywhere. This was her best offer: a captain willing to offer her passage in exchange for help handling cargo and only half of her purse.

The ship had no harpoon cannons, so they weren’t doing any whaling.

Definitely contraband, no other reason to risk whaler routes.

“And you’ve a spare suit and mask?” Homura had never been on a whaler route before, but she knew the potential danger.

“Aye, we do. Bastien ‘bout the same size as you popped off at Osinjolu. We’re ‘iring, but I ‘spect you won’t be stickin’ ‘roun—" the captain’s words gave way to a sputtering cough along with a residual cloud of pipe smoke. He recovered while massaging his throat and continued, “Even got the ear adjustments for the ‘elm.”

Pretty sharp for an old man.

Homura had tucked tail and was wearing a thick, low-hanging hood to hide her ears. There wasn’t much she could do about her fangs and her cat-like pupils, though.

The ship definitely wasn’t a slaver vessel. That would be nigh impossible to hide from her. It was comforting to see that there were a handful of beastkin on the crew already, their feline and canine ears twitching while their tails combed at the air.

There was a tailless bastien lad too, unless he had also tucked tail—a strange proposition given the openness of the others. Homura initially mistook him for a human due to the cap that covered his ears and his human-like pupils. His scent and fangs gave him away.

Homura looked over her shoulder at the bronze masks patrolling the city beyond the docks. They wouldn’t dare lay a finger on the crew nor cargo of a Hansa ship at the port. Homura was eager to be classified as the latter.

“Alright, deal. Here’s your fee. I’ll help with the loading now.” Homura pushed a handful of silver coins into the captain’s hands as he began to count over them with his fingers.

The captain gave a whistle through his gapped front teeth and waved over the tailless bastien. “Ezi, ‘elp our new passenger get ‘er bearings. Get ‘er on loading soon as ye like!”

“Aye aye, boss!” the lad replied, bouncing his fingers off of his temple in a half-assed salute. The captain didn’t seem to care.

Ezi was an energetic boy who stood a full head shorter than Homura. He signaled her to follow as he boarded the deck and walked towards the central mast.

“Head’s that way, sis,” he said, pointing to a couple of small boxes at the bow of the ship. He pivoted and pointed to a barrel close to the central mast. “Just grab some straw from that barrel if you need to, erm, wipe.”

This brings back memories.

Ezi lead Homura below deck into the mess and then walked her over to the crew’s quarters. The inside of the ship was damp and musty. Every plank of wood creaked underfoot, but it was safe—cozy, even.

“You get an ‘ammock. Chest ‘neath it is for your stuff. Hook on the wall for your pack.” Ezi pointed towards the darkest corner of the crew quarters. “Might want to leave that sword here.” Ezi gestured towards the ornate blade slung over Homura’s back. She hung her travel pack on the hook, then undid the holsters on her waist and placed her shortsword and pistol in the box. Ezi nodded at the sword on her back once more.

“Nope!” she replied, shooting him an annoyed smirk.

Ezi shrugged. “All right. But it’s gonna suck... Follow me then.”

Homura spent the next five hours loading various crates and bags aboard the massive ship. Ezi was right, it was a pain in the arse having that sword swinging around on her back while moving things, but she couldn’t bring herself to part with it. Ever.

None of the cargo struck Homura as illicit, although she didn’t exactly have the chance to inspect the sealed crates. At least nothing smelled illicit. The most peculiar piece of cargo was a massive black metal box that took six deckhands to load onto the ship. Unlike most of the cargo, the captain wanted it to stay up top where they anchored it next to the central mast.

It was midday by the time the ship had weighed anchor and set off for Sorcis. Homura looked back at the city as she drifted from its port. The royal Zyrdian palace towered above the city, glittering in the harsh sunlight. Homura frowned as her gaze turned to the broken temple at the far side of the city. She had friends there, once. It was the only part of the city that nonhumans could truly feel safe.

Nothing this good can last.

Kingsley had warned her the first prince was a lazy cunt.

“Miss the old bear already,” Homura muttered under her breath as she bade farewell to the southern continent, her home for seven years. She turned north as the sea breeze began to rustle through her hair, her bright blue eyes settled on the northern horizon.

日

“Throw!” Homura yelled at the muscular, black-maned moonkin.

The man stretched his pale arm far behind him and then thrust it forward as he launched a fist-sized clay pot into the air over the ocean. A gathered crowd of deckhands made impressed whistles as the moonkin had launched a throw almost twice as powerful as the next strongest deckhand.

Homura carefully traced it as it began its descent towards the water, then swiftly drew the pistol from her belt holster and fired a shot. A second passed, maybe two, as the pot continued its plunge before it suddenly burst into pieces a few heads above the waves.

