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Ever since she was a child, Katara dreamed of what existed beyond the boundaries of her tribe. It started as an ephemeral thought that would flash through her mind in moments when boredom would overtake her day. However, with the passing of time, the thought began rooting in the depths of her brain, making its appearance in her deeper and wilder fantasies. She had always prided herself in having a very creative imagination, and she lived fully through these unachievable dreams. She attempted, at first, to shake those thoughts away, knowing that she would never get the chance to explore the world.
As much as she loved the idea of travelling and discovering new places, she loved her family and her home, and no one that had ever left the South Pole came back. No one could confirm the reasons behind why people did not return; those who considered themselves optimistic believed that they had died at some point in their adventures, either by the hand of a hostile bandit or at the hand of the unforgiving nature of the ocean.
Katara remembers the day she had finally decided to leave.
It was only a few days after her sixteenth birthday, when her father had approached her. She kept her sight focused on her task of sewing a pair of pants that were torn, unconcerned with whatever he had to say to her when he broke his silence, a few tense and fast-paced words that stumbled out of his mouth. A cold shiver had run down her spine as her fingers twitched, accidentally ripping open a part of her work.
Marriage. The words felt like liquid copper flooding her mouth and making her tongue feel heavy.
She knew that following tradition, she was supposed to get betrothed. Most of the girls around her age were already married, some even having arranged to marry someone since they were young girls. She should have known that the tradition was meant to be brought up at some point, especially because at her age, she was already considered “a late bloomer”. All things considered, she should have known this conversation was coming. Nevertheless, that could not stop the sick sensation that she felt at the pit of her stomach.
It was short after that conversation that she made a decision— she had to leave. She would not leave forever; only for enough time to pass so she would not have to get married to some man she did not know. If no person of her tribe had returned before, then she was going to prove she was the exception.
When her grandmother intercepted her escape in the middle of the night, she expected, at the bare minimum, a scolding, and most likely, being forced back to her home, eradicating any chance of getting away. She was shocked when the only thing her grandmother did was to put one lock of hair behind her and kissed her cheek, wishing her luck in her journey and promising to pray for the spirits to keep her safe.
Every day at night, when the sharp winds would blow against her skin and when her empty stomach would bellow its protest, she would remember the last words her grandmother said to her, a warning, an advice, and a charm all at once: “Have hope, but never be deluded by the world’s beauty; the open seas are a dangerous place for a lone woman”.
A seagull squeals high up in the sky, disrupting her thoughts. Her wrists are taut tied together, piercing her soft flesh. She tentatively tries to find any sort of possible movement, rubbing her joint bones and flexing her fingers. The rope does not allow for much stirring, but she does not consider it a lost cause.
The ship rocks with every push of the waves against the wooden structure and the floorboards creaks with every footstep taken in front of and behind her. The salt air flows through her hair, entangling her dark brown locks, and causing goosebumps to erupt all over her bare arms.
She looks forward to the back of Satoshi, the captain of the fleet where her and the rest of the bound women are being forced to walk to. Two of the men, the bulkiest of the bunch, she notices absentmindedly, grabs her by her intertwined wrists and throws her to the center of the deck, making her land on her bottom. She bits her lower lip, willing to not let out a small groan of pain.
The men follow suit with the rest of the women, and soon, they are all placed together in the middle in a circle. She stretches her fingers to touch the tip of one of her companions’ thumb, roughed by splinters caused due to living and working in a wooden ship. Jian squeezes her fingertip, and she understands the sign immediately. Her chest relaxes; she leaves out an almost inaudible sigh, having not realizing before the tension that had overtaken her body only a couple of seconds ago.
Satoshi stands right in front of her, swinging his hips at the rhythm of the pull of the ocean. His waistcoat is timeworn, judging by the threadbare state of the grimy velvet material and the missing of all but three buttons that are hanging on by a thin string. The man scans with his one good eye and catches her curious sight. He smiles, flashing his yellowed, crooked teeth and showing off a snaggle tooth that takes the center of attention on his face.
He averts his eyes away from her and turns his back to talk to his crew. “Tonight, we’re having fun!” he announces.
He turns back around again and pierces her with his darkened gaze. She contents herself with glaring at him, expressing all that she needs to say wordlessly. The rest of the crewmen aboard cheers at the proclamation of their captain, giddy with the excitement of being with women after not seeing any woman in such a long time.
Katara looks up to the cloudless sky, a rare but always wanted occurrence. She looks forwards to the men, who are all too distracted to mind the women sitting in the middle of the deck and are instead too engrossed in their vulgar fantasies.
She taps Jian’s palm with her fingertip and holds her touch for a second. Then she pokes once, and repeats the motion of tapping and holding her touch three more times. She pokes and holds her touch two times. Jian squeezes her hand, and each of the women are told of the same thing through a squeeze.
One of the women, the smallest and most inoffensive-looking of the bunch, bends her back slightly to push the shard of glass down her back and on the destination of her hands. She shows her efficiency and cuts the rope tying her wrists and of the other women in mere seconds. It takes less than a minute to cut all the ropes; they have done this before.
The women jump off their seats on the deck, some rushing to fight a couple of shocked men that were left on the main deck, while others run to the forecastle deck, surprising the unaware crew. Jian, her second-hand and her group most agile member, climbs the main mast to the crow’s nest to hang the flag she had kept hidden in her bindings.
Katara does not distract herself with the tasks of her crewmates, and focuses completely with her objective. She runs past the men on the main deck that were already overtaken and being bound by the women and crouches as she slides to grab one of the swords that used to belong to the men.
She jumps the steps up to the stern deck, smirking at the sight of the shocked captain. She takes advantage of his disbelief and kicks him on the chest, pushing him down on the floor. She places one of her boots on top of his chest, and his breathing becomes erratic at the panic he is drowning in.
She points the sword at mere millimeters away from his throat, and his eyes widens at the rhythm of the color draining off his face. Still with her foot on top of his chest, she bends down so they can see each other eye to eye until she can feel his putrid breath on her face. She grasps the front of his dirty shirt and closes the distance even further. She sneers when his breathing quickens, satisfied with the presence of fear in every part of his body. She has done this many times before, but it never becomes less gratifying.
“I’m the captain now”.