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While fishing has always been one of the main industries on Akeisa, the island has a long history of trade. Its fine tundra cotton is especially prized, but other unique items include intricate driftwood carvings and brass jewelry. But by far their most precious resource is their knowledge of the sea. The sailors of Linzen and Kelann might protest, but no one knows the ocean like an Akeisan captain.

Akeisa: Customs and Culture

by Guildmaster Klement

Naia had made an unlikely friend at Seahold—a master shipwright who specialized in small vessels. Stefan constructed each craft himself, painstakingly planing every plank and sanding every board, judging everything by look and feel alone. Naia would visit him near the docks sometimes, and they would chat as he began construction on a crab boat or put the finishing touches on a dinghy.

He would ask her questions about boats, questions she could only answer if she said whatever came instantly to mind, without stopping to think about her words. Whatever seafaring knowledge she’d brought with her from the Dream was buried in her borrowed memories, and the key to accessing it seemed to be instinct. In this way, over the months, her friend had been able to benefit from the wisdom of other masters he had never met, both far-flung and ancient.

In return, Stefan would tell Naia about his family. Often, his wife would bring them lunch, and Naia would chat with her while Stefan crooned softly to the rounded swell of her stomach—and the child growing inside of her.

Inga had explained to Naia that babies in the womb could purportedly learn to recognize the cadence and timbre of certain sounds. They could be born recognizing their parents’ voices.

Being on the Kraken felt like that to Naia.

It was simply something she recognized in her bones. Not the people—she was still learning their names—or even the anatomy or logistics of a ship like the Kraken. But she had heard the cadence and timbre of it all, long before she came into being.

Sometimes, the mood on the ship was all business ... but not tonight. They had been out at sea long enough to fall into a routine where there was less constant work to do, and more time to laugh and play.

After dinner, Petya set a skeleton crew. Nearly everyone else gathered in the spacious quarterdeck cabin to drink, play cards, and simply be .

Naia looked around at the faces she had slowly started to recognize. There was the second mate, Jinevra, who also served as the ship’s quartermaster. She wore her black hair in braids decorated with carved beads that bounced off her smooth brown cheeks as she shook her head, laughing at one of Silvio’s off-color jokes. Finally, she waved him away and went back to her book, still chuckling. Her wife, Arayda, sat beside her, light glinting off her blue hair as she bent her head over a pile of velvet. She was pulling lush golden thread through the lapel of a jacket.

A gift, she had said, for their captain. Her accent was soft, elegant, something that Naia vaguely recognized. She had heard that Arayda was a runaway princess from some far-off land to the east, which certainly explained her skill with a needle ... and her familiarity with formal clothing.

Brynjar was a bull of a man, with reddish hair and a full beard. His wife, Bexi, was quiet, a skilled fighter who was good with her hands. He liked to brew things—“all sorts of things, so mind your head,” Einar had warned her—and Bexi was fond of wood carving.

She was working on a piece now. It was a shard of wood, part of a plank from a sunken vessel. Naia had thought, perhaps, that she’d just found the piece, but apparently she’d held on to it for more than ten years. Waiting until the wood whispered to her what she should carve in order to properly memorialize the fallen ship’s history.

Naia had brought enough memories of dockside taverns with her from the Dream to know that Silvio was a gambler. He was tall, with dark, shaggy hair and a charming, flirtatious smile. His hands were constantly moving, shuffling through decks of cards or rolling coins across the backs of his fingers. He had abandoned his jokes in favor of arguing with Solorena, a solemn-looking woman with pale skin who was very serious, but still somehow pulsed with an otherworldly, almost mystical energy.

Naia didn’t know them well, but just like their work on the ship, there was a rhythm to this. Being isolated and in close quarters, out to sea for months or years at a time, either made for the bitterest of enemies or the closest of friends.

Or it made a family.

Harlen, the cook, was a large man with a jolly disposition. He wore an apron even when he wasn’t busy in the galley, and he somehow managed to keep it pristine at all times. He pressed a tankard into Naia’s hand. “Brynjar’s latest. Try it.”

It smelled like mead, sweet and fruity with a hint of spice. Naia took a sip, and the rich flavors of cloves and currants washed over her tongue. “It’s delicious.”

Brynjar beamed at her. “I’m honored, my lady.”

“Lucky is what you are,” Silvio drawled before winking at Naia. “Sometimes his experiments turn out so odd the captain won’t even let us throw them overboard. Doesn’t want to scare away the fish.”

Naia smiled. “You’re exaggerating.”

“ Yes , he is.” Nusaiba smoothed a piece of paper out on the table before them. Then she pulled a silver flask from her hip pocket, unscrewed the cap, and poured a small puddle of black ink onto the corner of the sheet.

“Better put that away,” Brynjar rumbled, “before Silvio decides to sneak a drink. He’s done it before.”

“Scandalous falsehoods,” Silvio declared.

Bexi snorted. “The truth of it was all over your face, Sil—literally. It took you a week to get the ink stains off your lips.”

“Shh,” Petya urged. “Don’t distract Nusaiba when she’s trying to work.”

The young woman placed her finger lightly on the very edge of the paper. Then she looked at Naia—no, she gazed at her, with a searching look that seemed less like she was studying Naia’s face and more like she was peering into her soul.

Slowly, the ink began to spiral up from the puddle, forming lines that stretched through the air, bending in on themselves. Naia had seen her do this once before, just before the battle against the Betrayer, when Nusaiba had used her abilities to sketch an intricate map of Sorin’s hidden fortress. This time, the lines swirled into a tiny, perfect replica of Naia. Not sitting at the table, but standing at the bow of the Kraken with the wind in her hair and both moons hanging overhead in a sky strewn with stars. Slowly, the ink sank back into the paper, holding fast to the lines Nusaiba had drawn in midair.