“Bloody demon! You’re the best I’ve ever seen!” Ezi exclaimed as he raked bronze coins into his pouch from the top of a barrel. The other deckhands groaned in displeasure at the lost bet.

“Brok didn’t make it easy! Next one would’ve gone into the sun if he’d hurled it much further!” Homura grinned at the moonkin who had made the throw.

He had settled comfortably onto a box on the deck with his girlfriend, a red-maned inari beauty named Siri sitting on his lap.

“The shooting is impressive,” said Brok, “but what in the paleblood is that gun?”

“Yeah, I thought those things were shite at long range,” added Ezi.

“I made this one myself. It took me almost two years to get it right.” Homura flashed a cocky smile. “That said, the cartridges are special too.”

“Oh?”

She brought her index finger to her lip in a hushing motion. “Trade secret!”

Ezi, Brok, and Siri rolled their eyes in unison.

“Magic! The trade secret is magic!” Brok chuckled, pulling Siri into a tight snuggle.

Homura let out a relaxed sigh and reloaded the chamber of her two-shot before holstering it. “Sailor’s life ain’t bad, then?” she asked, nodding towards the lovey-dovey couple.

Siri smiled back at her. “When the winds are compliant. Whaling vessels are a whole ‘nother story.” Siri’s auburn eyes narrowed. “Y’know, this used to be a whaling vessel. Cap’n Elliot whaled too, just didn’t want to keep riskin’ his neck for the Hansa that way. This’ll be his last whaler route.”

“Last route entirely, for that matter,” added Brok. “Ship’s goin’ to Serhan after this and the ol’ goat is retirin’ in Cyrine.”

The captain seemed nice. Half of Homura’s purse was even cheaper than the regular cost of passage prior to the pogrom.

“So,” piped up Ezi, “the blood happenin’ in Zyrdia?”

“That,” grumbled Homura as she formed an angry frown, “is the result of Zyrdia’s nobility getting what it always wanted.”

“Wasn’t the temple protected by law?” questioned Siri, shaking her head angrily.

“King’s law. And the new king’s too busy being hand-fed grapes by his wives to bother enforcing it.”

“Things were that shaky?”

Homura shook her head. “Honestly, I didn’t know how bad it was until the temple district got sacked. Bunch of nobles have always had it out for the elves and beastkin there. Things got a bit worse after the old king died—mainly some scuffles and blame games.” She took a sharp breath. “Then a bloody tavern brawl got framed as an attempted assassination of nobility.”

“Seriously?”

“Lots of lost teeth and broken bones on both sides, but a noble ended up in a coma. After that, the bronze masks started showing up. Fires and vandalism at first, but then they sacked the temple district and started killing the men while carting off the women and children. Now, it’s happening all over the kingdom.”

“We knew it was bad. But…” Siri trailed off, her eyes downcast.

Everyone sat in awkward silence for several moments before Ezi cleared his throat.

“Serafal’s goin’ to the beastkin!” His optimistic voice broke the somber mood.

“Serafal? In the Empire?” Homura distantly recalled the name.

Her experience with the Empire had mostly been in and around Starmgard. Serafal was a distant province on the far side of the Winter Sea.

“Aye, now that the big war is over, the emperor’s givin’ the freed beastkin their own province to rule!”

“So, they’ve finally outlawed it in the Empire? Slavery?”

“Been that way for a few years now, love,” added Siri. “Just… the war made it hard to notice until now, with most of the freed slaves fightin’ against the Union or supportin’ the war effort in other ways. Folks’re still headin’ home to settle down as we speak, no doubt.”

“What about Starmgard and Ard Cae?” Homura crossed her arms. Nothing short of sweeping regime changes would tear those blasted provinces away from their dependence on slavery.

“Aye, the Union still keeps its slaves…”

Homura sighed. Another few years, another refugee crisis for the beastkin. Those fleeing Zyrdia would have to travel across the known world to reach this new promised land.

“What about you, sis? What’s your plan after you jump ship?” questioned Ezi.

“Looking for someone. An old friend.”

Brok smiled. “Must’ve been a while if you’re crossin’ the Lacrian to see ‘em!”

“Around seven years now.”

“Whew,” whistled Ezi. “I hope you find ‘em.”

Siri’s auburn eyes slowly shifted to the exotic weapon on Homura’s back. “That’s a stunningly beautiful sword, love. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in that style.”

“Aye,” Homura responded, “it’s called a katana. They’re not popular.”

“Oh?”

Homura grinned. “Ain’t you a nosy one!” She quickly cleared her throat before continuing. “Good katana are incredibly hard to make and are a lot of work to maintain. They’re difficult to use against an armored opponent without modifications.”

“You’ve got anima on that thing?” Brok blurted out, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

Homura shrugged and made a smug grin. “Maybe!”

