Thorns covered the land from the forests to the towns. Perpetual night engulfed the sky, where only the moon shown above. Each nook and crevice full of nothing, but thorns. This land was the last of the great human kingdoms. Though not many call it great anymore.

I should probably explain that. Back in its prime, the land was beautiful. An attraction for countrymen and artists alike. In ancient times it was graced by the gift of light, a country in eternal day. A country which had vast field of flowers of every kind. Rivers and meadows which flooded the land in an aura of eternal beauty. It was said that Esari, the goddess of beauty, would float down and sleep in the meadows below. “

“Oh I know about her!” interrupted Ersel, “The Goddess of beauty and light.”

The waters streamed beside us, I sighed, my eyes still on the rushing stream. I was expecting her to do this.

“I am an archivist after all. The southern gods are my specialty.” She boasted.

Of course they were. “Then you are acquainted with this story?”

“Aye.” She leaned on the railing across from me, “But they aren’t.”

I turned from where I rested on the railing. She was right. I had an audience. The members of the crew, most of which I had not met were patiently awaiting my story. Black Ink, the bat women, and Mossman were all there. Nine in total. Bilal laughed and put one arm on my shoulder. “You best continue Brambleburn, it is not often we have a storyteller among us.”

I rested my elbows against the railing now facing that audience. I suppose I had to continue and to be honest I enjoyed the attention. It reminded me of some of my earlier days.

“The country was named for that.” I continued, “ ‘The meadow beds of Esari’ or Medar’Esari. It even marred the fields of Dawnry.

Yet Medar’Esari was not known for war-making, nor was it known for its prowess in goldfare. Instead it was known for art. Artists from around the world visited Medar’Esari to bask in its beauty, most of which stayed to call the country home. Its ruling dynasty in turn allowed those artists to stay in return for various artworks they deemed worthy. This made the country rich even without yellow rocks- or coins as humans put them. Instead they had something similar to me. A priceless work of art or possibly the greatest gallery in existence. The portrait of Esari. A portrait which some attributed the eternal day to. Painted by an artist who had supposedly seen Esari in the meadow beds.

Ofcourse this made the neighboring countries lustful for such treasures, and thus did the unthinkable. They waged war on Medar’Esari. Pillaging towns and stealing artworks. They say some countries, jealous of Medar’Esari’s beauty, even burned some of the forests and meadows that grew there.

Soon the country was ablaze. Hamlets smoldered as if coals stoked in a fire, the rivers flowed black filled with ash and soot, while the sky darkened in a haze of smoke. When those who lived escaped, they saw their country engulfed in flames, when they returned they saw that world leveled to nothing but ash. A sight no so different from fabled hells.

The last painting ever conceived in Medar’Esari was one of calamity. That night, the night most returned to their ruined home, a tumultuous storm swept across the land. To those convinced in the gods still, believed it was the god Esari shedding tears for her once beloved home. After the rain settled the sky did not. It remained a constant night. The land forever darkened.

As for the ruling dynasty, only one remained. Not because the others died. No, they all left when the first country invaded, grabbing as many artworks as possible, including the portrait of Esari. The one who remained had merely been abandoned. Made a scape goat by her own blood. Her name was Princess Minah, why she remained astounds me. Though I suppose idiocy comes in all forms.”

“She was just child!” spouted an on-looker. I looked at the dissident. Something of a furred creature with- I was really not sure and I cared not either. All I knew was that it was somewhat spurred by my description.

I didn’t understand its point and more so I was telling a story not igniting an argument, “And still an idiot.”

“But-”

“An idiot. That was not all. After the smoke settled the remaining people blamed the lost war on the young princess, perhaps greater idiots still. Some of these idiots even tried to take control of the kingdom, but failed shortly after. Further, even though the royal family had left, the royal guard had not. On top of that, royalists within the country gave Minah even more power.

A lot of power for a young girl. Too much some would say.

On the day of her coronation, she was expected to give a speech to her people. It was then that she walked out to the front balcony of her royal palace, Esari’s Pearl. Her faithful guards stone cold rather than warming. The royalists fanatical only of her family title rather than her. They expected her to rule. A hard task for such a young creature. When she faced her people for the first time after the war. She learned a hard lesson.

