{Sunday, 14th March}
The Analanma Sea, Above the Northern shores of the Wingedor Empire.
The morning sun cast an ethereal golden sheen across the horizon as light glittered over the subtle waves of the Analanma Sea like scattered stars. A quiet hush clung to the ocean – only the slow and rhythmic rapping of the subtle waves against the hulls of ships could be heard.
A small fleet of vessels sailed in formation, their sails taut with the cooperative wind as wooden masts rose like a first of spears. Trailing behind the fleet were foamy lines, whilst in front, the wooden hulls tore through the waves.
There were about eight merchant ships surrounded by six Wingedorian ships of the line.
The battleships were there for protection, their build sleek and angular. Each ship bore three towering masts that hung colossal square sails. A network of ropes stretched from the mast to deck like webs whilst rows of iron cannons poked from the gundecks. Some of the ships' hulls bore scars of old battles. A wooden crest depicting a winged lion was carved into the ship's bow.
On the merchant ships, crates and barrels were tied together in neat rows, some covered in a thin canvas to shield against the seawater and sunlight. On the deck, sailors in linen shirts and weather trousers carried out different tasks – coiling ropes, checking the sails, scrubbing the deck or securing the cargo. Whilst most of the merchant ships carried cargo, two of them also carried passengers.
A lone figure stood on the edge of a merchant ship's deck. Her long silky black hair fluttered in the wind, the loose strands rapping the hem of her coat. Her skin held a soft olive tone. Her face was delicately shaped, and her eyes were a clear, piercing blue. She was very charming.
She wore a woolen crimson red jacket with brass buttons lining the front. Beneath it, a cream-coloured blouse peeked through, laced at the collar and tucked into a pleated, dark brown skirt that reached her leather boots.
Murphy was staring at the sea, her hands resting lightly on the ship's worn wooden rail. Her family had boarded the fleet from Plodor just the day before.
The route to Ganalis Port was complicated. As the current fleet was Wingedorian, they were not allowed deep inside the Santorian seas. They had only been allowed this far inside Santorian territory for trading purposes.
Soon, the fleet would reach Slone port—the first major Santorian Port along the route and the closest to Plodor Harbour.
Here, Murphy and her family would have to take another ship further along the Santoria kingdom's northern coastline. They would make brief stops at several ports before arriving at New Chester, where yet another transfer awaited.
This final fleet would take them across the Hazen Sea towards Veria port. From there, they would board a carriage towards Ganalis City.
The entire journey would take one week—six days of it spent at sea.
A voice like honey came from behind her. "I am surprised you are not writing in your notebook."
Murphy's gaze remained towards the sea. "I'm… thinking about something."
"Care to let your father know?"
Conrad Decaine stepped up, appearing beside her. His wavy black hair fell just to his brows in the front, but all the way to his nape at the back. His eyes were the same striking blue as his daughter's. It held a sparkling brightness that seemed too young for his age.
He wore a long, dark brown coat with cuffs that turned back to reveal worn leather bracers beneath. Underneath, a deep red buttoned vest covered a white linen shirt that was tucked into his charcoal grey trousers.
The young girl turned around, a smile planted on her face, "It's a secret."
With that, she started walking back to her room. Her father called out from behind.
"It's going to be lunch soon, don't wander too much."
Murphy waved a hand without looking back. The floorboards creaked under her boots as she crossed the upper deck, weaving between coils and ropes and stacked crates whilst the ship slowly swayed. The wind swept her hair as her coat fluttered in the sea breeze.
Near the mainmast, a narrow fenceless stairway descended into the ship's interior. Murphy made her way down, ducking under the swaying lanterns hanging overhead the staircase.
The air shifted instantly, the scent of the sea and salt weakened, replaced by the cool and damp heavy scent of timber.
The stairs led into a dimly lit corridor which Murphy casually walked through. In the interior of the ship, the swaying was less felt.
Voices rose from the corridor ahead.
She passed by an open door, where the choking scent of fish and smoke flooded out into the corridor.
A sailor holding baskets of carrots and flour hastily brushed past her in the corridor, before entering the room in a frantic manner.