It was a beautiful process, even otherworldly, and it took Naia a moment to speak past the lump in her throat. “That’s lovely. You have a rare gift.”

“Thank you, Lady Naia.” Nusaiba slid the paper across the table to her. “I enjoy having an excuse to create something other than navigational charts.”

Curiosity gripped Naia. “If you don’t mind my asking, how does it work? You’re clearly not limited to things you’ve seen with your eyes. Do you see them some other way?”

The young woman tilted her head. “In a manner of speaking. I need someplace to start, like the notes the Phoenix brought me about the Betrayer’s stronghold. But I’ve always been good at putting the pieces together in my mind, and if I can see it there ...” She grinned and waved to the paper. “I’ve always had a vivid imagination.”

It seemed too simple to be true, but Naia wasn’t rude enough to press for more details. Besides, people’s secrets were their own—especially on a pirate ship. “I appreciate the gift.”

“Your turn for a magic trick, Solorena.” Silvio gestured toward her as he opened his fiddle case and prepared to tune the instrument. “Do one of your readings for the lady.”

“If she likes.” The woman hummed and tilted her head. “Do you wish to know what I see, Lady Naia? Consider the question carefully, for not everyone does.”

Naia bit her lip to hide a smile. “I am not afraid.”

“I did not speak of fear.” Solorena lifted her hands from the table as Harlen slid three small, delicate glasses of water to rest in a line in front of her. “Shall we make the others leave?”

“Not at all. Anyone is welcome to hear what you have to say to me.”

“Very well.” Solorena reached for Naia’s hands and held them loosely in hers, their arms forming a complete circle around the trio of glasses.

Slowly, the water in the glasses began to shimmer. Lines drifted up from nowhere to float on the surface, multicolored and glistening like an oil slick. They came together to form identical but abstract images in each glass, almost like a language that Naia could not read.

Solorena peered down at the glasses ... and frowned. “Intriguing. The glasses represent your past, present, and future.” She blinked at Naia. “Yours are all the same.”

“Is that ... strange?”

“Exceedingly.” She continued to stare at Naia until Silvio struck the first notes on his fiddle, then finally released her hands. The water in the glasses cleared immediately, and Solorena lifted one glass absently to her lips. “Fascinating.”

Harlen held out his hand as Silvio started playing, silently inviting Naia to dance.

She took his hand gladly, and laughed out loud when he began to move. For a moment, he and Naia simply danced to the lively beat—at least, as much as they could in the relatively small space of the cabin. Then Jinevra joined them, and the three of them laughed and danced through song after song.

Then, when Naia had just started to think that Silvio’s hands would never tire, the music abruptly stopped. Naia turned, following all the other gazes to the door.

Einar stood there, his hands resting on the top of the jamb. His face was fixed in a stern expression, but his eyes twinkled with mirth.

Naia shivered.

“So,” Einar growled. “You lot decided to throw a party, and no one invited the captain?”

Solorena frowned, looking thoroughly confused. “Did you need an invitation?”

Einar’s lips twitched as he dropped his hands from the jamb and strolled into the room. “Probably not,” he admitted. “But it’s rude to have this much fun without me.”

“Acknowledged.”

Silvio had set aside his fiddle, but Harlen retrieved his concertina and struck up another song, this one slow and soulful.

Einar looked at Naia, who was rooted to the spot, unable to move. He walked over to her slowly, his hand outstretched, one eyebrow raised in a silent question.

Dancing with him was a bad idea, all things considered, but she took his hand anyway. She didn’t even decide to, just laid her hand in his.

She had to say something. “You’re late,” was all she managed.

“Am I?” He smiled wickedly and pulled at her hand. A sudden sway of the ship left her pressed against his chest. “I’ll have to make up for it, somehow.”

She fell silent again. Perhaps words weren’t necessary at moments like these. A thousand of them, after all, couldn’t affect her as much as the gentle pressure of Einar’s fingers through her tunic.

The ship swayed again. Their feet weren’t even moving, but it still felt like they were dancing, and Naia blinked up at him.

“This is the Kraken, Naia,” he whispered. “When you dance with the captain, you dance with the ship.”

She could feel it as she rested her hands lightly on his shoulders. At least, that’s what she tried to do, but she wound up clutching at his shirt anyway as a hint of magic vibrated up through the wooden floor.

Einar’s eyes had gone teal. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she knew—she knew —that he was imagining a kiss. How it would feel for her lips to part beneath his, for her tongue to touch his and shyly dance away.

His hand slid around to the small of her back and pressed her closer.

If she didn’t draw the line here, she never would. She would be lost—and she almost remained silent anyway. “I meant what I said before, Einar,” she whispered, thoroughly regretting every syllable.

His hand tightened on her back, but he stopped moving. Even the swaying of the ship ceased, leaving her feeling oddly disoriented. The vivid teal drained away from his eyes, leaving the usual brown staring down at her in frustration.

Then he released her and backed away. “I apologize for overstepping.”

“No, Einar. You—”

He bowed sharply, then smiled. Gone was the open friendliness and the heat, leaving only the arrogant Kraken behind. “Don’t stay up too late.” It was half order, half announcement, directed at the entire room. “There’s hard sailing ahead.”

Then he was gone.

Naia stood there awkwardly and silently cursed herself, though she wasn’t sure exactly why. For holding on to her convictions? For her inability to stay away from him, despite those convictions?

For her silly, stupid need to be loved ?

“Come.” Jinevra slung an arm around her shoulders and pressed another tankard of mead into her hand. “We’re putting together a game of Damned Lies. Silvio has far too much coin in his pockets, and I intend to win it all tonight.”