Solemn at first, the crowd kept silent as the girl struggled to creep over the balcony. That was when the first stone was thrown. Then another. And another.

It is said Minah was hit only once before she ducked for cover. Though that one time had left her blind in one eye. Such was the lesson of leadership. Hers was a people not won over by love nor favor. She needed another method. From that day onwards the new ruler of Medar’Esari wore a glass eye in her right socket. One that was pure black.

Minah spent two years afterwards, abandoning her people and setting out to the woods. She brought a small contingent of guards with her. Those woods over the two years grew unendingly thorny. Hostile even. When Minah returned, she came back to a kingdom in chaos. One left leaderless for far too long. Her troops quickly stormed the castle and made quick work of any usurpers. Immediately after she claimed her throne.

Her first decree was imprisonment of all those who did not work. Anyone who objected was subsequently handicapped. The non-dominant hand severed. No-one was spared. Not man, women or child.

Her next decree was to burn any remaining artworks in the kingdom. The old world was only a painful reminder of how far the kingdom fell. Anyone who disobeyed the order was subsequently blinded and made mute. Such an order did not just make her enemies inside her country, it made her enemies outside of it to. Patrons of the lost arts rallied in a flight of messages sent to her majesty. She ignored every one of them.

Afterwards her decrees got even more absurd. One day one of her guards complained of the cold, and thus she decreed that anyone who complained of the cold would have their back splattered with tar and lit ablaze.

The idiots who had once dared to oppose her learned to fear her. Within three months she had clasped her torn kingdom in grip stronger than iron.

One day a man approached the princess. A rare event indeed since she had previously decreed any stupid questions a crime punishable by being made mute. The man, reportedly a strange one, said he was a refuge who had recently returned.

Before she had him sent to the wilds, he shared his story. He had left the country in search of the portrait. When he thought all hope was lost he found where it was. Lost upon a ship on route to the Ilivari empire, though it would be held in Dawnry till the next shipment. He boarded twelve ships and crossed seven countries to chase it down. Eventually, he had no way to steal the actual portrait, so he returned to Medar’Esari, the only country which had any stakes in the painting.

Minah asked why he would tell her this, and he simply said, ‘To bring back the light.’

For the first time in years her guards saw her consider an issue. There was no cruelty in her voice when she answered ‘No’.

The man simply smiled to her answer, bowing once before the guards dragged him away. The first chance she had to return the light to her people and she refused it. Perhaps the grievances she once had for people still numbed any empathy she had for them. Or perhaps she simply liked it.

Of course since the country was in eternal night. Crops barely grew. Not only that, but the strange forest of thorns encroached unendingly upon human land. Destroying whatever farm land was left and only kept low just outside the capitol. Minah needed a solution.

Fortunately Minah knew how to handle her resources. You see, the forest of thorns tended to grow back in as little time as the night after. So she had people and she had wood.

Months later she began building small armies, shortly after equipping such forces with longboats for later use. These raiding parties eventually set forth and assaulted the neighboring countries. Almost every able bodied person was required to join, whether artist or soldier. Whether man or woman.

The first few raids, though with its own slough of casualties, brought enough food for only a portion of the populace. Witness to her starved citizens, she ordered even more raids. More and more, until only the best raiders survived and the food they brought more than sufficed to feed the kingdom.

One evening after a year of her new scheme, Minah’s guards brought her one of the raiders, and along with him a small painting he had looted back in Serezin, one of the neighboring countries. It was a picture of a quiet hamlet, a small river passing through it, and what looked to be green strokes at the edge of the painting. A village and the forest. A memory of Medar’Esari’s past.

For the first time since her coronation, Minah showed mercy. As the man was a raider, now a valued part of her society, she allowed him to go unharmed. As for the painting, she chose to keep it. Unbeknownst to the people of course. This was the first time Minah had truly seen her kingdom’s beauty. They say that just for a moment Minah may have considered the alternative. The portrait, how life used to be. A fleeting thought, as well as a hopeful one.

Year after year, more raids commenced and Medar’Esari became infamous. Though unassailable at the same time. The forest which so damned their people proved to be their greatest defense. No army could penetrate the thorny thickets and anything smaller would be easily cut down by Minah’s people.

