Chapter 2: Fifty-Three Days South
"We've been sailing for fifty-three days," I said as Martin and I mopped the deck. "I guess you're right. There's nothing in the south."
Martin's mouth opened like he was about to say I told you so.
He didn't get the chance.
The captain strode over, boots thumping, and leaned down like we were something interesting instead of something owned.
"Nothing in the south, huh?" he said. "Take this looking scope and look over there."
He handed me a bronze tube shaped like a cow horn, except it was straight, not curved, and heavy enough to feel expensive.
I'd seen the captain use it before.
I put my eye to the smaller glass and squinted.
At first I only saw sky.
Then I saw birds.
"Birds!" I said, grinning before I could stop myself. "That means land is close."
"Aye, lad." The captain sounded pleased. "Now stretch it and look farther."
I pulled the tube the way I'd seen him do.
The world jumped closer.
There it was.
Land.
No… not land.
Islands. Hundreds of them, packed so tightly together they looked like one white smear on the horizon.
"Islands!" I shoved the looking scope toward Martin. "Come look. You were wrong. No more raw fish and bloody onions!"
Martin pressed his eye to the glass and went quiet.
The captain took the scope back like he'd lent me a king's toy.
"Welcome to Hekhenden, lads," he said, turning away. "I'd say welcome home… but it won't be much of a home for you and your people."
"Hekhenden?" Martin muttered. "What kind of name is that?"
Before I could answer, a slaver passed behind us and kicked a bucket so hard the water sloshed.
"Hey, you runts!" he barked. "Get on with your jobs. The emperor wants his ships clean, and the traders won't step on a dirty deck!"
We bent our heads and scrubbed harder.
But my eyes kept finding the horizon.
Because the south wasn't empty after all.
It was waiting.
****
You'd think islands that far away would be green. Palm trees. Warm sand. Friendly waves.
Not these.
These islands were pure white.
And cold.
By the time we drew close, I was shivering so hard my teeth kept clicking like little stones.
"Snow and ice," I heard one of the slavers say, laughing like it was funny.
Snow.
My grandfather used to talk about snow because it never fell in Ennox.
He said it only happened far north—mostly in mountains—and only in winter.
But I was sure it had been spring when the slavers came.
That meant it should've been the start of summer by now.
Not winter.
Not this.
We sailed past the white islands and kept going, straight toward the mainland.
The port appeared like a jagged mouth carved into the coast.
And behind it rose a city.
The most beautiful city I'd ever seen.
Also… the first city I'd ever seen.
The smaller buildings were wood, packed close together like they were trying to keep warm.
The larger buildings were white stone.
And above them all stood the highest structures—something like a palace or castle—older, dark grey, with round, pointed roofs that stabbed at the sky.
It looked like it had been there before the snow decided to stay.
The ships docked.
Chains came out.
They chained us together in a long line like we were one animal with too many legs.
And then they marched us into the busy port.
I'd made it my mission to learn the language here. I could already form small sentences, ugly ones, but understandable.
People muttered as we passed.
I caught a few words.
Fresh meat.
Market day.
They wore fur coats, clean and expensive. I'd never seen fur that looked so soft. So rich.
I lowered my head and kept walking.
Because the way they looked at us didn't feel like curiosity.
It felt like shopping.