I made my way to the beach and sat on the sand, listening to the rolling tides rustling back to the Kaiyen. Sparse moonlight dappled with the dark rippling waters. I knew they wouldn’t look for me here. How could they as I lay under the blanket of shadow from the shifting trees, hiding from the world…

I wondered what I would do. Move further inland for work to avoid my family and relatives along the coast, but what could a fisherman’s son do except fish? Wisdom is learned from knowledge, known through experience. And my inexperienced mind was addled with wanderlust, conjuring up wild impossibilities for adventure. At seventeen years span, I was not yet of age to join the Tsun’s army, though I did look the part. Perhaps I would go… but in the end, I was scared. Frightened that my parents would imprison me, or terrified to fight for the Tsun against the other Provinces to continue the Century War. So I stayed, trapped; wondering of my fate, before closing my eyes to the whispering waves.

***

The old man was silent then. The boy looked curiously at him, the man bowing his head as if in vigil, straw hat covering his face.

Ryo stared down at his fishing pole, the ever ebbing waters rocking the ayul in no seeming direction.

His line fluttered; he looked to Drinn and exclaimed, “grandpa, the line’s moving!”

“Ah! Now pull the line gently. Easy, easy…”

A small fish flapped about at the line’s end, its mouth caught in the metal hook. Ryo pulled back the white woven thread with eager speed, a triumphant smile on his face.

“Careful, Ryo,” Drinn warned.

“I am being—ah!” the boy cried out, throwing the fish into the boat and taking out the hook that had pierced his finger. A small bead of blood welled over the tip of his thumb, crimson against his still-light skin.

The old man grabbed the floundering fish and dropped it into the bucket with the rest of their catch. He leaned forward and beckoned Ryo. “Let me see your hand.”

Ryo gave his wounded hand, his eyes wide open as his grandfather uncorked a small bottle, its pungent herbal odor reaching the boy’s nose. The old man’s firm grip held his wrist in place as he marked the wound with a dab of thick green paste. The boy’s eyes teared up with stinging pain. The man produced a linen bandage, knotting it over his grandson’s thumb.

“There, then. I guess that is a sign for us to return.” He set to taking out the oars.

“Wait,” Ryo blurted. “Can’t we stay 'til sunset?”

Drinn paused, then sighed. “I will continue my tale, then.”

The old man stared ahead, eyes lost in the shadow of his brimmed hat.

***

As I said before, I had fallen asleep on the beach, solid unmoving ground. Except I felt an unsteady shifting that was familiar as the waves chopping past my father's boat. My eyes fluttered open, and I was indeed on a boat; just not one that was of my village, or any in Shen-La. My hands had been tied behind my back. I rose and looked around in sudden panic.

I was on a ship, big enough to store a small army of men. I stood over its deck; thick pillars held sails large enough to cover the village circle and more, shaped like wide arcing blades fluttering together.

Then I gazed over the ship’s railing and saw my village, and the blazing orange fires that burned it. Smoke rose in black pillars to the dark indigo sky. I could hear the faraway screams even in the distance, the crackling of houses collapsing, and over three-hundred souls that called Giaju home, dying with its end.

I howled, and was about to jump overboard until strong arms caught me from behind. I struggled for escape, for solace. My parents. My friends. My village. I had to find them and aid them, save them from these people. I continued squirming, screaming, until something hard struck the back of my head, and everything was black once more.

A sharp kick to my side jerked me awake. Harsh sunlight flashed through my squinted eyes. There were others beside me, more villagers of Giaju bound by their hands. A sparse line of men in leather armor stood behind us. More men stood over the ship’s decks, watching us like crows waiting for carrion. A tall man faced us all. He was lean in figure but not slim, not at all, moving with the same casual grace as Wei did as he paced with ease in front of us. He had long black hair that fell into a singular knot behind his cropped head. His face was pointed with his goatee, long nose and pale skin of Haolan descent. He wore a sleeveless shirt that exposed his rippling arms, scarred over with silvery lines only a blade could cause.

He halted, catching my stare. His brows raised, as if in amusement. “Know this,” he looked to each of us, his words strange sounding and guttural compared to the soft flowing cadence of Shao, our language. “You are all now prisoners aboard the Red Tide, and I am its captain, Lei Teng. Your homes are destroyed! Those who had fought us won’t fight again. Do not think of fighting us. We are a day’s sail away from Shen-La, and I will throw you overboard with the sharks and sea serpents if you do not follow my will. Those that do will still live! This is the Iron Will! If the Gods of blood and battle wanted you any other way, they would have allowed it!”

