Chapter 8

Strides-Tall found it impossible to settle down and let the crew of the Wings of Hope do all the work, not after they had endangered themselves, perhaps even to the extent of making themselves outlaws. In order to avoid getting in the way of the rest of the crew, however, she had to find out just how the ship worked - how it flew through space, how one could walk on what appeared to be a main deck exposed to space and not suffocate...

Najar, the silver-haired elven man whose duty it was to keep the most complex equipment on the ship working, was happy to explain. "The Rage destroyed most of the planets in The Realm, but it also changed the way space reacts to large masses. Space stretches under the weight of worlds and islands, like a fish causes a fishing net to sag, and energy flows from one of these indentations to another, along channels of stretched space, creating the aether-currents we ride thanks to the big main power-sails, back near the stern.

"A multi-layered force-shell over the open deck keeps in the air, but if that fails, we should still survive, because free concentrations of air, cast into space by The Rage, drain into the sags and channels too. That same air allows the islands to sustain life, and artificial suns, some mechanical, some magical, feed on the surrounding energy to give light. There's only one way to describe it - elegance out of chaos..."

Confident that she would not make a fool of herself, thanks to Najar's guidance, Strides-Tall presented herself for duty.

"There really is no need", insisted Captain Phershac. "You're our guest..."

"But I'm not a paying guest", she replied, "and I doubt that aether-sails or force-shell conduits are free."

Phershac, surprised by the girl's leap of knowledge, looked to Najar, and the elven sailor returned a sheepish smile and a shrug. "Well, let's see what you can do", said the captain, gesturing towards one of the steering sails up near the bow.

Strides-Tall almost flew up the mast, to the point where the mast extended beyond the force-shell. The crew stood spell-bound by her display of unearthly agility, their attention guaranteed by her rather revealing style of dress, and the captain knew they would never allow him to waste his breath by trying to talk her out of helping again. If, of course, he had any breath to spare after watching the girl's performances, his eyes following her fine golden hair and long, dark leather boots as she climbed...

The Wings of Hope was essentially a trading ship, and its route to the supposed haven of Freeport was far from direct, thanks to its need to make use of the energy currents. There were brief stopovers at a number of different ports, all built on the same improbable floating islands of rock, as well as a number of meetings with other ships in the space between. Keen to avoid trouble, the elf stayed on the ship, and out of sight, not wanting to been seen by anyone who could pass word on to anyone who might want to recapture her, and cause her benefactors any further hardship in the process.

I have too few friends in The Realm to go squandering them, she told herself as she hid in her cabin during one such stopover. I owe them more than just the fare to Freeport.

During those quiet times, and whenever Strides-Tall was not working with the crew, dining with the captain or up on deck, gazing wistfully at the wonders that sailing amongst the stars presented to her, the elf found ways to keep herself occupied. Usually, she concentrated on developing her levitation powers, working on extending the time she could keep her own weight airborne, but from time to time, she amused herself in other ways...

Late one night, when the ship was silent but for the occasional creak of its force-shell-bolstered timbers, Strides-Tall woke quite unexpectedly, body damp with her own sweat, heart pounding so strongly she could nearly feel it in her somewhat parched throat. It was a feeling she had felt before, in that tension-drenched moment just after performing some wild stunt to recover an ancient treasure, when something could so easily go wrong.

The tension on this occasion came from a deeper, more private place than normal, and it did not go away. It needed a special kind of release...

The elf-girl hurled back her bunk's single sheet, allowing the warm air to reach her bare skin - bare apart from most of her legs, which were encased in her jewel-adorned thigh-high leather boots. She slept in boots whenever the desire came upon her, and these were boots that brought that yearning out on most nights.

Strides-Tall's hands slid down her body, following the contours of her breasts and the silky-soft plain of her stomach before arriving at the tops of her boots. Her fingers lingered there for a while, caressing the smooth oval jewels, finger-tips tracing around them, until wild inspiration came upon her.

Rising from her mattress, the elven woman leaned forward, took hold of the toe and heel of her right boot and pulled hard. The boot came free easily, and Strides-Tall fell back onto the bed, the shaft of the boot flopping onto her bare belly. Letting the foot of the boot rest between her breasts, she placed her hands on the boot and massaged the exquisite supple leather, feeling it flex and wrinkle under her fingers and move against her stomach.

The adventuress slowly moved the boot up her body, bringing the slightly tapering heel up close to her face. She kissed it, then parted her lips and let her tongue run up the heel's length, then along the side of the foot to the narrow, yet not overly pointed toe. The leather was, to her, simply delicious, its scent thrilling and intoxicating and its flavour strangely spicy.