As the country’s disrepute grew so did Minah’s own private gallery, for she kept whatever arts her raiders bought back and with each stolen treasure she began to see what once was. The rushing rivers, the whistling tree tops, and the chirping meadows. A land for so long that defied the ugliness of the world. And she longed for it. With every bone in her body she craved to see that sight, not in the markings of an expert painter, but through her own eye.

One day on the eve Noscmoot, a festival in celebration of their country’s success, she snuck by herself into her dungeons. There she found the man she saw almost fourteen years ago and legend has it she was speechless when she saw him. He had not changed save what little rags he had left and what meat he had left on his bones. He was what he always had been, a young man as pale as granite with pitch black hair.

He spoke before she could, ‘I have expected you princess. From the day that I met you to the day that you returned. And I have counted the years. Fourteen years is it? That is nothing. Fourteen years is a grain of sand. I am the hourglass.’

Minah had never been a girl who lingered on the details, she offered freedom in return for knowledge. Where was the portrait then and where could it be now?

The man, who was nameless, not only accepted the offer, but insisted he guide the expeditionary force. Thus it was settled, a force was sent out to collect the fabled portrait, while Minah waited upon her royal throne. One day the portrait would return to its homeland, and one day the sky would shine once more.

That day never came for Minah. A young wizard by the name of Mathias Shindler infiltrated the hazardous forest, and with a collection of wizard companions he stormed the palace. Unforeseen until the moment he broke the cloak, he took one step towards Minah and proclaimed his ambitions. He was a patron of the arts. He was dreamer who longed to see the artworks of Medar’Esari, but saddened by the knowledge of its destruction. He had only one enemy and that was Minah, the blackener, the destroyer of Dawn. Before she could defend herself. Before she could reveal the location of her secret galley the Wizard chanted his odd words and encased Minah in an eternal prison of Amber.

His last words before the guards cut him down were ‘Here you lie, until dawn is painted once more.’

They say Minah is trapped there to this day. Her gallery, the location known only to her, lost with her.”

“What about the portrait?” Asked bat woman.

I stretched, “No one knows. After Minah fell the, nameless man did not return. If he found the portrait it is impossible to tell where it is now.”

“A portrait with the capability of eternal day! Imagine what it’s worth!” boomed Bilal.

Gah. Humans. All they ever cared about was how much things were worth.

“Brambleburn.” Spoke Ersel, “You told the story wrong.”

The nerve, “I told it, how I heard it.”

“Oh so they called Minah an idiot to?” cried the earlier on-looker.

I did not have the words, instead I clutched my head in my hand as I spoke, “How would you tell it then, Ersel?” I asked.

Ersel smirked, obviously pleased with herself, “First off, Minah was not the one who issued those decrees, well the last ones yes. But the initial rules, the more severe ones were issued by her council. She was only ten when she returned, she could not have ruled a kingdom that way. Other than that you forgot about the Night god.”

“Night god?” Somehow I had gotten interested.

“Folk tales of Medar’Esari speak of two gods. One the goddess of nature, light and beauty named Esari. She who loved Medar’Esari and blessed it with beauty beyond words, while the other god, Noscurn, god of night, magic and deformity. He who cared not for a land so perfect. When Medar’Esari was ravaged, Esari left.

That was when Noscurn adopted the land Esari deserted. He blessed it with the forest of thorns, as well as the eternal night. That said, people of Medar’Esari did not think of the night as a part of nature, but rather an unnatural action Noscurn. A cloak made manifest by raw magic. That was where the portrait came in. Any art skilled enough to catch the immaculate form of Esari was said to be as potent as the goddess herself. In other words it could shred any cloak or magic.” She took in a deep breath as she finished her lecture.

“There’s more to it than just the princess. Be aware of that.” She stood up and made her way to the lower level of the ship.

For a human who did not look past the size of a wallet, she seemed to be convinced of the importance of gods. Which was odd, considering how she treated me. My eyes traced her. Strangely, I had the urge to follow her, similar to back in Starsreach. Or even at the witch’s hut. This seemed also odd. I resisted that urge, after all I had to attend to my audience.