He gestured to one person who stood a woman to her feet, two men dragging her to the man. Despite her matted hair I still could see that it was the shy Miuli, daughter of Elder Lao. She screamed and struggled, before Lei Teng whispered in her ear; Miuli only weeping then and walking meekly alongside as he strode into the ship.

We would never see her again. They hauled us up and shoved us below deck, leading to the brig, a cage of rusted iron bars that was enough space for the fourteen of us that I counted, all men, the sturdiest in the village. All had bruises over their faces, some with split lips and swollen eyes. They had all fought, and lost.

“Drinn? Is that you?” came a ragged whisper in the dark. I had not recognized the man from his purpled bruised face, but I knew his now hoarse voice.

“Shun?” The village’s boatmaker, father of Tadaki; my friend. “What happened?”

The once proud man now stooped low in grunting pain as he spoke, “They’re Haolan raiders from whatever backwater land. We had nothing to give them; so they took us instead.”

I said, “At least they didn’t take Tadaki.”

He bowed his head and murmured, “No. They didn’t.”

I realized the meaning behind his words, and sagged down against the metal cage with the rest. My parents, my friends and their families, my neighbours; the entire village of Giaju, had been razed and was now gone, and we were its last people to remember its existence. Tears burst forth and seeped down my face while I held out wracking sobs. I wept at the sudden hopelessness of it all, as if that dark place allowed me the peace to realize all that had happened.

We were kept in that cage for hours, then days; I lost track of day and night in the crammed dark. Our lips dried and cracked from thirst, and the sole chamber pot spread its stench despite being emptied every few hours by the guards. The only source of light was a dim lantern held in a guard’s lax grip.

Then they opened the doors and herded us out to the open deck. The sun after so long in that ill-lit room struck my eyes with its dizzying brightness. The sky was a hard blue; I felt it weighing down on us, ready to collapse upon us all, hoping it perhaps would.

We were tied around the masts, towers of wood wide enough for half of our number to encircle one. Lei Teng stepped forward, his hand on the pommel of a curved scabbarded sword. I had never seen a sword before, only heard of its shape in tales of the Tsun’s soldiers using such weapons for heroic deeds. He stepped towards us, drawing out its blade in a hiss of metal, and I closed my eyes as he raised it over us all.

The bonds which held me had been cut apart. I opened my eyes, handling my blistered wrists from the knotted rope.

The captain pointed to the center between the two main middle masts of four, crimson sails fanning over in a framework of wooden horizontal posts like fins on some fishes’ heads. Their dyed bamboo mattings caught us in its red shade.

“Stand there, boy,” Lei Teng commanded. I rose unsteadily to stumble to the ship’s center. A line of armed men blocked each side of the railings. I stood between the two masts, the others watching in silence. More of the Haolan raiders looked from above deck, busy clamoring amongst another. I saw a man stagger to face me, a few feet apart. It was Shun.

“Listen well, Shen-Lan!” Lei Teng’s voice pierced through the never-ending slapping of the waves against the ship’s hull, and quieted the men. “You have not drank in three days! Another day without water and you will all die. You will all fight another. The reward is water for those fighting. Those who are the victors shall also eat and drink double your portion of water. You shall not kill, you shall not maim. You must make the man unable to fight any longer to be a victor, and still remain standing. If both of you do not, you shall only be given your ration of water.” He raised his sword. “This is the Iron Will!”

The other raiders howled their fervor. I looked up at Shun, the father of my friend, Tadaki. We had eaten together, laughed together, poked fun at his somber son, his eyes always bright with merriment. There was only despair in the man’s eyes now, teared up with pity, for we knew what we had to do. Though I was taller than most, a little under six feet, Shun stood a head over me and was thickset with muscle, at least fourteen stones heavy.

Lei Teng gestured at us, then crossed his arms. “Fight, or we will beat you ourselves, and force water down your throttled throats afterwards. Choose.”

Shun grimaced and said softly, “I’m sorry, Drinn.”

He charged to tackle me. The men above deck roared their bloodlust. Though he was bigger, he was slower than even Tadaki. I leapt forward, winding my knee up to crack his chin, his head whipping back. He fell against the hard wooden boards, still.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered back.

