Snow On The Tombstones: A Collection of Flash Fiction and Vignettes

Shanty and the Sea

Shanty shoves yet another piece of delicate elven clothing into the back of her closet as she searches for the boots Aunt Miginita gave her years ago. She's leaving tonight and this is the last thing on her list.

Life's hard enough, being the young daughter of one of the few elves on the High Council of Nenora. It was made infinitely harder when the horns started growing in and she realized she wasn't an elf at all.

Shanty scratches her head and she can feel her horns. They've gotten longer over the past month. Her skin is changing, too, from the pale shade of her father's skin to a vibrant turquoise. It would be pretty if it weren't so terrifying.

There's a reason that she has stayed inside for the past month, since her body started to change entirely. It's a word that's on the tip of her tongue: tiefling. Part-devil, the entry in the book she snuck out of the library said. Part-devil, part humanoid.

Shenty knows the answer to the question of who her mother is lies in the sea. That much is obvious, from the way her father talks about it. She can feel it in her bones and the way that the water calls to her. Shanty doesn't know much more than that. She knows her father; he is kind and wonderful, and she is his only daughter. What a shame, then, that Shantoine Admaris is such a disappointment.

Eroan Admaris would never say that. Still, she can see it in his eyes when he remembers that she will die before him or when someone brings up the possibility of her becoming a member of the High Council.

Bitterly, Shanty reaches into the back of her closet and pulls out a single boot, then another. She pulls them onto her feet.

There is a part of her that thinks about cleaning up after herself before sneaking out the window, but she knows that she only has about half an hour left before her father finishes his trance. It's easier to shut the mess into the closet, add a postscript to her goodbye note, set it on her dresser, and hope for the best.

Shanty slings her pack over a shoulder and climbs out of her window. She's sure that she'll be back someday.

*****

It was easier than she thought, to get a job on a ship. She didn't care where she ended up, as long as it took her out on the ocean; it was no surprise to her, then, that she fell in with a small crew of hapless pirates that were out here for fun and plundering, rather than the practice of piracy.

Shanty doesn't mind. She's happy to play cabin boy. Though it has been months since she joined the crew, she knows she's on the brink of something great, something wonderful. Excitement lingers in her bones as she swabs the deck.

Eloise passes, trying to carry a barrel larger than she is. The halfling struggles under it until Shanty drops the mop and tries to help her. Her arms nearly buckle under the unexpectedly-heavy barrel.

"Christ, El, what's Gordo making you carry?" Shanty gripes, trying to keep her grip as she walks side-by-side with the halfling.

Eloise Appleblossom wipes her hands on her pants. "Oh, you know. Just some slush."

"Really?" Shanty is familiar with slush-- the odd mixture of grease and fat from the crew's meat barrels and boiled meals-- but she didn't expect it to weigh so much. When she takes into account the size of the barrel, though, and the apparent weight of that much slush, she supposes that it tracks. Her arms are already sore. "Where to?"

"Belowdecks. You know where, right?"

"Yeah, but I can't open the door myself."

"I'll come with you!"

Shanty can't express in words how grateful she is for Eloise's company. They're certainly not the only women on the ship, but they are the only ones who were picked up at the same port and they're the only ones acting out the parts of cabin boys. The camaraderie isn't the only thing she appreciates. There's something more to it that she can't put a finger on. Too often, she finds herself zoning out while looking at the singed tips of Eloise's auburn braids.

It helps that Eloise has never called her evil.

*****

Shanty dreams of water once again. She is haunted by a glowing red sea and a large horned woman with a jagged trident and a shattered crown. Is this her, she wonders? Is this her mother? Is this the woman she has been looking for, who broke her father's heart, who cursed Shanty to live like this?

As always, the dream is broken by Shanty hitting her head on the ground. It's par for the course. She sneaks a look at the hourglass in the scant moonlight. There's just enough time for her to sneak in a little more sleep before she has to take her watch above-decks.

*****

The sea is red tonight. Shanty doesn't want to get her hopes up, but it's hard not to, especially when it feels like an omen of something good to come. That same excitement is lingering in the edges of her ribs.

She looks out at the ocean and the roiling red beneath its surface. Something is rising from the depths.

The trident rises from the water first, followed by the long bluish hair of a woman with the same horns as Shanty. She has the same turquoise-tinted skin, though this woman has veins of reddish-purple running through hers, like a massive marble statue. She smiles warmly, pushing up water around her. This is the same woman from Shanty's dreams. She knows, without a doubt, that this rising sea devil goddess is her mother.

The goddess Culona's voice is like a waterspout. "Shantoine, my daughter! Welcome home, my dear."

For once in her life, Shanty feels the sea stop calling her bones.