unraveled

hunger and paradise

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     The ground beneath Nia was moving. A quake, the apocalypse, a dragon landing, rose up as the possible explanations for this. She opened her eyes to see a wooden ceiling above her and felt wooden floorboards beneath her fingertips. They were on the ship. They were headed to Esterham. Excitement rose up mingled with panic as she realized that she didn't remember how she'd gotten here. Nia got up, hit her head on something and fell back down. Clutching her forehead she carefully got up, avoiding the low-set wooden beam running across the small cabin.

          She stood up, stepping over the beam and observed her surroundings, her priorities settling in with accordance to what she saw. Priority one, the boy wasn't here. Priority two, find the boy. These were the only two priorities she was actually interested in fulfilling. She thought about food and with no little hurt to her devoted "save the boy at all costs" mindset, she added it as another priority. Priority three, find food. The cabin was small and wooden. Her head grazed the ceiling as she walked to the small, circular window fit into the outer curving wall that she suspected was a part of the hull. Outside, water churned and her blood mirrored the motion. The sky above was a few shades darker than the glittering turquoise of the water whose surface was dotted with protruding, arches of water slapping against each other. On the adjoining wall was a mirror where Nia greedily surveyed herself after not having seen a mirror for the past four months. Her hair had grown to cling to her neck, and it seemed reluctant to touch her shoulders like a child folding its legs when lowered in an attempt to stay enclosed in its mother's arms longer. The strands were straight and black. Mercilessly black.

          As a kid, she had been told a story. The story of a long, long, long time ago when people didn't have black hair. It was only ever changing shades of blonde or brown but never black. One day in a village on the outskirts of Ils'hohir a young boy worked in a mine where he dug up coal. Food in the village was scarce so the people ate anything they could get their hands on. As the boy mined in hunger, the spirit of a man who had died in those mines rose up and ordered the boy to eat a lump of coal. Young but not stupid, the boy refused. "I'm not that hungry, sire."

"Ah. But my child, it is a delicacy. Food of the gods."

The boy shook his head.

          "What a shame then. It seems that you cannot be convinced. What a shame that you must miss out on something so delicious." The spirit left, satisfied in having teased the boy to a fatal curiosity.

          Shyly, the boy picked up a piece of coal nearby and ate it. He started choking on it and there was no one around to save him as he neared the verge of death. The spirit had been watching all this from around a corner and felt bad for tricking someone to their death. As repentance, the spirit gave up its soul to the boy and saved his life. When the boy woke back from the dead, his hair, his eyes, his eyebrows, his eyelashes, they were black. The darkest black ever seen. He grew up, had kids, and passed it along. It was said that generation upon generation the color had lightened to a normal, breathable black and not the suffocating, greedy black of Nia's hair. She suspected that somehow she too had eaten a piece of coal as a child which even to this age seemed like the most reasonable explanation to the shades of her hair that angrily contrasted with her bright blue eyes. Her eyes were far too blue for her comfort, and as a child, the sheer color they held had scared her. But she'd grown to appreciate them. They weren't a shade of blue, not turquoise or cornflower blue but blue. The very essence of just: blue. Her face was sunken, features lost inside her bones. Her eyes were distant blue orbs, her cheekbones stood out sharp enough to cut somebody, her lips were chapped and thin. Her cheeks were hollow. The veins in her neck stood out and her collarbone jutted out like a rocky cliff. She realized that she was wearing different clothes. Unease filled her when she thought about who exactly might have changed them and quite possibly seen her naked. Her massive fleece coat and boots were nowhere to be seen and had been replaced by a thin white shirt that hung loosely to her figure and billowed with the sea wind. She wore brown pants that clung to her legs and disappeared beneath black leather boots that came up to kiss her knees. A pink and green checkered cloak hung next to her mirror, and she tied it over her shoulders so it drew behind her like a cape and mercifully hid some of her mop-handle figure. Her stomach grumbled loud enough to draw her out of the room through a wooden door fitted into the opposite wall that opened into a thin hallway outside. To her right, the hallway held more doors, each closed to rooms she suspected were taken by other performers. To her left it climbed into a staircase that led upwards into a square of light through which she could see the sky. The smell of bacon and eggs wafted in to enchant her legs to walk towards the stairs out of their own accord and Nia let them even though she felt the urge to check the other rooms to find the boy. 

          The stairs creaked under her feet and smelled of damp wood and salty winds. Summer enveloped her the moment she stepped onto the deck, that had a ferocious dragon painted on it in shades of fiery red, and tame orange and peaceful yellow. Nia stood on its scales and peered up at the sun, shyly peeking from between the clouds, like a little school girl. The great white canvas of the masts were filled with wind behind her, flailing like handkerchiefs hung on a giant's laundry line. Pockets of red and orange fabric hung between wooden spars, flailing in the wind. Intertwining through them were long pieces of green silk that shimmered in the sunlight, hanging like unmarked flags. Two boys bustled near the stern of the ship, working with giant black nets. Some performers were scattered on the deck like tossled chess pieces. Nia saw Ana in a little dress, sunbathing on the deck with her eyes closed. Nia felt a strong urge to walk on her. Skender stood quietly by the railing looking out at the glittery blue that surrounded them. If she squinted really hard, she could see the faint outlines of the distant icy shore they had left which was the only proof that land was an existing truth and not a distant, dreamed memory. Her nose sniffed for the bacon she'd smelled earlier like a hungry dog and trailed it to a plate kept on a step on the deck. Quietly, she padded over and sat on the step and pulled the plate onto her lap. Not so quietly, she gobbled down the food with impressive speed and in minutes her plate was empty and her stomach was somewhat filled. She sat there on the step, her hair whipping around her face, the cloak spread out behind her and decided that she could spend her life this way. She thought of all the stories she could have of the things she could see. Passing moments packed infinite packages of possibilities. She vaguely remembered sitting on a ship before but it was hazy with the glimmer of infancy. She wondered if it had happened when her and her mother had supposedly gone to Esterham. And then she wondered of her mother. She would love it here, said an instant voice. And after a moment of consideration another, more fitting voice said, no, she would hate this. There was no chimney for her to waft out the smell of her bread through. All her rolling pins would most definitely roll off into the water. And the moist air would hardly be good for pinsch dough that required a dry climate, she thought as her eyes aimlessly traced the body of the dragon that slept across the deck from stern to bow where the ship's two sides met in a neat corner. She aimlessly walked towards it, unconsciously walking in a winded path that was the dragon's body. Here, the wind was most piercing, her hair and cloak threatened to fly away. Holding on the clasp of her cloak, she leaned onto the railing and looked out into vast expanse. The figurehead beneath was a man with angelic wings that spread across both sides of the ship. He was holding a lyre and a braided crown of bronze sat crookedly on his brow. Below him, the water willingly parted in white foam, its colors churning like potion in a cauldron. She felt elated, as if the breeze and the smell and the sight was lighting up every cell inside her, charging it. She wanted to jump into the water, feel its softness on her skin, her clothes drenched. She wanted to fly away with the wind. It was so different from Cervaux, yet it was all the same in that her very soul was happy.  She held on to the feeling, saving it to pull out later on not so happy days. 

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Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed!! Come back soon for the next part!! VOTE AND COMMENT!