The raiders grew silent.

The captain nodded and ordered, “Give him his due. Go back to your place.”

I sat back down against the mast with the others. A man shoved a wooden ladle of water to my mouth, and another before dropping a salted fish at my feet. I took it off the deck and teared at it with my teeth. They cut away the rope that tied the wrists of two more men. Shun had been carried and thrown back beside me, groaning still in pain. I stared down, ashamed and enraged, blood throbbing in my ears, my gut clenched and churning. I swallowed back the sour bile in my throat.

The men began cheering again. I could hear grunting, then the wet smacking of flesh pummeling flesh, a dull thump and raucous roaring that followed.

I tore off a piece of the salted herring, sneaking it to Shun.

“Take it,” I hissed.

He shook his head slightly. “Save your strength,” he murmured. “You’ll need it.”

They freed the next pair of men. I huddled my head to my knees, covering my face with my arms. The wrongness of forcing us to fight each other, men that had known another their whole lives, the injustice of it all addled my mind. When it was over, we were packed back below deck. The raiders beat and kicked the men who collapsed down the wooden stairs. I looked away as I heard more thumps, slaps, and grunts of pain.

Once we were packed into the metal cage, I glanced at the surrounding men. We all huddled away and did not meet another's' eyes. There was only rasping heavy breathing and mournful moans in the dark spaces between us.

Shun wheezed, “Drinn.”

I did not answer; would not answer, such was my shame for having a part in his torment.

He repeated my name. “Drinn. Look at me.”

Shun’s face was mottled bloody from the guards’ beating.

He coughed and sighed, resting his head back against the metal bars, and said softly, “They will sell us as slaves. Haol is less than a week’s sail away on this ship. You must be strong, and not hold back. If you will remain unbroken, you may be chosen over the others to serve a better purpose.”

There was a bang on the metal cage. A guard snarled, “Be quiet!”

Shun quieted, and after a moment, mumbled, “You must be strong, Drinn. Stronger than us all.”

We grew silent with our pain. I mulled over his words. The Haolan raiders were stronger than anyone in our village. They had taken what they wanted based on their power alone. I knew I had to be stronger than them, stronger than anyone who would wish to take from me. For they had taken everything and anyone I had ever loved. Hate is a seething spirit when allowed to fester, possessing the noblest of men into the cruelest of monsters. In my mind half-addled with thirst, hunger, and lack of sleep, I felt hatred sustain me from my suffering. I felt it in my blood, calling for the end of all those responsible for Giaju’s ruin, the unsworn promise that I would live on to kill them all. But for now I would be strong. I would need to survive whatever came my way, and so I slept in a dreamless haze.

The jangling of the key opening the rusted lock and the door squealing open awoke me. We were led again up the steps, though this time only half in number. I realized we were all the victors of the previous fighting. The raiders watched, whooping and chanting as we shuffled to the mast we were shoved to.

Lei Teng stood facing us once more. He called out, “You will all fight again, and you will be rewarded the same. You,” he pointed at me. “And you.” He pointed to another man, his left eye swollen past seeing. “Fight. Now.”

The man was Baro, Tezǔ’s father. They say sons are their fathers, and the village blacksmith was known for his black temper.

“You,” he growled. “If you hadn’t broken my son’s arm, then maybe-” Lines deepened across his face, twisting into murderous rage. He barreled towards me. I rushed forward with a raised knee, but he broke his charge to throw a winding punch to my head. I reeled backwards, realizing my mistake, for he must have seen me use the same move on Shun. His fist clipped my cheek, the force of the partial blow enough to send me sprawling to the floor. My eyes watered, my body refusing to move until his bare feet stomped over my body. His strikes awakened my numb feeling into action. I caught one foot, using his own force to trip and roll on top of him. My vision went blank for a quiet moment as I struck out all that raged inside of me in turn – until I saw Baro’s face, torn and bloodied by my stained knuckles and elbows, two men dragging me away from him as I screamed over them all.

Lei Teng walked over to me, staring intently at my trembling face. I did not tremble with fear – but rage, heating my blood, crying out for his death. For all their deaths.

“Hmmm,” he said, and gestured to the men holding me. “Bring him outside my quarters, and fetch a bath of seawater for the boy. Make him clean himself. If he tries anything, kill him.”

