If all ships were given names, then the ship that Aritemes was on would have to have six or seven. It was built like a crew of blind men had worked on it, and was the strangest ship that he'd ever found himself on. Still, it was the only ship that dared to cross the West-Leaf Ocean at the time. The storm had thrown the boat about the waves like a toy, but somehow they were managing to stay afloat and on course-at least, that's what the captain had said.

Beside Aritemes was a man whom he was certain wasn't human in any way. His skin was pale as all Pirates were, and his eyes were wide and green, but he had a ghastly sort of look about him. The man, who said his name was Huckles, was smoking on a pipe while folding paper in his hands. They stood in a lower deck of the ship, just outside where the crew slept. The entire ship stunk of smoke, fish, and body odor, but Aritemes couldn't complain, considering the only other way he'd make it across the ocean would be to go all the way around to Bevual and cross the land there that the sea had left untouched, as there was no way he would be rowing all the way to Gardelle's port himself. Huckles was missingpart of his foot, or so he said, and at times he felt like it was still tickling him, he was saying. "Aye, I's tells yous now, me foots beens ticklin' awful taday."

"Ah," he said, not certain how to respond to such a comment. His lungs felt like they were replaced by fuzz from the smoke's fumes.

"Yes, it's bein' awful dreadful as o' late. Can't sleeps a winks, yet I'ms always bein' woken up!" He laughed heartily, shoving Aritemes as he did so. His pipe somehow managed to stay in his mouth the entire time, puffing out smoke much like a raging fire.

Aritemes let out an uneasy chuckle, "Aha, that sounds dreadful."

"That be so, that be so. Stills, betters that I bes on the sea than the seas on me," Huckles said. His words made no sense to Aritemes, who didn't even try to say something back to that. He grinned at nothing, smoking on his pipe like it was his only source of oxygen. "Ever you wonders 'bout this here world?"

"Hm?"

"Te world, me fool! What says you 'bout this here world 'bout us? It's been awful changing lates,and no ones seems te know why!"

Aritemes jumped, "Ah...I doth not know. It be awful strange, yes."

"Yay, it be crazed. Aye, but still, I's seen some crazed things meself, and I think meself outta know what's strange and what's not." He paused to take out his pipe, cough deeply into the open air, and stick it back into his mouth after spitting onto the floor. Aritemes coughed as well, softer and harsher. "Other days I seen some magic ladies walkin' 'bout past the sea. Theys up to no goods, I'm assumin, but I has no ideas what that might be."

"Magic ladies?"

"Ya, te type thats likely ta go 'bout cursin' folk," he said. Then he spit again. "Aye, I's only concerned for ma chillin, theys be hurt and I'lls be hurtin' someones worse!"

"Thous chillin...?" Aritemes frowned, then nodded his head, "Ah, thous children...what, might I ask, be they like?"

Huckles took out his pipe, stuffed it with more tobacco from his pocket, and relighted it. "Aye, ma chillin is likes me. Strapping boys who'll be kings o' te sea, thoughs ma girls are growin' nicely too. My wife lives on the east edge of the ocean, closer ta Sydeni than Calleuse, but farther south, and she raises 'em nice and wells, as expected. Though, I's can't say that they's hasn't grown much sinces last I saw. Lasts I saw was more t'an eight summers backs. Boys probablys workin' on theys own ships now, more t'an likely."

"Eight years?" Aritemes asked, "that's a long time, nay? Hath thou not missed them so?"

The older man laughed, "Aye! Missed 'em, my fool? Naught it be so! Theys can take cares of 'emselves mighty fine. Don't need none old fool such as meself watchin' over 'em. Nay, I's always will return sometime, and more t'an likely theys will bes returnin' to me!" He laughed again, slapping the sides of his leg and puffing out more smoke into Aritemes's stinging eyes. "Ye be feather-headed much, me fool? Or be you just a silly puff-boy?"

Aritemes coughs, waving a hand in front of him to keep from inhaling more of the bad air. "Neither, merely curious, and unskilled in thine ways of life."

"Calls its what ye will, does not the means it change!" he laughed again, his voice sounding like a mixture of wood being chopped and someone wheezing. "Aye, me fool, tells me 'gain, what be your reasons for headin' towards Sydeni's port, eh? Yous ain't stirrin' up ta much trouble, are ya?"

"Nay, sir, I be trying not to."

"What's te's fun is that?"

It took him a moment to decipher what he was saying, and Aritemes shrugged when he finally did. "Tis a job, a job, I assume. Fun comes only where fun might be found. Tis until mine job is finished that I might take break and have the fun that you speak of. Till then, I shall be what I shall."

"Yous sure speak funny, me fool," Huckles said. He chuckled, then started to blow out smoke rings from his nose. While Aritemes found his talent interesting, he wished that the man didn't have to do it right in his face. His lungs were strained enough.

Through his coughing he managed to find himself continuing to reply to the man. "Tis so? Thou speak funny as well, good sir."

"You think so?" Huckles grinned, shaking his head and spitting onto the floor again, this time barely missing Aritemes shoes. "I likes yous, me fool. We'll be good friends for sures, if ya don't die of disease 'fore we meets again! Naught, it seems more likely that ya'll die of boredom with yous job, frankly."

