Build Me a Ship To Sail the Dawn

[Vegetation]

The sun beat down on her neck relentlessly. Sweat beaded on her dirty brow as she scrabbled in the dirt, perched on her ankles like some kind of blue-haired frog wallowing in the spring mud, yet even the prickling droplets that the wet breeze entirely failed to dispel could not, in turn, erode the smile from her lips in their trickling passage. Her hands closed around a bulb, shook the worst of the dirt off and tossed the yellow orb into the basket with a half a dozen of its fellows. She had just sunk her fingers into the soft soil around the next tell-tale green shoots when an amused sigh wedged itself into her gardening reverie.

"I haven't been out long," she spoke, automatically brushing her hands against her well-worn overalls.

"No," admitted the other, giving her the same sort of tolerant glare that a mother might give a child who insisted upon helping put away the dishes even when the shelves were much too high for them to reach as opposed to the 20-something woman standing amidst the verdant stalks. "But you were going to stay out until you turned into a lobster, weren't you?"

"No I wasn't," she lied.

"Yes you were."

"Fi."

"Thyme."

"Fine." Thyme was grinning, though, as she made her way back into the welcome shade of the little log cabin, vegetable-laden basket thumping at her side. Into the pantry went the spoils of war; another victorious battle against the dastardly plants, so she liked to think of her gardening in her more whimsical moments, a never-ending conflict between herself and the tireless earth, twin forces of production and destruction eternally at odds with one another. Perhaps she just enjoyed the drama of it. Indeed, for as long as Thyme could remember, framing tasks in terms of battle had made them easier to execute. From plucking onions out of the soil to organizing her benefactor's weighty tomes, her life was a constant series of bloodless campaigns against the various obstacles that occurred in life. In her dreams she faced off against more mighty foes - driving away fearsome, shadowy titans with the brilliance of the sun as her shining whip.

That these memories only extended for about the last six months had mostly ceased to bother Thyme. Some things simply could not be changed. And yet occasionally a pang of frustration would ripple through her muscles, leave her staring at the wall with clenched fists for blurred, furious minutes until something dragged her out of the creeping mire and leave her exhausted and aching as though she had just sprinted for a mile.

Thyme felt her fingers twitching into a half-curl and forced herself into motion. Into the bathroom she strode, shucking her thoughts with her soiled clothing, and, with a brush of her fingers across the runes inset in the wall, let the resultant steaming shower boil away the remnants of her brewing, impotent anger. An hour later, recentered and fortified with a delightfully minty cup of tea, she found herself flipping through what qualified as one of Fi's lighter reads - The Late Reign: 11 B.E. to 2 A.E.

"That author's a bit of a hack, you know," said Fi from over Thyme's shoulder. She smiled at the human, orange-red scales along her jawline glittering in the diffused glow filtering in from the skylight. The end of her long, lithe serpent's tail traced under the name Adia Fanis embossed in the cover in big, bold letters. "He gets the big picture right but tends to just make up whatever he thinks makes sense when it comes to the fine details." Fi shrugged. It rippled down her sixteen-foot-long form in a firey wave.

Thyme gazed back at the lamia's golden eyes. "It's technically historical fiction," she pointed out, flipping to the preface and jabbing a triumphant finger at her proof. "Fanis even says as much."

Fi scoffed. "Fanis can't be bothered to actually get off his ass and do any real research, so he writes plausible nonsense that he knows will sell. Trust me on this one. I had to have him as a professor." A shudder ran through the snake-woman.

Thyme held the book aloft challengingly. "Then why do you have this?"

"Easy," said Fi, plucking a rather more dense volume from the bookshelf and settling into a sort of half-couch, half-bench construction, designed for use by the longer species. "It gives me something to be mad at when I need a deserving target."

"Can't really argue with that," agreed Thyme, returning to the grossly compelling tale of the doomed eastern campaign's collapse. "But I also can't make heads or tails of the books you prefer" - she bobbed her head at the weighty tome in her mentor's hands - "So I'll take something that's half-right over something that's completely opaque. Can't be ignorant about the world forever."

"Hmm."

Thyme shut The Late Reign, eyes narrowing. "That's a dangerous 'hmm.'"

Fi's amber eyes squinted right back at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Last time you hummed like that, you set the shower on fire. Specifically the water in the shower. How do you even set water on fire?"

All sixteen feet of the lamia puffed up imperiously. "With great skill, of course."

When both of them had recovered from their giggling fit, books long set aside, Fi's expression turned more serious. "You know, if you really want to learn about the world you're going to have to get up to your elbows in it," she said, crossing her arms over her sweater-clad chest. "You're healed up, you know the language well enough, you have some money saved away, so why not go get your bearings? If you feel up to it, go to the capital and sniff around in the royal archives for a while. You won't get a much better history lesson than that."

Thyme rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm sure I'll be allowed into the most prestigious institute of knowledge on the continent. They'll turn me out so fast I won't know which way is up."

Fi smirked, producing an envelope from a drawer in the end table and flicking it over to land in Thyme's lap. "They'll let you in if you take my access card and a signed letter explaining the situation."

The human frowned. The envelope pressed down on her, brick-like, pinning her under the twin weights of responsibility and desire. "I don't want to leave," Thyme confessed.

Fi's lips curled into a sad little smile. "Yes you do," she chided gently. "You want to get out of this little cabin and see what you've been missing - and don't you dare feel guilty about it," she interrupted at the first hint of a petulant inhale. "You don't owe me a thing. Yeah, I saved your life six months ago, and since then you've more than paid me back. Plus I'm tired of you sleeping on my damn couch."

That broke the dam. Thyme laughed, long and hard, and if little bits of moisture started collecting in the corners of her eyes neither she nor her savior would ever tell. "Oh, fine, you overcooked spaghetti noodle. I suppose I can do you the favor of leaving you in peace for a little while."

"That's the spirit," grinned Fi.

Thyme's eyes fell to the brown envelope once more. "How long have you had that ready?" She accused. "Did you plan for this?"

Fi smirked. "Since the week you woke up. I am a genius, after all." She narrowly dodged the resulting thrown pillow, cackling like a madwoman.

---

Two days later, Thyme stood on the dusty dirt trail leading through the forest and into civilization. She exchanged long hugs with Fi and a promise to write often, and then, taking one last look behind her, set off between the softly rustling trees, a full pack of supplies on her back and a sturdy knife on her hip her only companions in this journey away from the only home she'd ever known.

She would never return.