Farryn

Chapter 1-Part 1

Farryn spent the first evening of the trip vomiting into a bucket.

She had never been sick like this before, but the boat never. Stopped. Moving. It was always rocking and shifting and turning, and Farryn's stomach rocked and shifted and turned with it. The stench of her vomit got so bad the women kicked her out of the room. So instead she puked over the side of the ship, into the water.

When she finally felt stable enough, she wolfed down one of the meat pies she'd bought, and then headed to dinner. It was a simple occasion, eaten on deck with the crew and passengers. Eggs sat next to her after thirty minutes of glancing at her from across the table, and told her to try holding a chopped-off Gurj-fish head to her nose. "It works, swear Miss. I can get one for you, if you want. " She didn't take him up on his offer.

She spent the first night tossing and turning, and the next morning vomiting again. When her stomach settled, she cautiously rinsed her mouth out- she doubted the water onboard was very clean- and lay on her bed. She'd only packed the one dress from Serval's, and it already felt damp with sweat and the humidity of the ship.

She was fairly alone in the room, though. A lot of the women were above deck, flirting with sailors or watching the horizon. The men were up there doing the same, and a few children popped in and out of the room, shrieking as they played. Farryn just lay there and pulled the newspaper scrap from underneath her corset, beside where her coin purse sat. The newspaper was beginning to disintegrate, from all the moisture, but she didn't need to read it anyways; she'd memorised every word. She just wanted to know it was near.

After about fifteen minutes, she heard a knock at the open door. Eggs popped his head in, flushed. "D'you want to play a card game with us, Miss?" She stared at him silently. His nickname made sense. He was very pale, and his head was round with small, flat ears. It looked like an egg.

"I don't mind," She finally responded, standing. He blushed even deeper, and led her above deck where a few crew members and passengers were sitting in a circle, playing with a deck of worn-out cards. They regarded her with surprise as she sat amongst them, on the floor. "How do I play?"

— — — — —

Soon, it was time for dinner. Farryn felt more acquainted with her fellow travellers; she'd played a few games and won one. Still, as she choked down her watery soup and the ship's rock-hard bread, she could only think about how she despised boats. She was tired of it, and she briefly considered jumping into the ocean. But the journey would be twice as long if she didn't go by the ocean, so the ocean it was.

She slept without having to get up to throw up, but she kept waking up because of the strange dreams she had. She dreamt of eyes, watching her, erratic, dead. Serval, dead on the floor, crawling towards her and calling her a killer. She woke in a cold sweat after the final nightmare; of Serval's blood spraying all over her, and decided it would be a better idea to get up.

So she fastened her boots and went above deck. The waters were calm, for once, and she stood, staring over the edge, down at the water and up at the moon. She basked in its gentle, silvery light. "Moon's blessings..." Her father used to say that. Most people celebrated the Sun Saint, because he lit the world up. Without the Sun Saint we wouldn't have heat or light for the farmers and their crop, he would say. But Farryn remembered her father always working late, so she saw him mostly at night. She'd lie awake in bed for hours after she'd been put to bed, waiting for the sound of his carriage to come into the yard. Then she'd race out of bed, and downstairs to hug him.

"Moon's Blessings Daddy," she'd yell into his shoulder as he gave her a big hug. "Moon's Blessings." If it was up to Farryn, the Moon Saint would be the important one. He was the one that brought her father home.