Today was the day. He had slept fitfully during this last night of the dry season. Finally after five years serving as second to the captain of the relay ship he was to become captain of his own. Atacherel stood in front of the water filled baked clay dish in the alcove of his little room in the Seconds' Chapter of Vulga-Nara, the admiralty administered part of the town of Vulgaté. He splashed fresh water on his face relishing the fact that the calms of late dry season were over and the regular winds pushing the rains across the ocean would begin from today and last for the better part of the season. The twenty years old young man dressed purposefully in his short grey linen skirt and shirt and bind his loins with the yellow sash marking him as an officer in the Balà navy, he then posed and stared hard at the large brown leather bracelets that marked his rank as second to the captain he was going to put them on for the last time, at noon today he would come out of the admiralty with shining red copper wristbands and head for the birthing place of his first command. Atacherel new it wasn't going to be a Fast-sail, only seasoned captains with silver wristbands sailed those, but he wasn't bothered, he knew that all things come to those who wait and he planned, whatever the ship he was to be given, to be the best captain he possibly could. Let the One protect him from the rotten old cogs that ferries supplies to the peace keeping fleet in the austral sea.
It may be a little warm still for boots but he chose those above the sandals he would have normally worn, that way he felt geared up and would he want to climb up the rigging of the ship, his ship, to check on it he would not have to fear cutting his foot on an old nail or getting splinters.Down in the common room of the Chapter he stood in front of the polished brass mirror and examined his face. The black beard was still patchy but he kept it neatly trimmed in hope that it made him look more mature that his age. The hair he could have had cropped closer to the skull if there had been more time, but the long expected message box had come with only an evening and a night's warning. It was still early and the young man was alone in the vast common room filled with empty tables and benches. As a captain he would be given a cottage of his own on the up side of Vulga-Nara, though he would have to wait until his wristbands turned silver to be granted one of the houses with servants quarters and with the situation in the austral sea settling down there were few chances his future copper bands would turn silver before his sleek black hair would.
As he left the husky confines of the Chapter house and entered the scintillating light of the sun shining down on the boroughs of the sprawling city, Atacherel looked at where the harbor ruins had been during his childhood, he could remember his father warning him not to go and play in the wreckage of the seaside city and the thrill of exploration when he finally convinced his friends to venture to the chaos of collapsed houses and wreaked ships that the waves had left after the Advent of Mahara?a. Now of course it had all finally been cleared and the new fish market and the trading square were inaugurated by the white priests of Electo on his first day as second aboard a ship of the admiralty. The new buildings by the seafront were all built atop a forest of strong stone columns raising them above the level the waves had reached forty years ago.
Did they fear an other event like the coming of the Mahara?a? He had asked of his father and the answer had been, 'it's a Balà thing, my son, we never make the mistake of being unprepared, it almost cost us our existence once before and such a lesson should never be ignored.'
Atacherel wished he could share today's even with his dad but ever since the devoted priest had been summoned to Electo; he had had, as was to be expected when one put on the white of the holy island, no news. In effect it was as if in becoming a white servant of the One his father had ceased to exist. The young man had visited his mother as promised once a year dutifully but the woman had little time for the son of the man she had left for another when their baby was but a year old. She was happy with her family and he felt, although she tried to hide it, that nothing remained between them but the souvenir of the change of heart she had had. Atacherel believed that she would have been more comfortable if he had come to her with anger and resentment for the motherless childhood she had sentenced him to, but his silent, respectful affection made her awkward and stilted. Anyway his memories were of the serene affection of his father and the gentle care of the women of the neighborhood who had raised him as if he was their own.
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***
He did leave the admiralty at noon and there were shiny copper wristbands on his forearms but the look on his face was one of utter bewilderment, he only just manage to pull a straight face when reaching the guards at the entrance of the boreal dockyards. The clerk glanced at his brand new bands and reached out with an ink stained hand mumbling "commission sir?" Almost startled out of his daze Atacherel fished a message box from his bag, its lid was plastered with the elaborate seal of the admiralty but unlike other commission boxes of newly appointed captains, its sides were gilded. As soon as the box was out in the open the attitude of all present changed from one of relaxed boredom to sudden sharp attention. The clerk went down the two steps from the entrance of his study to the street level and motioned for Atacherel to enter the cluttered office almost avoiding to look at the gilded commission box.
Normally, gilded commission boxes meant new ships and these were all destined for gold captains, commodores or senior silvers. Never a red captain had been sent to the dockyard with a gilded box before, even after the tidal waves had destroyed all the ships and most of the cities, and the dockyards only had new ones all the captains were made silver before being given a new ship. The clerk efficiently checked the commission and almost groveling lead the young captain across the yard, to the dry and wet docks, were ships of all sorts underwent repairs but they kept going to a part where Atacherel had never been, not only it was where the new ships were being built but particularly where the Fast-sails were. The sleek hulled tall masted ships were the apex of Balà marine construction, the fastest on the seas and once mastered the easiest to maneuver. The clerk was maintaining a continuous mumble that barely reached the conscious brain of Atacherel, something to do with the master builder being:"an old man, old school too, survived the Advent waves, bit on the rough side, one shouldn't formalize oneself for a little rudeness or derogatory snorting, for he is prone to such things but doesn't mean nought by it, a fine Balà he is, always celebrate with the rest of us, never a word against the One, never swears by the Name."
He looked gruff indeed, there were fingers missing from both his hands, his skin was dark with sun exposure and his white hair bleached equally by salt and light, his beard untrimmed and his tunic stained with tar. There were tools in his large leather belt the handles of which were polished and worn with use but the tip of the blades shone with the fierce gleam of razor sharp honed metal. But the young captain was too dazed by the events of the day to fear the tongue of the master, he simply had to see the ship, to touch it in order to finally believe in the One's blessing, to believe it had not been a very elaborate dream. The one thing all juvenile seconds fantasize about in their cot before falling asleep.
***
"Whas dis?" The master said and his voice sounded like gravel on a tin plate.
"Master Ootern, this fine captain here has been assigned to... to the ship." The clerk whimpered lamentably.
"Wadayamean 'the ship' ya sniveling worm?"
"You know, Master, 'The Ship'..." he finished lamely.
Understanding dawned on the master at once and he stared sternly at the young man standing in front of him. After a moment of silence he finally addressed Atacherel.
"What's yar name sir?"
"My Name is Atacherel, I was with captain Burutis on the relay ship."
The master digested this news as if it meant much more to him than the sibylline word that had been pronounced.
"Ya'll do fine," he said with finality and showing the way added, "Follow me, I'll take ya to it." And he walked away with a powerful stride leaving the clerk to stand alone in the sun uncertain whether he should follow or return to his office.