Managing to sneak a quick glance inside the galley, Murphy saw a man stirring a huge pot over a stove, chefs darting between shelves and a young lady cutting vegetables.
It must be lunch soon.
Murphy carried on down the passage, passing by storage rooms and other cabins.
Eventually, she reached her own cabin.
Entering her room, she saw her mother watching over her little brother sleep.
"Dear, you're back." Mary gave Murphy a soft smile, before turning back to the sleeping boy on the bed. "Where did you go after breakfast?"
"I took a walk… I just needed some fresh air." Murphy walked towards the cabin desk. "It's lunch soon."
Her mother maintained her warm smile as she brushed her hands through Cillian's hair. "Cillian is still sleeping."
Facing away from Murphy, Mary asked. "Your father went looking for you, did you see him?"
"I met him just now on the deck." Murphy said, picking up her notebook from the desk.
Turning to face her mother, Murphy opened her mouth to say something else, but quickly closed them.
Mary tucked Cillian under a woolen blanket. "After lunch, the fleet should arrive at Slone. Can you help me pack our things?"
Murphy nodded.
Together, the two of them moved around the cabin, clearing out their wardrobes, tidying their desks, folding clothes and storing them away in wooden cases.
As they were finishing, Mary suddenly spoke. "Murphy, your father and I were talking about moving to Bolman city."
Murphy lifted her head up as she fastened the claps on her wooden luggage.
Her mother continued, "Since you're already advancing to a new grade, we can enroll you to a new school in Bolman city. It works out well. I've even heard that the schools there are better."
"Wait, we're moving as soon as we're back?" Murphy asked with a frown, "What about my friends?"
Her mother looked down at her luggage. "Bolman city is better to stay in for the upcoming war."
Murphy stayed silent as she went over and helped her mother close the last of the luggages.
Murphy had many other questions. What about her mother's job? Her father's? Will they be able to find a place to reside?
But before she had a chance to ask them, the cabin door swung open.
Murphy stiffened, turning her eyes towards the door.
Conrad stepped inside, immediately eyeing all the packed luggages. A warm smile formed on his face.
"I see you ladies have done all the hard work," he remarked.
There was a gentle hint of amusement in his voice.
"Is it lunch?" Mary asked.
"Being served on the upper deck," Conrad answered as he walked further in. "Let's head up now, I'm afraid they might run out of cod if we take too long."
Mary chuckled lightly. "Alright, let me wake Cillian."
Murphy slipped her notebook into a leather bag and hung it over her shoulders. She then turned to look at her father.
Her eyes slightly narrowed before speaking. "I'm ready."
…
The scent of roasted fish filled the upper deck where rows of tables were set beneath a stretched canvas to shield passengers from the glaring sun and the ocean breeze ladled with sea salt. Platters of dried meat, bread and roasted fish were laid out on almost every table.
The amount of cargo outnumbered the passengers.
There weren't many passengers, after all, with the current relationships between the two countries, not many Wingedorians or Santorians willingly travelled between Plodor and Slone port – whether for business, tourism or family purposes.
Murphy sat with her family at a long oaken bench, her back straight. Her fingers were idly tracing the rim of her cup as she picked at the salted cod on her plate, barely tasting it. Her eyes kept drifting sideways to her father.
Conrad delicately sliced his fish whilst Mary fed Cillian a piece of bread. The boy, still bleary-eyed from just waking up, was too tired to ask his usual flood of questions.
"We'll be transferring to the next fleet heading to New Chester tonight." Conrad said, "we'll only have a few hours in Slone."
Murphy nodded slowly, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
Something was wrong with her father. In fact, Murphy had started having this feeling yesterday – on her father's own birthday.
Her mind quickly flashed back to when she gave him her diary as his birthday gift. The pages were filled with little notes expressing how much he meant to her, full of memories, gratitudes and love.
But Murphy could have sworn that his reactions were exaggerated.
With this initial suspicion, Murphy had begun to notice more details that were off about her father since yesterday.
He had smiled, laughed, embraced and even said all the things he normally did. But it felt different, it felt… wrong.
It was like someone had studied her father closely and was now impersonating him.
Like someone was acting.
But Murphy was sure that physically, her father was still the same. The man eating lunch opposite her was clearly her father in flesh, not someone else. It was not a disguise or an illusion.
