Author's Note: Ok I hurried to get this chapter out. It may seem a bit strange, but it will make sense in the long run. Don't expect another chapter until at least Sunday (12 Sept) or maybe later since I'm sort of extremely busy with school and stuff. But who knows maybe you'll be pleasantly surprised ;-).
Chapter 2: Water and Strangers
Ayla watched the silhouettes of the dockside sentries moving along the wharf and wondered how she was going to get off the ship without them noticing her. It had seemed like a good plan at first, waiting until dark, but that was before the watch suddenly doubled with dusk, and large gas lamps were lit at even intervals along the waterfront. She sighed, there really only was one way to go, over the side and into the water; unless of course she simply took the entire vessel and landed somewhere else. For a moment a wild gleam came into her eye and she wondered what it would be like to pilot a vessel, with the Tortallan navy at her heels. Then she berated herself, breaking the law in such a major way was not the most ideal way of starting her new life, or trying to gain acceptance into Tortallan society – especially as she had absolutely no idea how to steer the ship, or even get it moving in the first place.
Her duffel, containing the few belongings she could call her own, had already been carefully wrapped in oilskin when she'd left, and her clothing had been meticulously chosen for various beneficial aspects: its many pockets, many of which were hidden, the fact that she could hide several knives and other useful tools in it without difficulty, and most importantly, the way it not only repelled water but also dried so quickly that she'd always wondered whether there was magic hidden somewhere in the lining. In fact the only thing that was likely to be affected negatively in any way by her impending excursion into the waters of Port Caynn was herself. She hated water, especially sea water. Whether it was a mere face wash or a swim, she abhorred the feeling of water on her skin, and it often made her feel uneasy, and if not, then at least hungry. Although she knew how to swim, and greatly valued personal hygiene, making herself touch water for any reason other than drinking was always a rigorous mental effort. She realised this was strange, but had never spent too much thought on it, after all if sea water made her nauseous there obviously was something wrong with her, and, being somewhat of a perfectionist, she wouldn't have been able to face the idea that she was not just different, but somehow flawed.
Eventually, Ayla worked up the nerve to gently lower first the duffel over the side of the ship (having first made sure it was tightly closed, and would not sink), and then, gingerly, herself. If anyone had been watching, she thought they might mistake her for a cat in the way she quickly withdrew her hand when the gently lapping waves first threatened to touch it. She steeled herself, and forced herself to lower herself down into the water. She gasped as her skin touched the water, but not out of nausea for she did not feel at all uneasy or uncomfortable. Rather, she gasped at the complete lack of any discomfort whatsoever. Contrary to her expectations, the sea water was positively enjoyable as it cradled her, and she delighted in the sensual feel of the warm water brushing her skin. She was amazed, and almost forgot where she was as she lost herself in the refreshing and uplifting buoyancy of the ocean. Almost. She pulled her bag to her and slowly swam towards the looming shapes of several large dockside buildings with long quite strokes.
The buildings turned out to be warehouses, and she managed to climb onto the dock while keeping them between herself and the sentries by the gas lamps. She withdrew from the water with regret. Dearly she would have loved to stay in those calming waves, letting them wash her into oblivion, without the troubles of past, present or future. Yet she forced herself to leave the gentle carefree swells, for one thing swimming silently was hard work and she was already exhausted from her previous travels, for another she was growing very hungry – that was one thing that hadn't changed about her contact with water. She silently ran across the dock and into a narrow alleyway, hoping that none of the sentries was watching her of the dock. When she heard no shouts, she relaxed slightly and headed down the alley without bothering to check if there was anywhere else to go. After all, she reasoned, when you have nowhere to go and nowhere to return to, one path was as good as any other.
However she did not neglect carefully checking her surroundings, and when the stranger first emerged from an even smaller side-alley she was immediately aware of her. The stranger didn't appear to notice her though, being rather more preoccupied with binding the bleeding gash in her arm with a rough tourniquet torn from the hem of her light cloak. Unsure of what to do, Ayla decided to do nothing, and simply wait until the woman noticed her, however she cautiously loosened two of her knives in their scabbards.
After a short time the strange woman straightened up, and looked at Ayla. Piercing eyes, whose colour Ayla could not determine in the gloom, stared out of a face framed by short, slightly curly hair. That gaze held her like a raptor's, cold and hard, and devoid of all emotion. After what seemed a lifetime, the woman lowered her eyes. Finally she spoke in a soft, gentle tone that seemed in complete opposition to the message her eyes held:
"You are new here, I see. For few venture into this district, and none of those would carry a pack, or look like they'd just gone for a swim". Ayla was surprised, she had expected an introduction, or a request for help with her injury, not a comment that sounded somewhere between statement and accusation. She was spared the difficulty of searching for a suitable reply by a noise in the side-alley, and the appearance of a man wreathed in a cloak which also served to hide the lower part of his face. Only his eyes could be seen, empty pools of darkness which seemed to take in every single detail in a single flickering glance. He spoke, in a rough voice, obviously addressing the woman but never looking at her for more than a moment, before those eerie eyes moved on again, "We must leave at once. More will come soon". Without a further glance he disappeared down the alley behind Ayla.
The woman sighed softly, "Come, if you stay here you won't survive the night, or, if you do, you'll regret it. Follow me". And she followed the path the man had taken. Ayla paused for a moment, before picking up her duffel and following them. It wasn't as if there was anything else to do, she reasoned, and while they were certainly strange individuals, they didn't seem to have any malicious intents. At least, not that she could detect.