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Aifread finds Eizen in the same place he always finds him on days like today—days when the searing blue sky turns black out of nowhere; days where lightning splits the mainmast in two, days when crewmen have accidents and sometimes don’t survive. He finds him in the corner of the cabin, arms wrapped around his knees, white as a ghost and staring, blank-eyed, into middle distance. Aifread crouches in front of the boy and raps him sharply on the head with two knuckles.
“Hey, anyone in there, kid?”
Eizen turns his head slowly to look at him, but those eyes stay empty, echoing the despair that had permeated the ship before Aifread and his crew had moved in and made it home. The unique hopelessness of a cursed man. Aifread’s knees crack and pop as he settles down next to the unresponsive Eizen, and he leans against the hard wood of the ship’s hull and chuckles a bit.
“I’m too damn young to deal with bad knees. I should start stretching or something like that, take some strain off these joints.”
Outside the cabin, the crewmen bustle about barking at each other as they repair the mast the best they can with what’s on hand. Luckily, they’re only about a day out of Reneed in the worst-case scenario—the only scenario Aifread’s planned for ever since making the Van Eltia his home and befriending the creature what haunts it.
As much as anyone can befriend a Reaper, that is.
No, Aifread shakes off the thought. He is Eizen’s friend, perhaps the only one; in all their conversations, Eizen has scarcely mentioned acquaintances among his own kind. If Eizen is determined to drive himself away out of fear, then Aifread has sworn to be the one that stays. As long as the Van Eltia remains Eizen’s vessel; as long as his blood still sings with the breeze and the tides and his brain is still working enough to be drawn to contradictions, curiosities, wrinkles in the fabric—like a handsome young man no one can see; a creature the embodiment of the sun-warmed sand and the high mountains choosing the life of a sailor.
There’s no way to gauge how long it will take for Eizen to stop shaking and uncurl from within himself. Aifread almost wishes he could have a smoke while he waits. A stray ember could set the drapes aflame, or he could choke, or some other freak accident could occur. Aifread doesn’t take his eyes off Eizen’s huddled form as he pulls tobacco and his pipe from a pouch on his belt. He kicks his boots up onto the plush bench beside him. Normally this would set Eizen to squawking about the upholstery, which would lead into a fifteen-minute lecture about the history of velvet in Northgand or some other such topic. But this time he doesn’t bite—not that Aifread hadn’t expected as much.
“You know, boy, storms happen. Men fall overboard. Sea dogs die at sea. It’s the way of the world, curse or no curse.”
Outside the window, the sky is a clear, blisteringly bright blue. Unlucky, honestly; some of the work that needs to be done on the ship requires a fine touch and a sharp eye, so the glare will make it harder and slower. Aifread closes his eyes and basks in the light breeze that wafts in through the cracked window. What beautiful weather.
“There’s not a crew member aboard this ship who’d balk at any monster your curse can throw at us. The only ones who sail with Aifread are the ones with courage in their hearts, the wind at their backs, and nothing left to lose—to tie them down to something they’re dreaming of coming home to.”
A hollow laugh. “So you’re telling me that I shouldn’t feel guilt because the only people I kill are the ones who aren’t afraid of dying? That’s hogshit.”
“How d’you mean?”
“Regardless of how they may feel about the prospect, it’s still a fact that if the ship weren’t my vessel they would still be alive. My curse robbed them of life.”
“A storm robbed them of life.”
“A storm brought about by my curse.”
“Boy.” Aifread douses his pipe and leans forward onto his knees, the better to stare directly at Eizen. The boy lifts his head slightly from his knees so that just those blazing blue eyes can bore into Aifread. “Boy, we could talk in circles about this all damn day and into the night. Maybe your curse did cause the storm. Maybe the storm was caused by atmospheric currents and unseasonably warm waters. There is no earthly way to tell, unless you’ve been lying to me this whole time and are secretly an all-knowing Empyrean, that is.”
“I’ve lived long enough to know.”
“Or maybe you’ve lived long enough to start believing your own ghost stories, Reaper.”
“You’re going to die,” Eizen says.
The non sequitur takes Aifread slightly off guard. The words seem like they should’ve been shouted, but Eizen’s voice stays as level as ever.
“Aye,” is the only response he can give. It just makes Eizen scoff and turn away. So the best Aifread can do is return one abrupt subject change with another.
“You know,” Aifread continues, “I’ve mulled over offering to be your vessel myself. I know some humans do that. Exorcists or witches. And, figuring that since I’m able to see you, I’d thought it might be a better offer to you than the ship, as much of a beauty as she is. Since you’re so worried about hurting the crew and all—what if you only stood to curse one man?”
Eizen’s pale face is now fixed on him entirely, ashen and wary.
“But then I decided against it. Seemed too much, y’know? I could offer, as much as I could offer to loan my life’s savings to that Benwick kid with the birds, but the act of offering itself puts a burden on your shoulders. Makes you beholden to me.”
The cabin they’re in is supposed to belong to the captain. Anyone can see that; it’s the most lavish of any of the ship’s holds, and it’s centrally located. However, Aifread bunks down with the crew, and no one has entered this cabin but Aifread whenever he wants to talk to Eizen. The crew claim it’s haunted, and while they’re more likely to joke around with each other about it than actually be afraid of a ghost, they keep a respectful distance all the same.
Still, though, it’s time Aifread stepped up as captain for this particular member of the crew.
He goes to his knees, despite their creaking, and forces Eizen’s shoulders up. “Don’t ever be beholden to someone. You can sit here after every storm or raid, quaking in your boots about what might have or should have happened if you hadn’t been here, or you can put yourself into the thick of the action and work against the damage. It’s your damn life, curse or no curse. Just like the crew decide to stay aboard a haunted ship sailing for the edge of the world, you can decide to live as a person. Or,” he takes his hands off Eizen’s shoulders and stands up, holding his hands up in mock surrender, “you can choose to fade away. It’s your decision. It’s your hand on the rudder. You choose where your ship sails.”
As he leaves the cabin, he feels faintly ridiculous for lecturing a being of light and mana, a spirit older than the trees felled to build the Van Eltia. But he knows there’s something more to Eizen than the way his fear paralyzes him. They haven’t talked much about his origins, but Aifread’s sure he’s an earth malak, if that hair is anything to go by. An earth malak stowing away to a life at sea? Aifread can’t help his burning curiosity.
There’s something about Eizen, some quality that makes Aifread believe that they may be kindred spirits.
The next day, Eizen leaves the cabin. He trails around behind the crew, studying the way they hand the ropes, watching keenly over the navigator’s shoulder at the compass and the maps.
They breathe in the heavy salt air, and the Van Eltia sails on.