Was he possessed?
Murphy didn't believe in ghosts or spirits, she was more of someone who believed in logic and structure – things that she could take apart and understand.
But the thoughts lingered with her.
From a table just behind her, the conversation of two men suddenly grabbed her attention.
"Man, I'm glad we finished our trade deal in Plodor," one muttered, his gruff voice sounded like rope being dragged across wood. "I wouldn't want to stay there any longer."
A second voice spoke. The voice was low and shaky.
"Have you heard? Many fishermen and farmers have disappeared, they think we citizens are all idiots. They're mobilising! Mobilising for their military!"
More eyes turned towards the two men as they continued their conversation. The first speaker was a broad man in a dull brown coat, his face was rugged and tanned, with a short stubble lining his jaw.
Sitting across his table was a skinner fellow with hollow cheeks. His skin clung tightly to the sharp bones of his face as it revealed deep bags under his eyes.
"Yea, the rumour has been growing in Santoria too, they say it's only months before the next big war."
"Argh, do these countries never learn, many people will die again. It's best to get as far away–"
A loud thud broke the conversation, followed by an angry yell.
"Could you two shut your filthy mouths?"
Murphy glanced behind her shoulder – towards the sound of the commanding voice.
The interruptor was a tall, broad-shouldered woman with sun-browned skin and golden-blonde hair coiled in a braid that hung down her neck. Her muscular arms were crossed as she stared at the two men with venom.
"There are youngsters here too, go back to your cabin if you want to talk about that kind of stuff!"
The two gossipers lowered their heads under her glare and uttered an apology. "S- Sorry."
Murphy stared at her half-eaten food. Her mother's hand brushed hers gently.
"Dear, is something wrong? Don't take what those men said to heart."
She looked up, eyes clouded. "Stomach's a bit off," she muttered, standing quickly. "I think I'll get some air."
Murphy wandered around the upper deck, passing clusters of crates and barrels. The soft ocean breeze met her hair as she struggled to keep it from flailing chaotically.
Despite the calm sea, the ship still rocked gently with each wave. As she walked, Murphy caught sight of the distant Wingedorian battleships.
She couldn't help but admire their genius design and craftsmanship. The array of mast and sails, the broad hulls, the multiple gun ports and decks. These naval fortresses, somehow afloat, were built only for destruction.
The war…
Murphy's thoughts turn solemn. If war did happen, those ships would be in the front line. The same ships that currently ensured their safety would one day have their cannons aimed at her homeland.
Eventually, she found herself at the bow of the ship. The wind became stronger as she gave up holding onto her hair, allowing it to whip freely around her face.
Standing in the sun near the railing was a tall lady, quietly absorbed in a book.
Strands of her long almond brown hair gracefully danced in the wind, occasionally brushing across the pages she was reading. She wore a brown jacket that fitted her perfectly, underneath was an olive-green skirt that fell to her ankles. Her thick brown leather boots were planted firmly against the deck.
The design of her outfit was very much similar to what Murphy was wearing: Santorian middle to high class attire.
Murphy didn't realise how long she'd been staring before she heard a soft chuckle.
"It's not nice to stare at someone for that long you know."
Murphy flinched.
"I- I'm sorry, ma'am, I was just–"
"I'm only joking." The woman's voice was soft and composed.
Murphy stared blankly at her, unsure of what to say.
The lady slowly turned over a page, her gaze remained on the book.
"So?"
Murphy blinked. "So?..."
The lady chuckled.
"So why were you staring at me?"
Murphy hesitated.
"You were the only other passenger I found, everyone else is eating lunch… And also… you were reading a book, it's rare to see someone read a book."
The lady turned to face Murphy, her hair still fluttered in the wind. But on her face was a pair of striking green eyes. Her face was angular, with high cheekbones and a narrow nose.
There was a faint beauty about her that was not obvious at first glance.
The edges of her mouth mischievously curled upwards as she spoke. "Knowledge equates power. Ignorance equates sin."
Murphy stared back at the lady, she had heard this phrase before.
"Are you a believer of the Knowledge Goddess?"
The lady didn't answer immediately, she only smiled.
