The days continued inexorably. Work continued on the ship. I didn't see all of it. I
couldn't see all of it. When I woke, Mom was already up tending to her tools for our now daily trip to Sandy. When I went to bed, Mom stayed up later tinkering with parts, reading dizzying technical manuals and more. Sometimes we stayed so late I fell asleep onboard and Mom carried me home in the dark.
When we were awake, Mom worked. When I was asleep, Mom worked. When I ate, Mom worked. When I was let out to play and run around to make my own fun chasing bugs and stuff in the nearby dead woods, Mom worked. Bags grew under her eyes like purple flowers. I wanted to help more, but I couldn't.
I just couldn't keep up. I was too slow and too small. For every step I took, Mom could take four. For every little thing I could carry and help her with, Mom could do thrice or more.
In some ways, it was like Mom was always waiting for me, held up as she tried to do the work of a hundred trained sailors all on her own while caring for me.
Not for the first time, I wondered if Mom thought I was a normal five year old, or if my old life's knowledge shined through? Did she ever wonder if something was genuinely wrong with me?
I found myself wondering if she ever had any resentment over me slowing her down or being
different, but I strangled that thought in its crib for the nonsense it was.
It was moot. In my old life, I knew nothing about ships and engineering. The most I could do here was sit and draw on an old water damaged notebook with a charcoal pencil while she sat and tried to work on a machine that I knew for damn certain would be easier to work on in a workshop on Sandy with a proper clamp.
Maybe, at best, I could hold tools and hand them to her. That was it.
Mom was never going to admit I was a liability, so it came down to me. Mom never left me alone unless I was solidly asleep behind reinforced stonework and steel, but I'd be deluding myself if I thought I was helping at this point.
I set my pencil down with a loud clack and wiped my smudged fingers on my worn out pants, mind made up.
When she looked up, I pounced.
Metaphorically, anyways. "Mama? I can stay here," I finally suggested. "I won't leave. I'll do my chores."
Mom stared at me with perked ears and surprised eyes. "Why would you say that? I love having you with me." Despite her words, I noticed a small twitch as she said that. It wasn't a lie at all, but I could tell something in her had turned over my offer with interest.
"But you'd do more if I wasn't there, right? You gotta fix Sandy. I'm sure she'd like that," I said.
Mom was quiet for a long time. Her tail was still. A month ago, I don't think she would have said yes. But, things were different now, and Mom was in a
hurry. I didn't know why we had to leave now, just that she thought we had to.
Time stretched on as she thought it over. It got to the point I thought she was going to tell me no, she spoke. "I — do you promise to stay here? Don't mess with the stove or anything? Just, work on your letters and words, or draw on the old notebooks?"
"I promise." It was an easy promise, if one that left me feeling as if a weight had been strapped to my shoulders.
I
wanted to be there. Life with Mom here was something I'd never expected, but it was wholly new to me. The mere act of having a mother was novel, something I'd only
dreamed of in my life before. To be able to enjoy it now…
This wasn't even to say the
new part of my brain that always, always wanted to be nearby mom, to
hide in her shadow where it was safe.
I would give so, so very much to keep this life going. Yet, I was
still too young. In some ways, nothing had changed from when I first woke up in this world. I was still a powerless little kitten whose saving grace was that I could at least walk now compared to the literal infant I'd started as.
Eventually, and only reluctantly after much reassurances, promises, reminders of safety, and informing me of where the food was for snacks that we both already knew the location of, Mom left, gently closing the door behind her.
The quiet that settled over our home was oddly mundane. I listened, but even with my improved hearing I couldn't pick up much, if anything, past the thick door. At some point, I got tired of listening to nothing. I laid on the floor and stared at the ceiling for a long while, thinking and holding my tail.
At some point, I stood, letting my arms dangle by my sides as I pivoted.
I walked into a side room deeper in the citadel. It was a place we barely used, and to my knowledge, hadn't even been used when there were people here all that much. It had ancient crates lining the walls. All were empty or full of dust. I pushed a few out of the way until I cleared a nice, smooth section of wall, and pulled out a piece of flint I grabbed on our last foraging trip. I then set to work.
The sketch took a while. I was out of practice for this level of detail Or had I ever been in practice in this life? My claws were only just getting used to the motions of drawing, so it was rough. I had to stop and start over a few times, on a different patch of wall. Still, I managed with a more stylized look than pure realism.
