The lanterns flickered above the cobblestone pier, casting long, wavy shadows over the harbored ships. Reina, dressed in a crimson silk tunic with gold-threaded embroidery, leaned against a weathered crate. Her hair, a cascade of midnight curls, was partially concealed beneath a hood of matching crimson, embroidered with intricate geometric patterns typical of the Sultanate's fashion. A pair of supple leather boots peeked from beneath her clothing, dusted with the grit of a thousand journeys. She adjusted the bandolier across her chest, its pouches brimming with rolled parchments and vials of an inky black liquid. In her other hand, a dagger with an ornately jeweled hilt glinted faintly in the moonlight. Around her, the sea sighed like a restless ghost. She had been here before, in another time, another era, but this time the stakes were higher. This time, the whispers had a name.
"They’re late," she muttered, narrowing her cobalt-blue eyes at the galleon's hull—an enormous Turkish vessel, commanded by men who thought themselves merchants but were far from it. The ship had crept closer over the past hour, its skeletal silhouette lifeless and deliberate. Reina adjusted the pouch at her side and listened: the bustling sounds of the midsummer bazaar nearby, voices haggling over herbs and silks, and the distant melody of a ney flute. Whoever was coming was using that music to veil their arrival.
"Hoping they remember the signal," a low voice chimed beside her. She stiffened—not out of surprise, but as if bracing for what was next. From the shadows, a man in his mid-thirties emerged. His beige Ottoman vest barely clung to his lean physique, and the crescent tattoo on his temple gleamed faintly with sweat. "You’re sure this is wise? You’ve a talent for mixing poisons and playing shadow-games—agreeing to meet Tahir’s envoy openly? Foolish." His lip curled slightly.
"I never claimed I was wise, Adim," she replied. Her voice was calm, even melodic, though there was a sharp undercurrent beneath the tone. She tucked the dagger back into her boots. "But what I have may be worth the foolishness." She inclined her head toward her leather pouch. "Tahir’s envoy doesn’t want silk or spice. They want this."
Adim’s brow furrowed as he watched her fasten the pouch more tightly to her side. "You should have melted it in the vat the moment you found it."
"I thought about it," she admitted, her expression concise. "But then Tahir would still be sending men to kill me, wouldn’t he? No. Best to finish it. End the transaction."
Aboard the Turkish vessel, shadows shifted. Lanterns blinked to life near the bow, and Reina caught a glint of worn armor beneath the heavy black cloaks of the approaching group. Four men disembarked onto the pier, their footsteps muffled by the wide planks. Reina tilted her head as three of them marched toward her, the fourth holding back near the bow. His silhouette towered, unmoving, but she didn’t miss the unmistakable posture of command.
"Why do they always send so many for one woman?" she murmured mockingly. But her voice was tight enough that Adim placed a steadying hand on the hilt of his scimitar. When the trio halted before her, Reina noted their faces: one scarred beneath the eye, another with a beard heavy enough to hide malice, and lastly, a slim youth who wore his defiance awkwardly, like ill-fitted armor.
"Reina of Çetin," the youngest barked, trying to sound bold. His voice cracked. "Have you brought the… item?"
"You don’t get to speak," she interrupted gently. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Not until I see payment." She gestured subtly toward a satchel slung over the bearded man’s shoulder. "You think I’ll hand something like this over because a boy barks at me?"
The leader of their group, the scarred man, stepped forward. His leather armor creaked as he shifted. "The payment is here, girl," he growled. Reina flinched, not visibly, but enough to cause Adim to tighten his stance. "But there are whispers of what you’re carrying. Whispers Tahir does not like."
"Tahir has never liked me. Nothing new." Reina smirked and reached into her side pouch, withdrawing a small glass vial containing an obsidian-colored liquid. It shifted unnaturally, almost alive, as if tiny threads of shadow swam within it.
"The Breath of Night," she announced softly. Her fingers cradled the vial as a mother might her child. "One drop in your drink, and you dream forever. One drop on the edge of a blade—" She let her smile sharpen. "You don’t wake."
From the ship’s bow, the towering shadow finally moved forward. The envoy had arrived. Reina’s gaze flicked past the trio, landing on the envoy’s face, half-hidden beneath a dark hood. Golden sigils lined the hems of his robes—runework Reina recognized as far beyond Ottoman or Turkish craftsmanship. It was old. Older than the bazaar stalls. Older than her bloodline, perhaps.
"The price," she whispered, no longer mocking. The envoy stretched out a hand, revealing a hollow ring etched with carvings of twisting serpents. Reina’s pulse quickened, her eyes widening in recognition. Beside her, Adim tensed further, his breathing shallow.
"Reina—!" he hissed, but it was too late. She reached forward, her hand trembling for the first time since she had come to this pier.
In one swift movement, the envoy hurled the ring toward her, but it spun unnaturally mid-air, veering wildly as though possessed. Before she could grasp it, the glow of the sigils exploded outward in a molten heatwave. Reina staggered backward, shielding her face as the shadows themselves seemed to warp and twist around her.
From that moment, chaos spilled forth. The scarred man lunged, his blade flashing toward the vial, and Adim roared, bringing his scimitar into the fray. Around them, shadows writhed like living things, and Reina realized too late that she could no longer separate what was real beneath the galleon lights from what the vial had summoned into reality.
The whispers, no longer confined to her nightmares, had come alive.
Genre: Historical Fiction/Dark Fantasy
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: The Russian Reach: Playing Catch Up - Uncover the Secrets Behind Today's Global Power Struggle!
Disclaimer: This article may contain affiliate links. If you click on these links and make a purchase, we may receive a commission at no additional cost to you. Our recommendations and reviews are always independent and objective, aiming to provide you with the best information and resources.
Get Exclusive Stories, Photos, Art & Offers - Subscribe Today!
Post Comment
You must be logged in to post a comment.