"You can call me Anisa."
"I'm Murphy."
The lady went back to reading her book. Curious, Murphy asked.
"Miss Anisa, what brought you to Plodor?"
"Miss Anisa… how polite." Anisa closed her book shut. Her voice held a spark of amusement. "Why Plodor? Probably the same reason as you… miss Murphy."
She turned to face the sea.
"Mm, one last chance to enjoy their seafood before the war?"
Murphy's heart stirred. The war… That seemed to be the only topic people concerned themselves about these days.
"Miss Anisa… can you tell me more about the war…"
Anisa turned to face Murphy again. Her clear green eyes seemed to glimmer in the sunlight as she smiled. "How much do you know about the conflict between the Wingedorians and the Santorians?"
"In school, they taught that the Wingedorian Empire was originally part of the Santorian Kingdom, and the kingdom itself was originally called the Lanconest Dynasty. As for conflict…" Murphy paused, "the two will never be on peaceful terms. We have conflicting interests."
Anisa nodded, before explaining. Her smile faded as her tone grew steady.
"Santoria has fertile lands in the south, iron and coal mines in the central regions. Our coastlines in the east also hold many useful trading routes with other powerful countries, whilst there are no countries to the north or east of the continent for Wingedor to trade with."
She let out a short sigh as she attempted to brush her brown hair behind her ears.
"This already makes our lands an attractive prospect for Wingedor."
Murphy slightly frowned. "So there is no reason for Santoria to attack Wingedor?"
"Not quite." Anisa's tone sharpened slightly. "There are certain specialties such as the Sagig oysters and the black Einther leaves that are only found in Wingedor. Their abundant livestock and population of wild animals are something that Santoria wishes to gain as well."
Murphy hesitated as her voice grew quieter.
"Can the war be stopped?"
"Stopped? Who knows…" Anisa replied softly as her eyes drifted across the sea before she murmured. "Can powerless people like us truly stop the ambitions and greed of our… countries."
Anisa had almost said something that could have landed her in deep trouble if overheard.
Murphy's gaze fell to the floorboards as a heaviness seemingly lingered from her eyes.
She decided to change the subject.
"Miss Anisa, I have another question."
Anisa glanced at the young lady, curious.
Murphy's hands tightened as she spoke. Her voice was shaky and filled with unease. "Do ghosts and spirits exist?"
She seems to knows a lot, maybe she can help me.
Anisa crossed her arms and leant into the wooden railings.
"Let's say they do? Do you want to become a spirit exorcist?"
"No… nevermind."
"Murphy." Anisa's tone softened. "What do you wish to do in the future?"
Murphy's gaze drifted towards a Wingedorian ship-of-the-line.
"I… have dreams sometimes," she said slowly. "I dream of a city… It's unlike any city I've ever seen. Great towers of stone and gems rising high above the sky, obsidian, sturdy and neat roads. The bright lanterns that seem to shine as bright as the sun. I want to create– I want to change the landscape of our lands, into the grand world that I see in my dreams."
She paused as the wind tugged at her clothes. At that moment, her narrowed blue eyes seemed to be more focused than usual.
Anisa stared at Murphy with a blank – almost incredulous – face, unsure of what to say.
Murphy blinked.
Realising what she had just said Murphy quickly apologised in embarrassment.
"I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say all of that."
Why the hell did I say that to a stranger?
Flustered, she quickly added.
"In the future, I wish to become an engineer."
Anisa's eyes widened for a split second before returning to normal. Too fast for Murphy to notice.
"I see…" Anisa muttered, a faint smile touching her face.
Suddenly, a faint silhouette in the distance began to appear. Soon more details became visible.
The fleet had begun to draw closer to the coastline.
The merchant ships began to adjust formation, their sails furling as they slowed for entry. Bells rang from the foremast, as sailors called out to each other over the crash of waves.
In the distance was a port in the shape of a half-moon, its stone jetties crowded with cranes and flags. Buildings lined the dock like a stone wall, behind them, lines of narrow streets wound uphill into a blend of white and grey – the heart of Slone city. Most of the roofs and spires were made out of red-bricks.
The lady besides Murphy chuckled before speaking.
"We've arrived at Slone port."