The rain fell heavy as the boy ran through Mea Vatal. The puddles splashed mud and grime onto the leg, but he cared not as he wove in and out of the morning rabble. Some vendors were setting up their stands in spite of the water, tossing some rags or sheets over the wood as if it would be enough to keep them dry. Others sat on the cobbles under meager shelter, trying to keep the water off of them—the expensive fabrics and opulent garb that many wore to entice customers would quickly fall apart if they got wet. As for his own rags, they were stained with far worse than rain.

The docks were in the western quarter of the city, below an overlooking bluff and packed with people regardless of time or day. Trade from the Skaavosi Isles and Ossia to the west was frequent and lucrative, to the point where the body of water between was called the Golden Sea. Currents ran west to east until they hit Altaros, before running north to south in a clockwise circle. Since inhabitants of the Frozen North were few and far between, for many traders from the west Mea Vatal was their first stop on Altaros. There were bound to be some leaving , that would be willing to take him elsewhere.

Where precisely mattered not, he thought dully. Perhaps they would be going south to Malifor, filled with the dark-skinned barbarians that covered themselves with horse leathers and butchered themselves on the walls of the Gates. Perhaps they were heading west to the Skaavosi Isles, where the seafaring people were born with purple eyes to better see the stars. They wore their hair in long braids, decorating themselves with shells and beads regardless of gender or status. Or perhaps they were going even farther, to the other end of the Golden Sea where the forests of Ossia grew. The people there were pale-skinned with hair that glittered golden like the sun, both their men and women equally fair. Their dirt was black with earthfire and carpeted with green, lush forests and juicy fruits blessing their people with abundance.

The ports of Mea Vatal were like a gateway, and where they led the boy could not know. He only knew that if he stayed here, the Nhysians would seize his head one day. And so he stumbled his way through the port, through the busting men who were hauling crates of goods off the ships. Some carried nets and rope, preparing to set out for another day’s catch. Others loaded their own boats with wares from the previous day’s trade, intending to set off. It was those that he eyed and followed, hoping to secure passage with perhaps one of them.

The first that he found was a massive vessel with red sails that seemed to reach the sky. Its prow was well adorned with the figurehead of a maiden, the curving script along the side illegible to the uneducated boy but beautiful nonetheless. He followed its crew, stopping awkwardly as they loaded crates up the boarding plank.

“S-sirs” he began hesitantly, all-too aware of his appearance as a cripple. Now that he had begun, he became struck with doubt and dismay, nervousness strangling his voice in his throat. “Excuse me—” he spoke once more, louder this time, and one of the men turned to look at him. Suddenly he noticed the chains around the man’s body and the collar that sat around his throat. They were no mere adornments—this man was a slave.

Slaves were not uncommon in these parts of the world, especially in port cities where different customs met. Their trade was lucrative as well, despite the disputes that tended to arise. There were slaves in Mea Vatal as well; he had seen them for sale on occasion. Yet their prices were outrageously expensive—a healthy man could go for over a hundred gold. For the boy who dreamt of owning a silver, that amount was an impossible sum to even imagine.

“What do you want?” he growled gruffly, setting down his crate with a huff. For a slave, he certainly lacked no confidence. Perhaps it was easy for the low to look upon those lower than themselves; he seemed to have a certain satisfaction as he gazed upon the crippled leper.

“S-sir I, I was wondering if you had space on your vessel—” Willem began, grateful to his mask for hiding his features. Embarassment and ineptitude had colored his cheeks red, and he wanted to shrink away so badly that he feared his legs might give way.

The slave fixed him with a look of utter disgust and distaste before there was a sudden shout from the deck, a loud crack ringing through the air as someone used a whip. Fear darted across the man’s features as quickly as a rat, and he bent over to once more begin loading the ship. He seemed to have forgotten about the boy as he disappeared without a sound, and Willem stood there hesitantly for a few seconds before another man appeared from the deck.

“Git off, ya’ fecking piece of shit.” he swore, waving at the boy to clear the gangplank. “We paid ta’ use this dock, not for some fecking one-legged bastard to block our goods.” His hand danced dangerously close to a whip that he kept holstered on his belt, and Willem turned with sudden haste. So quickly did he run that he stumbled on the dock planks, his foot catching an upraised portion and sending him sprawling like a fool. Jubilant laughter rang out from behind him as he fled, struggling to hold back tears.

Don’t worry about them, he reminded himself. There’ll be more. Someone here will let me on. Having faced such blatant rejection, doubt and self-loathing began to eat away at his resolve. Why could they possibly let me on? What could I bring for them? Yet he steeled himself against those thoughts just as quickly as they had come, looking up while gritting his teeth. He would get out of this city, even if he had to sneak aboard a ship.

Again he approached another ship, smaller this time with a carving of some strange water beast along the side. There were no men working nearby it as he watched, and he wondered if the owner was inside perhaps. The board was lowered, and so he strode nervously onto the deck, peering about for someone to plead to. Yet it was to no avail—the entire deck was empty. As he hobbled over to the door that led presumably to the lower deck, he heard a shout from below.