They half dragged, half led me into the opposite depths of the ship. Dozens of bunks and hammocks lined what must have been the crew’s quarters. We reached a hall dimly lit by fixed lanterns, our shadows hanging onto our every step. At its end was a door, made of hardwood with even a brass ring knocker.

One man said to the other, “I’ll get the bath then. Fuck the Gods, he stinks.”

I turned to the lone man when I heard his comrade’s steps fade away. He held his now bared blade, a long and stout knife that curved at its one-sided edge. It was a wicked thing, and his blank stare told me he was well familiar with using it.

The other Haolan returned with another man, both carrying down an open wooden barrel sloshing with water. It dropped with a loud thump, water spilling out. A bundle of clothes fell to the floor as well.

“The boss wants us to leave him,” one man said.

Another asked, “Alone?”

The man shrugged. “I don’t ask, it’s better that way. You remember Hino’s fate.”

They left me alone in the flickering corridor, the water in the tub leveling with the shifting ship.

You learn quickly how dirty you can become when not washed daily. I was caked in sweat, dirt, and dried blood throughout my skin and now tattered clothing. I pulled off the remnants of who I once was, a fisherman’s son’s roughspun cotton wear. The salt water stung my skinned knuckles as I dipped my hands to wash away the grime over my face. I then lowered myself into the vessel higher than my knees, which bent as I huddled within the bath.

I dried myself with my first ruined clothes before donning my new vestments. It was a tan leather jerkin and yellowed cotton pants that covered the leather sandals beneath. I slumped down against the barrel, wondering of my fate. The captain was Lei Teng. His ship was the Red Tide. I would engrain these two names into my memory. They wouldn’t kill me, of that I was sure – not yet at least.

Lei Teng’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Who taught you?”

I turned to face him. He stood there, waiting; judging in his stare.

I stared back in silence.

“Your master,” the captain said. “It was that monk, then. He killed six of my men before I dueled him. He came at me with a wooden staff.” He shook his head as if in half disbelief, half admiration. “A staff. He died a warrior’s death, despite his foolishness. I pierced his heart-” he tapped on the pommel of his sword, topped with a crimson jewel. “-with this blade.”

I stood there, staring in silence.

The captain continued. “I can see your hatred. That is good. It cuts through your fear, gives you strength when needed. You will need much to not just survive, but thrive here.” He turned away, waving a hand. “Follow me.”

I trailed after him, stepping up the wooden stairs to the open deck, where the rest of his crew stood, watching and murmuring at my new garb. The other villagers were gone; smatterings of blood stained the floorboards in their place. Their captain, Lei Teng, gestured to me and announced, “Meet your newest crew member! What is your name, boy?”

I answered loud enough for all of them to hear, “Drinn Jenpo.”

Lei Teng said, “Noone harms or even touches the boy. Those that do will answer to me – and receive thrice his injury. If he tries to kill, then kill him. Foreman Tuo! Set this boy to work.”

A bald but bearded man thick as an ox strode to us, dark beady eyes regarding me as if I were a curious insect to be studied before being squashed. He rasped, “We can find willing sellswords instead of this runt who would sooner slit our throats in our sleep than fight with us. Why not sell him?”

The other raiders stood, silent.

The captain merely smiled. “This boy, I wager, in four years training, will be able to beat anyone on this ship – but me. Anyone who does beat him after that time will get half the share of my spoils for a year.”

Foreman Tuo snorted. “Who is to say the boy will even survive before then?”

Lei Teng replied, “I never wagered on that. That depends on the boy.” He set his gaze back to me. “And you. I am now your Master. By the next sunrise you will begin your training.” He nodded to the foreman before disappearing once more into the bowels of the ship. I paused at the endless Kaiyen surrounding us, deep blue water as far as the eye could see. A blow to the back of my head stunned me.

The foreman growled, “I don’t give a Mythic turd whether you’re under the captain’s protection. You don’t follow my orders and I will throw you overboard, and no one will blink. Do you understand?”

I nodded. So the captain would train me in his strength. I would follow in his steps – until my own strength would surpass his. But not now, not yet. He had said I could beat anyone on the ship besides himself in four years. I vowed to do so in just one year. Lei Teng. The Red Tide and its raiders. I would bring their end. Shun and the other prisoners, Miuli… I would save them. Of that I promised before the clear blue sky and the roiling Kaiyen. Such promises however, are as impossible as taming the elements themselves. I was just a boy, and I clung to hope as a sailor clinging to a ship’s broken ruins after a raging storm.