Soon enough, I had Mom drawn. Her curly hair was a challenge. I also cheated by not drawing hands. I then added myself next to her. Then, on her other side, I drew a girl I'd never met. She had hair like me, and a slightly different outfit, red instead of my blue. I gave her a matching clamshell necklace, just like mine.
I like to imagine we'd have been good friends. Maybe we'd have run through the woods chasing birds and daring each other higher and higher up the tallest trees. We'd have learned our first letters together, our first
runes, together. Perhaps we'd have competed and tried to see who was faster, stronger, smarter. Running up and down the halls of the Sea Fort, down the beaches, darting between the old gray trunks of the dead woods as we played tag. Maybe we'd have been in eternal harmony, always supportive. Or constantly bickering over small things but instantly at each other's side when someone tried to mess with us.
When we left this tiny,
tiny island, we'd have gone on a new adventure in a new land with Mom there to guide us, teach us to sail, to hunt, to play, to do every one of a few thousand little things expected in any society. We could've grown up together, made best friends, always supported one another. Maybe I'd have been the cool aunt to her kids and vice versa.
I saw a thousand and one different ways our lives could have intertwined. Yet, it would never happen. All those possibilities snuffed out before I'd even become aware.
I lived. She didn't.
Above the tallest one, I wrote Mama. Above my sketch, I wrote Gwen. And above the other girl who I never got to meet, I wrote Celia.
On the side, I left a message in English. It was funny how simultaneously difficult yet easily the words came. It felt less like I was out of practice and more I was drawing them from a deep well the words stubbornly clung to. Sometimes my grasp on the written words slipped and the bucket went down below, but I was patient and never stopped pulling.
Eventually, they came back to me, like old friends. I wrote my message to the side. I didn't bother providing a translation. Just someone seeing it would be enough for me.
Proof that we were here.
Once I was done, I pushed boxes back into place around the room. These were old even before I'd lived here. Some sagged or broke apart, weakened by time, but that was fine. I doubted Mom would even think to check in here, but even if she did, it was fine. I could just say I wanted to draw and I'd be telling the truth. Besides, she'd said so herself: we were leaving soon.
By the time Mom came back hours later absolutely covered in grease and stumbling with exhaustion, I had filled out another twenty pages of odd doodles and sketches. Mom made dinner, then collapsed in exhaustion. But this was not before bodily grabbing me as she stumbled to bed. I was okay being a teddy bear, just this once.
Three days and nights later, I woke up to morning light to see Mom packing.
"It's time to go."
~~~
Actually leaving was shockingly mundane. It wasn't an exact match given the very different locales, but ultimately was similar to what my old life said moving entailed. I.e., it involved lots of boxes and walking back and forth for hours. Mom did most of the heavy lifting, but at some point Sandy got involved and started lowering and raising a crane that still worked which made things far easier.
Somehow, I was a bit disappointed.
"I think that's it," Mom said, putting our things and remaining food onboard. While Sandy had space belowdecks aplenty and likely intended spaces, we had put almost everything in or near the bridge. I guessed Mom wanted to keep things simple for when we left.
Nearby, a tube extending from the deck along the wall of the island suddenly sputtered and hissed with static. I yowled and jumped straight up, hair on end. A multifaceted gem lit up with a flickering light that slowly stabilized into Sandy's eye.
"And got it! Um, excuse me, can you hear me?"
Mom laughed as I huffed in embarrassment before staring at the tube suspiciously. "Loud and clear, Sandy. Seems you've been busy too?"
"To the extent I can. There's far too much damage for me to fix even with optimal power and regenerative feedback, particularly in hard components. My body would need a full overhaul in drydock, but I was able to reroute a few things to get the voice tubes working again." Sandy's voice was morose as she described the damage, but brightened at the end to the point her voice made me think of sunshine and daisies.
A thought occurred to me. "Does it hurt?"
"P-pardon?"
"Being damaged like, well, this." I gestured everywhere to the signs of rust, gouges in metal, and more scattered everywhere. I know it was everywhere too, not just the upper levels, and there was probably more damage on the hull, although maybe it was okay?
"Wouldn't all these scratches be like the time I scraped my arm up reaching for a crab in a crevice?" That had been an utterly nasty experience, too. Big bastard had fought me tooth and claw in his little sea side hole and my arm got caught on coral, resulting in me pulling too hard and scraping off chunks of skin. Mom had been aghast and instantly babied me, but we ate well that night.
"Gwen, that's-" Mom began, only for Sandy to interrupt.