Amoung my audience, Bat woman was the first to speak up, “Well said tree, I did not enjoy the story myself, but it was nice all the same.”

I lowered my brows till it made a line above my eyes. I was not amused.

“It should have had more comedy in it!” whispered Mossman .It was apparent he had shouted, though even then he was as quiet as a mouse. If mice spoke? I had only seen a mouse once before.

I looked at the strange Mossman, “Comedy?” I asked. If he was a human I would have deemed an idiot, yet for all I knew he could have been a mastermind.

He cocked his head, “I did not laugh once. All stories should make you laugh, no?”

I really could not tell whether he was angry or perplexed. His soft spoken nature made it hard to tell. Either way, he was an idiot. That much I knew. “That is the way it is, it is simply a story I heard, besides I am stern god not a wily one,”

The rest of the crew pressed their hands- if they had them- together and bowed their heads once. “Thank you for the story.” They said in unison. Their combined voice a patchwork of high and low, hiss and clicks, and even a husk like sound. Creepy, is the only I could describe it.

Slowly they left the upper deck, until only Bilal, Bat woman and myself remained on the upper level. I peeked at the rushing streams. It was slowing.

Bilal patted me on the back, and I turned to see him heading down as well. “You best get comfortable with the ship and her crew. They need me down there, but if you need anything feel free to ask.”

I nodded. Bilal stopped once more at the head of the stairs, “Feel free to ask anyone, but Zek, he’s the brooding fellow in the back of the ship. You’ll know him when you see him. That one’s a giant he is.”

He waved then continued down the stairs. I gazed at those stairs. The urge got stronger. It was as if I had to see Ersel. I clutched my right wrist. It twisted and gripped the air as if I were mad. I breathed deeply, and for a moment the urge dissipated.

“Oi Tree.” Cried the familiar voice of bat woman. I turned to her. Those pure violet eyes really struck me. Easily mistaken as gems. Perhaps mine were the same.

“You say you are a god.” She said walking around me, “But I do not believe you, nor do I trust you” She kept her eyes on mine, “You are someone- no something, I know nothing about. Bilal seems to trust you and for that reason I believe you deserve to know.” She had made a half circle around me before she stopped.

She reached in her pockets, her outfit rather baggy for what I assumed was a woman. She pulled a piece of parchment from her coat, “Take a look at this.” She held it out. It was a picture of Bilal. A sketch which depicted him perfectly. Or almost perfectly. His nose was rather exaggerated. There were words splattered all about the parchment. “Do you understand now?” she said after a while.

I cocked my head and shrugged my shoulders, “I cannot read.”

She seemed speechless for a second, then shook her head. She held the paper in her hands and read aloud, “Wanted, Alive, Bilal, Prince of Pirates. 12,000 Irs.”

With the last line read she shot forwards until she stood a breath away from me, “These were disturbed in your kingdom shortly before he was captured. Now I do not know whether your sudden arrival has anything to do with it, but if you even think about-”

She was too close. Extending one finger I pushed her head back with it. She stopped in mid sentence. I spoke where she left off, “I do not care about ‘Irs’, or any coin for that matter. Whatever Bilal is to you, keep him that way. I have no reason to harm him.”

She blinked, “What of your companion?”

I honestly could not say, though in the situation I chose to lie, “She does not care for bounties, just the share of gold and the tomb raiding your captain has offered her.”

Bat woman stepped back, waving my hand off her forehead, “Then it is settled. As long as you stay true to you word I shall treat you as one of our own. Welcome Brambleburn.” She bowed her head. “my name is Liawynn, Bilal’s first mate.”

I looked at her curiously, here I was on a ship with only two humans. I had been surrounded by humans all my life and now I stood next to one that was not. It had not occurred to me to ask. “Would you tell me about you people?”

She hummed, hissed and clicked, “In time, you will learn everything.”

Strange, though as I gazed into the streaming waves, I knew ‘strange’ was just the beginning.

“Then I shall tell you my story. That is if you’ll listen.”

Silence then she asked. I could tell she was suspicious. “You’re willing to reveal that to me?”

“If you’ll listen.”

She leaned besides me, “I’m listening.”