All Hail the Gods of Thunder and Bone!

Impulu! Ezogo!

Guardians of Soulann!

– First Verse of “Ode to Thunder and Bone”

YEMAYA

SIX MONTHS AGO

The annual pearl hunt is a deadly endeavor, which is why I am amazed by the jubilant mood on The Enchantra.

My captor’s crew cheers between another round of drinks, split between the pirate ship docked at Bonesaw Bay and the overflowing Ivory Tavern as they stumble back and forth. The sickly-sweet scent of rum, millet beer, and honey wine is overwhelming—that and the rotting fish stench that clings to the shoreline.

I don’t partake in drinking alcohol unless forced to by DuPonte when I dance for him. Like I will tonight, since these fools believe the legend that a wind witch’s dance brings good fortune on the tides. Other than the times I am forced to, I stay sober, much to my chagrin. However, it’s a blessing in disguise. It’s crucial to keep a clear mind among pirates on the high seas. Especially so close to enemy territory, where a misstep can send you flying off the docks and into the waiting jaws of a mythical predator.

So, instead of drowning my sorrows, I linger near the rotted planks of the ship’s gangplank, casting furtive glances towards the rift between Zaire proper and the uncharted half of the cosmic egg.

The edge of the world as we know it sprawls before me in all its terrifying glory under a starless night sky. Here, near the cusp of the uncharted Northern Ocean, on the edge of Arcadia’s serene blue waters, wicked creatures lurk in these deadly waters, with unimaginable bounties tied to their heads. Waters, the captain of The Enchantra, expects me to navigate to enrich his coffers alone. All because I dared say no.

Eyrck, the deranged bastard, wants me to pillage a sacred temple of a sea god in exchange for my freedom. Sacrilegious, yes. But mundane terrors plague me at the thought of trespassing in those holy halls. No soul has crossed into this god’s temple and survived. Even the ones who made it back home carried a curse, doomed to die. And despite my powers, I doubt my fate will be much different from theirs.

“Ezogo, give these weary bones rest,” I murmur the old prayer, squeezing my nails into the wooden rails, as I rest against the frayed rope of the rigging.

Yemaya Okimi, pearl huntress extraordinaire. My legend spans the world of Zaire, from coast to coast, and pier to pier. As a wind witch of the ancient Soulanni tribe, my destiny was written in the stars: to serve the gods–DuPonte wants me to rob–and to slay the alkelan who infest our ancestral waters. When I was accepted into the Soulanni Priestesshood, I swore an oath to uphold those vows.

And now he wants me to betray both, to spare an alkelan’s life so that the guardian of Tidus’ temple will allow me to steal a fragment of the legendary Black Pearl.

I have tonight’s troubles to worry about, given that fact, and yet my mind is firmly anchored in the past.

Three lunar cycles have come and passed since my mother’s homegoing at the hands of DuPonte’s bloody blade. Already a woman of eight and ten, when our queen mother fell in battle against the sky bandits, I had two choices before me: to submit my people to slavery, or sell my soul and magic to him. Of course, I choose to sell my soul. And now I’ve served him for three grueling lunes, meandering through their criminal channels above and below the sky, avoiding imperial battleships, all while plotting his demise.

I made a deal with a demon that day. And now I’m tasked with venturing into Death’s waters to grow DuPonte’s illicit fortune to uphold my end of our bargain to break my contract with him.

But we both know I have no hope of succeeding in such an insurmountable task.

Lamplight casts strange shadows all around me, swinging from a thick corded rope from the pier. I glare at my grimy, distorted reflection in the ocean waves churning against the bow, hating what I have become. I was destined to be more than a pirate king’s weather witch, but after my mother’s death, the civil war, and my years of bondage, I don’t have the power to unbind my sacred winds from his cruel shadows.

Or, if I am being honest, I don’t have the willpower to fight back anymore.

Now my gifts are little more than parlor tricks. At twenty and one, I hate my life, but I know no other way to live. Not one where I keep my head, that is. And even if I break free, a soiled priestess will never be welcomed back to the tribe.