"It's okay, Eliza. She's curious and I have nothing to hide from her." Sandy's tone was chiding, yet rapidly shifted to a more thoughtful voice as her eye focused on me. " I wouldn't call my state comfortable, but it's tolerable. I don't feel pain like you do — not normally, at any rate, and while the damage is unpleasant and... upsetting, to put it mildly, I can hold it together until we reach the mainland."
"I see." I pretended to nod while wondering if Sandy was lying because I was five and telling a child "my body is wrapped in the flames of agony" is generally just not done.
Mom clapped her hands. "Okay, Gwen? Come with me to the bridge. Don't touch anything without my permission, got it?"
"Yes, Mama." I dutifully followed, intending to be obedient this time around. There was a time for play, and a time for serious Gwen Face. This was serious Gwen Face Time.
Outside a ship's wheel, the bridge was dominated by consoles and walls utterly covered in buttons, dials, and far more gear whose function I had no idea. Heck, some had been installed or replaced by Mom with me watching and I still had no idea what they did beyond "assist in ship navigation".
There was no way I was going to touch anything there. For all I knew, twisting even one dial slightly to the left out of place would cause the ship to explode. It probably wouldn't as that'd be a very strange dial function, but I couldn't know for certain.
From up in the bridge, I…couldn't actually see much. I was too short. Mom snorted as I pouted at the cracked windows and gestured to a nearby chair bolted before a console that gave a view of the cracked windows I hadn't considered.
I had just turned to hop on the chair when a tube to my right hissed with static. I yelped.
Again.
"Apologies, Gwen. I'm still working on the static," Sandy said to me. I tried to be mad at her and just couldn't. How the hell did a 2000 ton ship managed to be cheerful butterflies and sunshine, I had no idea, but it melted any attempts to be huffy with her. "Eliza, I have finished my diagnostic of the engines and I believe I can get the ship running at 20% power. For a short time, at least."
"Good to hear. How's the rest of your control over the ship?"
Sandy's staticky voice was filled with unhappiness. "Marginal. I understand given the circumstances it's amazing, but I am far behind optimal performance and without — well, a crew to take up most tasks, my focus will be primarily on maintaining the mana reactor and engine systems. I can assist you in aiming south, but that is about all."
"That's all we can do, Sandy," Mom said, patting a console consolingly. "Go ahead and fire up the engines to what power you can manage, propeller in reverse. We're getting out of here."
"Very well, Captain Mor."
"I told you, just call me Eliza" Mom didn't look up, already trained on the navigation equipment. She handed me a pair of binoculars. "Once we're out to sea, you'll help by looking into the distance. Remember what I said about binoculars and the sky?"
"Never ever look at the sun', I know, Mama." My old life had avoided that pitfall nicely despite a surprising amount of eye strain, and I was not eager to break the trend of functional eyes in this life.
Sandy cleared her non-existent throat. I had to blink. "Do you even have to do that?"
Sandy's eye zeroed on me and glanced to the side. Was she emoting? If so, it was appreciated. "Er, no, not technically, but I have found it helps put people at ease sometimes and I like to?" Sandy said awkwardly. "Anyway, Eliza, I was going to ask. I can detect the ship's bow is still lightly encased in sediment. When were you intending to clear that out? It might take some time and cause further strain if we try to dislodge purely using ship propulsion."
"Oh, I have that handled. Gwen, cover your ears." Mom took out a small, dull metal and rune encrusted switch.
Panic overtook me as I managed to recognize the symbols. The "never ever touch these" symbols. I ducked and shoved my hands over my folded ears. Mom ran a finger along the runes and they lit up before a sigil rapidly counting down.
"Wha—"
Thunder rocked the ship and air roared. The entire ship lurched backwards.
My ears rang.
"What the bloody abyss was that?" Sandy screamed over the voice tube, hissing with static and pops.
"A small amount of explosives to dislodge your bow."
"Are you insane? You could have damaged my hull, and any amount of labor could have—"
"I'd calculated everything out. Besides, you were really stuck there in the sediment pretty deep. I wouldn't have been able to break you out without a lot more effort."
Sandy was quiet for a moment before she finally broke the silence.
"Oh dear gods you are actually my acting captain."
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Bit melancholy, but the moment of departure has finally arrived. Also Eliza is an absolute gremlin.
Also, the scene of Gwen drawing on the sea fort wall is another one I think I might commission one of these days when I have the time. Even have a name for it:
"What Could Have Been".
Obligatory author plug because I'd love to write more but society sadly says I need monies to keep living (and support my growing addiction to commissioning catgirl art)
Support me on
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Subscribe Star. Check them advance chapters uploaded every weekend, too. Or check out my
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