On The Wings Of An Albatross

Nightmares

Four years and ten months ago.

There was a fragility to it; life. A kind of delicate chaos that Sanem had only seen glimpses of so far. How things could so quickly change, how heartbeats could so easily be given and so easily taken away, how whole futures could be destroyed and left in broken 'what ifs', all in the fallout of one bare and vulnerable instant.

It was a concept that would become intimately familiar to Sanem. As she sat, unaware, studying the little glass bluebell held in her hand, realising how easy it would be, were she to drop it, for the flower to shatter against the floorboards into lifeless shards.

The news settled over the crew with all the comfort of a rain-sodden blanket on a cold night, quiet snuffing out whatever delicate traces of excitement had remained as the flashes of colour continued against the dark sky over the silhouette of the city, the moment Can returned to the ship.

Ayaz was dead.

Most of the crew had only known the glass smith in passing; it was not their own mourning they were feeling, but Can's.

"Why?" Guliz was the first to ask but not the first to wonder. Ayaz was as prone to making enemies as a butterfly was prone to sting; being a glass smith was not a life known for provoking cold-hearted murder. Normally.

Sanem was looking at Ayaz's gift when Can's searching eyes found hers. He prayed he was wrong, hoped that there might be a million other reckless reasons why someone would want Ayaz dead, a million others reasons that had nothing to do with the fact that Can had walked into his shop only that morning. But it was a truth that hurt him to accept, that this was more than just a coincidence, that his attempts to keep his uncle unaware of the treasure they'd carried had done nothing at all to keep him safe, that Sanem's assumption must have been shared with whoever had done this. After all, who better to inspect a fabled glass key than a glassmaker?

"What does it mean?" Someone asked, he hadn't paid attention to who.

"It means we're still being followed," It means you put Sanem in far more danger than you'd originally thought. "It means we need to leave."

Under normal circumstances, asking his crew to set sail before the festival had finished was like trying to pry an enraged lobster's claw off your pinky finger. But this time, they didn't argue. Pulling up anchor and letting loose the canvas after Can indicated for Metin, Deren and Sanem to follow into his cabin.

The news would spread through the city like a flame over dry kindling, anyone who wasn't already aware that Can Divit had the key to Anaiga would soon find out. They needed to prepare for the impending shit storm that was about to follow.

---

Sanem was only half paying attention as the three of them formed a plan, something about retreating north, meeting up with others - places and people she didn't know.

She sat the bag down on Can's desk beside her. Now empty of all but one, yet feeling heavier than it had all day. Ignoring the discussion she didn't feel she was meant to be a part of, her hands found the glass sphere and pulled it into the light of the oil lanterns as her eyes inspected the flecks of silver in the spherical sky of glowing blue.

How could such a little thing cause so much trouble? No one was even certain what the damn thing was - clutching desperately at rumours and fairytales, willing to kill or be killed squabbling over a line in a nursery rhyme.

Pirates, Sanem decided, were either remarkably foolish, or incredibly stupid.

But there was something otherworldly about it. As she turned it over in delicate hands, blue and humming as shimmering constellations twirled in her hold. Heat stolen indiscernible slowly from her skin, the cold of the glass seeping into the tips of her fingers that had been warm only moments before. She was more than happy to pass it to Can when he asked for it, the chill working its way into the palm of her hand before he took the orb and returned it to the safety of the small iron vault in the corner of his room.