“GET YOUR SLIMY ARSE OFF MY SHIP BEFORE I RUN A SPEAR THROUGH IT!” bellowed a coarse voice, choked with furious anger. His heart jumped into his throat, sudden terror driving all other thought away as he vaulted off the edge of the boat, intending to land on the planks below. Yet his false leg caught on some rope, snagging in the rigging, and he was too far gone to stop. He plunged towards the water with a scream, a dim thought running through his head.

Five and three curses, I can’t swim.

The astounding revelation did little to prevent cold seawater from surrounding him, driving the air from his lungs with the force of impact. His limbs flailed desperately as he struggled not to drown, his legs kicking wildly. The accursed mask on his face only served to trap water near his mouth, preventing him from breathing in the split seconds that he was offered when he broke the surface. His strength began to fail him as he fought, bubbles flying from his mouth. His lungs screamed for air, until they were empty and he breathed in a reflexive motion. Seawater flooded them, burning his throat, and his vision began to grow dim.

A sudden grip seized his arm, hauling him up with abrupt strength. His vision swam, filled with tears and stinging from the saltwater, and he found knelt over on the dockside. Water and bile poured from his mouth as he coughed, spilling onto the planks as he gasped and wheezed for air. A hand clapped his back as he struggled, his thoughts swimming.

When he had finally calmed himself, he turned to look at his savior. The man was peculiar, with long hair that hung to the waist if he was standing straight. A coarse beard was braided into two prongs, tinged with hints of red among the black and grey. His eyes were green like gems, glittering with a distant humor as he smiled. His teeth were yellowed with age, but his fangs were filed sharp all along the front.

“What kind’uv a deck mankai can’t swim, eh?” he laughed, seeing the boy regain lucidity. His voice was just as strange as the rest of him—not an accent that he recognized. It was heavy on his words, until Willem could hardly understand him.

“S-sorry, I—” the boy started, wiping his face only to pause. His wrist was touching his skin, he realized. His wrist was touching his skin. Hurriedly, he turned to look at the water, seeing something glint vaguely as it sank in the water. His mask, he realized with a similarly sinking heart. His crow-cursed mask was gone.

“M’sorry, mankai. Could’n save your gold’n mask.” he apologized, scratching his face with a bejeweled hand.

Willem shook his head, replying, “It wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t gold. I was just trying to find a ship.”

“Plenty’uv ships ‘ere.” he drawled.

“N-no, I mean I was trying to see if any of them captains would let me on their ship. I need to get away from here, you see.” he explained, shaking the water from himself as he stood up awkwardly. The strange man smiled, taking a bow.

“Well you’re in luck, mankai. Cap’n Is’shil, if it please you.” he proclaimed proudly, his wet hair throwing a rain of its own as it swung.

“You’re a captain?” Willem asked, shocked.

“What kind’uv a man would be ‘ere if he wasn’t. Come, mankai, let me show you my ship.” He beamed with a certain pride as he latched onto Willem’s arm, dragging the boy along with a viselike grip. They navigated their way through the crowded dock, the rain finally beginning to let up as they neared the end. When they finally stopped, he threw his arms out wide.

“A beauty, no?” The ship certainly was pretty, painted a stark white in contrast to the other gaudy colors of the dock. There was no figurehead at the prow, and the railing was instead an ornate vine that seemed to creep along the length of the vessel. The single mast boasted no flag for the moment, while the rain fell. Compared to other ships at the dock, it seemed nothing extraordinary, yet its captain seemed practically dancing with pride.

“A-aye.” he nodded, and Captain Is’shil dragged him aboard without a second thought. “Wait, are you really letting me aboard?” he asked nervously, confused by the pace and the strange workings of this man.

Captain Is’shil smiled, rubbing his hand on Willem’s head. “Nessa thinks well’uv those cripples and broken things. You’ve got Nessa’s blessings, mankai. You’ve got good luck on Nessa’s sea, and that means good luck for us as well.” Willem winced at the man’s words—cripples and broken things—but the captain seemed to mean well.

“What are you calling me? Monkey?” he asked, running down the list of questions that had sprouted in his head. The captain spoke it like a title, but his accent was so thick that it was hard to even be sure of that.

“Mankai!” he laughed, clutching his stomach. “You’ve got a mankai’s lines, don’cha?” He waved his fingers at the Willem’s face, at the Maes that covered them. “A cripple and a mankai, you’ll bring’s good luck on this trip!”

Mankai? Perhaps that was what this man called channelers, much as the Nhysians called them vais’throk? Yet Willem had questions still. “Where are we going?” he wondered, seeing the captain prepare to go below deck as the rain let up. “After you leave port, where are you going?”

The captain let out a coarse laugh, gesturing out towards the water. “South, mankai! We be going to Malifor.”