The crowd rolled their eyes once more.

“So,” Siri continued, “How did you come by such an impressive weapon?” A mischievous smile formed on her lips. “You steal or kill someone for it?”

Homura felt like she winced a bit—perhaps not, as no-one seemed to react.

It’s not your fault, little one.

“It was a gift.”

Before Siri could continue, an announcement came from the bridge.

“Crew, the captain has caught sight of the Golden Veil,” shouted a tall, slim man with round spectacles. It was Serhan, the first mate of the Vizoris. “We’re pulling east by fifteen degrees. Want to put enough distance between us and the Veil!”

Several of the deckhands, including Brok, jumped into action either scurrying up ratlines into the yards or working the ropes deck side. Homura backed into an empty corner to stay out of the way. She had agreed to help with the cargo, but she was out of her depth when it came to sailing.

In the distance, small shimmers of gold came into view. Homura had passed through the Golden Veil over seven years ago, but it was hard to forget the experience. The great miracle of the Church that kept Sorcis free from demons and devils. Not that demons had stopped humans from settling in Tal-Qora. Magic and engineering had come quite a way since over a millennium ago.

Eventually the ship was on its new course which would not be adjusted for another half or full day, depending on the wind. Homura noticed some of the beastkin deckhands perched around the various edges of the ship, scanning the waters and listening intently. They had all changed into their rubbery whaler suits. Helms and filter masks hung loosely from their collars.

Ezi tugged on Homura’s shirt sleeve to get her attention. “Sis, you’ve gotta change into the whaler gear. We’re gettin’ close to dreamer territory.”

Homura nodded and stepped below deck to change. As she walked to the storage room for the whaler suits, she ran into Brok and Siri just inside the entrance. She blushed as she saw Brok naked from the waist down, his manhood swinging around like a pendulum as he struggled to get his head through the tight neck of the whaler coat. Siri was the opposite, completely topless as she tried to help Brok squeeze into his top, giggling all the while.

Homura set her eyes on her whaler suit and marched towards it, ignoring the ignoble kerfuffle by the entrance. She set her katana down and began undressing. By the time Homura was entirely naked herself, Brok and Siri had finally squeezed into their suits.

“First time in a whaler suit?” Siri glanced over at Homura, sizing up her shadowy figure in the dimly lit room.

“Yeah, can you—”

“Sure!” Siri smiled flirtatiously, shooed Brok out the door, and then pranced over to Homura to help her squeeze into the tight suit.

Not what I meant.

Homura resigned herself to receiving Siri’s help and slowly squeezed into the trousers as Siri pulled the legs straight.

Too close.

She could feel Siri’s eyes tracing over her body. Beautiful though her figure was, Homura had more scars than she cared to share with an acquaintance. Her back had the worst of it, but even her arms, legs, and neck had faint marks. Mainly from the shackles. Homura’s foot poked out of the bottom of the left leg as a kneeling Siri pulled it through. She noticed a light sniffle from the inari as she assisted with the other foot. After stepping into the boots, Siri tied the laces and fixed the seal with the trousers.

“Thanks, Siri.” Homura was ready for the coat but noticed Siri’s melancholy gaze—her eyes wet with moisture. She guided Siri’s face and eyes to meet hers with a gentle hand. “It was a long time ago…”

Siri gave a sad smile in return. “That just makes it worse.”

She threw her arms around Homura, pulling her into an embrace. Siri’s whaler suit pressed up tight against Homura’s bare chest as she slowly returned the hug and closed her eyes. The inari’s warmth slowly radiated through her suit to Homura, bringing her a sense of calm she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“I thought these suits would smell like the back end of an ox,” Homura quipped, having secured the airtight seal between the trousers and coat.

“These haven’t been used in ages, love! And we do wash them thoroughly!” Siri laughed, sniffling only slightly as she fixed the whaler suit’s helm to Homura’s head and sealed the collar. Aside from her face, Homura was entirely covered.

“I’d keep the mask off ‘til you need it. Really isn’t comfy,” Siri added, clipping the mask to the helm, but letting it hang loosely so that it rested on Homura’s bosom. “Deckside?”

Homura nodded and secured her katana to her back before following the inari back to the deck. The captain hadn’t lied, the suit was a remarkably good fit and the helm was clearly modified for a bastien’s ears.

“No-one else is wearing their helm yet,” Homura whispered.

“We’ve done this a bunch, so we’re good at fixin’ up in a scramble. This is your first time, so poppin’ on the mask properly will be easier if the helm’s already on!”

“Fair enough.”

Homura felt a little insecure about being the only one wearing a helm. It gave her a significantly more ludicrous appearance than anyone else.

Well, better embarrassed than dead.