I let go of the rail and slump in defeat. Then I squeeze my withered hands into fists, gnarled by disease, scarred from descaling alkelan corpses, and as ash-white between the knuckles as bonedust. I’m sick of this wretched fate! But how can I change this tragic destiny that seems hellbent on breaking me?

“Yemaya,” Captain DuPonte murmurs as I drift closer to the tavern and away from the bay.

When did I walk off the ship? It’s like I’m in a trance!

I stiffen, bracing myself against the tidal wave of his rage, then turn around with a bow, screwing my lips into a mockery of a smile. He’s a mean man, and an even meaner drunk. So I put on my armor with care.

“Yes, captain?” I whisper, with as much sweetness and deference as my rebellious spirit can muster.

I don’t want a split, bleeding lip on top of my sour mood, seeing as the briny wind has already rubbed them raw.

He snorts, spits, some spittle left on his scarred lips and black beard as he slurs out, “Get yer ass on yer boat and use that whistle to locate the temple. And take my medallion with you. It will bind that bastard so you can guide us to you to capture Tidus’ pearl. Then, and only then, will you be free, girl.”

My skin crawls as if an infestation of maggots has invaded me, every time he calls me girl like imperial scum do, knowing damn well he will never be them, a half-breed cast out of his homeland.

Eyrck flicks his thumb, and I stumble forward, catching the golden disc flying through the air before it falls to the ground. I turn it over in my opposite palm, startled by the flaming sun and arcane symbols embossed in the metal. It’s a real Sun Temple medallion! I thought the bastard was kidding when he said he possessed one amongst his treasures.

I recoil immediately, flinging my eyes to the rift, “B-But captain!? It’s nearly midnight. Storms are rolling in. Surely I can search for this godling’s black pearl in the morning as we planned?”

He lifts a bushy black brow, one I’ll probably trim when I return if I don’t lose an arm, or worse, and grits out, “Did I ask you? It’s an order. Do it before dawn. We set sail with or without you.”

DuPonte pauses, reaching for a golden ring looped around his neck with various other trinkets. My heart skips a beat as he crushes my contract in his meaty fist.

“And if you dare not return, or worse, attempt to flee, I will melt your mother’s ring and cast her into the abyss. I warned you once already about disobeying me. And I won’t again. See this as your punishment rather than your damnation, witch.”

With that threat lingering in the putrid air, he turns on his heels and stumbles up the gangplank to rejoin his crew. I don’t know how much time passes between preparing to set sail and me standing under the waning moonlight, but at some point, I’m ready to embark on my mission.

The memory of his slurred speech, laced with venom, crawls and then claws at my skin. Until my spirit’s caught in a vice grip by the weight of his words. I have no choice but to go. But to go means certain death. And if I don’t return…

“No. You’ve survived worse, and you will survive this,” I mutter, trying to trick myself into denying the truth.

But my delusion doesn’t last long, as I drift like a ghost through the crowd towards the tiny jalbori transport boat tied to the bay, stocked with supplies.

Dead before dawn. I’ll die before I see another sunrise. I always thought I’d die during the pearl hunt, but at least I thought I’d die under the rays of the sun. Now, I’ll be swallowed whole in the darkness, fighting for this pitiful excuse of a life all alone.

As I board my vessel, untethering my boat from the bay, I reminisce about the days and nights spent hauling pearls and hacking dupes at the market—back when my mother was alive, back before I sold my soul to free my body.

It feels like a lifetime ago. I take hold of the paddle and push forward, wiping tears from my eyes that blur my vision. Only to stop mid-stroke, recognizing the sound of music carried on the whipping wind.

“All Hail the Gods of Thunder and Bone,” I whisper, remembering part of the first verse that cries out to me in the wordless melody.

A traveling jembe from the plainlands must have taken up residence in the tavern as the locals’ entertainment.

I cast my head to the moon and weep bitter tears. A hymn celebrating the destruction of my motherland’s enemies, sinking to the bottom of the ocean as thunder rocked the earth and divided Zaire. A hymn sung to the clinking of bones on leather drums. A hymn that perfectly complements my journey into hell.

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