Sighing softly, Strides-Tall slid the boot back down her body, so that the top of it folded, lengthwise, into the acute angle formed by her thighs. The jewels touched the most sensitive skin on her body, causing her whole body to shudder with joy, and the elf used them, then the toe of the boot, there to achieve the release her body, and her innermost urges sought...

It was an especially invigorated Strides-Tall that Captain Phershac welcomed to his cabin the next morning, just half a day out from Freeport. He had no idea what could have left her so energised, beyond her impending arrival at Freeport, and he did not give a moment's thought to asking, leaving all the questions to his breakfast guest. She had plenty of those, and he did his best to satisfy her curiosity, at the cost of his own.

"First of all", he told her, when she asked about Freeport, "go to what I think they're now calling the Office of Misplaced Persons, who'll most likely direct you to a place on Falcon Street called 'The Foundlings' Nest'. They'll give you a roof over your head until you find your feet."

Strides-Tall did not say anything in response, a striking departure from what had gone before. This sudden silence, and the girl's bowed head made Dallian wonder what he had done that could so swiftly douse the fire of her spirits. "Is - is something wrong?", he asked softly.

"I...I can leave you without saying something about Resta", murmured the elf, close to tears. "I...I never meant for anything to happen to her. I offered to let the giant..."

Captain Phershac shook his head. "Do not blame yourself", he said firmly, his hand reaching across the table towards hers, but not quite touching. "Resta took it upon herself to give shelter to whoever needed it, even though there were risks. She offered aid to all, despite knowing that her next guest could be the one who, knowingly or otherwise, led disaster to her door."

"I pray that she escaped", murmured the adventuress. "If she did, I would really like to know."

"You're more likely to find that out than me", said Phershac. "I don't think me and my ship'll be welcome in Kattan'Gyar again. If you ever hear anything, I, too, would very much like to know."

"That's a deal, then", declared the elf, and her smile returned. It was a rather weak smile to being with, but it grew in strength when Dallian mirrored the gesture. Food helped restore the mood as well, the comfort of a full stomach making life seem not quite so cold and grim.

Her inner demons driven away, Strides-Tall could focus on preparing for Freeport again, and Dallian became a font of knowledge once again. He painted a picture of a busy trading port, a pleasant enough place with any sources of unrest well under control. There were Dyals living there, and Shr'Ganti visited from time to time, but the captain emphasised that the traders and shop-keepers, the hands on the reins of power in Freeport, would not allow anything into the city that would put business in any danger.

"You'll do fine, I'm sure", he said in conclusion. "I get the feeling it'll be your kind of town."

"And what makes you think that?", she enquired.

"Everything I've seen so far."

The Captain then proposed a toast, raising a glass of clear wine. "To wayward souls - may they find the peace they long for, and with it, happiness..."

At that exact same moment, many millions of miles away on Freeport, just such a wayward soul was finding that peace and happiness did not necessarily go hand in hand. Yes, she had found happiness, but life in The Realm seemed to become more and more mysterious the more she tried to learn about who she had been before her arrival in Lord Serpentine's strange kingdom.

In her dream, the streets of Freeport were deserted, even though it was the middle of the day. Everything was tinged red, as though the city-island's artificial suns were glowing that colour, yet it did not seem out of place. As before, she was strolling up the Market Walk, her shadow stretching ahead of her, until she came to the northern end, and a building with a wooden sign, featuring a rose, hanging over the door...

The girl looked closer, trying to see if there was a name, but she recoiled when her shadow fell across the wall in front of her. The shadow had suddenly acquired bat-like wings...

The girl awoke suddenly, sitting bolt upright in her bed, blue eyes wide and staring. Three nights in a row, she had had the same dream - three nights too many - and come the morning, she was going to do something about it.

All too soon, the time came for Strides-Tall to bid the Wings of Hope farewell. She had made some very good friends there, and toyed with the idea of staying with Phershac and his crew, something her adventurous spirit found extremely attractive. She decided against it in the end, feeling a need for stability under her feet as well as in her life.

At least for now, she said to herself.

"Feel free to come aboard, and share the stars with us again, mistress Strides-Tall", said Dallian as she got ready to disembark. "I'm sure we'll be able to find you a berth."

"May we both have many stories to share over moonwine on that day", she replied, and kissed him on the cheek before setting off down the gangplank.

"You let that one get away, Dallian", Najar whispered in the Captain's ear as the elf strode purposefully down to the quayside, a slight breeze stirring her hair and the folds of her near-transparent shirt. "Losing your touch...?"

"No", murmured Captain Phershac. "She'll be back. Her heart won't let her stay away."

Following Dallian's advice, Strides-Tall headed south from the docks and into the city, pausing just once to look back at the Wings of Hope. A smile on her face, joy in her heart - and a tear in her eye - the elven adventuress went to find her new life, which she hoped would begin at the Office of Misplaced Persons.

 

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