"Actually, my name be Aritemes."

Huckles laughed again at that,slapping his knees and going red in his fat cheeks. "Aye, sorry Missy, shouldn't have called ye wrong, should I?"

"Well, that-"

"Oh, sorry, Arty, be that better for ye?"

"Well-"

He was laughing so hard by then that he could hardly stand up. His words were more garbled than usual, and some of them where all together lost. "I'lls be if ye hasn't ta found ta self in ta life! Aye, be ye so queer t'at ye cannot see te life?" Aritemes thinks he said that, at least. The old sea man might have said something completely different, but it was the best translation he could do at the moment. Lucky for him, he had no reason to answer the man as someone above deck was shouting out his name. "Ye go," Huckles said, still regaining his breath,"theys callin' yous."

The captain of the Shorkle-who, unlike Aritemes, figured the ship only needed one name-wasn't average sized, fat, or completely disgusting as most of his crew was. The man was narrow, bordering on skin and bones, had an almost regal facial structure, and kept his hair tied back in a pony tail the same as Aritemes. His clothing was the same as the rest of his crew, and he was just as dirty, but he kept himself to the best he could. A captain always had to make appearances.

"Aritemes!" he was shouting, his accent odd but not too unfamiliar. "Aritemes-ah, there ya are. I've been lookin' for ya most everywhere, I have a task I need ya to do for me before you leave the ship. Would ya mind?"

Aritemes breathed in the somewhat cleaner air, then let out a short breath so he wouldn't seem rude. "Why would I? Of course, I am always here to help where I might be needed, Captain Avalon."

Avalon gave him the slightest movement upwards of his lips, something Aritemes assumed was a smile.

"What doth you need me to do?"

"Firstly, I needs ya to quit talkin' fancy. I not be the King o' Partrall, nor fancy Queen o' Gardelle," he said. Then he pulled out a pipe and lit it for a smoke. "Now, what I really needs for ya to do is get me mine shipment of fruit."

The assassin blinked several times, then frowned a little. "Fruit?" What do pirates need for fruit? "I do not understand what you mean, Captain Avalon."

"Ah, I would not expect ya to.So many of mine crew hath died of disease, and I spoke with a magic lady from Bevual not too long ago. She told me to cure what had been killin' my family, I must feed to them fruit from the island of Chekil," he explained. Then he held out his pipe to Aritemes, "Smoke?"

"Nay, I cannot," Aritemes said, shaking his head. "A curse or something keeps me from it, good sir, and closes my throat and lungs when I find myself too close."

"A sad curse indeed."

Aritemes nodded. The two spoke a little of the weather, and of the sea, which had both been calmer and nicer recently. Unlike when he had gone down to speak to Huckles, it was no longer raining, and the sun had even managed to find its way out. Avalon expected the storm would only last a few more days at most, if it had to last any. Aritemes, though, wasn't too certain. Last he spoke with Arabelle she told him that she had something special in store for that storm, and it wouldn't be going anywhere too awfully fast. Still, the thought of easier seas and better traveling made him happier.

A few hours later they had arrived at the island of Chekil. It was a smaller island, much like those to the south of Sydeni along the coast of the East-Coin Ocean and the edge of the Rafella Sea. Those islands took months upon months to reach. Unlike where the ocean dips and allows passage between Gardelle and Partrall to be only three days journey at most, in the other parts of the world the ocean becomes treacherous and near impossible to pass. Still, the island of Chekil resembles them despite the fact that it's lactated halfway between two countries and is the size of a small village.

The trees on the island were the main thing that makes it alike, as they all bear fruit and because there is an abundance of them. In fact, the island is only big enough for there to be a small woods of fruit bearing trees.

Oranges are weird, Aritemes thought as he climbed off the ship. The sand sunk under his feet until he was past the water. The crate he held was large and awkward to hold, but he carried it the best he could. Trees bore the oranges, which were unlike what he had seen before.

Often, his diet consisted of rice, meat, dried meat, the scarce apple, and tea. In his purse he held a bag of fried rice for his journey--half of which was already eaten--and some dried meat chunks. Huckles, Avalon, and the other pirates ate large, well-cooked hunks of meat and drank ale every day. It was better than the water, which was brown like tea when clean and tasted like feces on it best, but not something he wanted to get used to.

Still, never did he expect to find himself going off a ship onto the medicine island to get a shipment of oranges for a bunch of pirates.

Stopping a little further away, about thirty fortwigs from Sydeni, at the port of Queett for ale or perhaps even swords and weapons, that he could see. Those would be useful and could aid them. But, if a medicine woman had told him to go to Chekil for strong fruit he certainly wouldn't disagree.

He found himself walking ashore and shaking out his boots. His tunic was hot, and the air was sticky. Though the sun shown through the clouds it wasn't as bright as Aritemes had expected it to be at the hour.

A sharp needle fell on his neck and he cursed. He slapped at it, fingers smushing the wasp and killing it. Others flew about his head, not stinging him but coming closer than he'd like. Cursing again, Aritemes started to jog. The trees instantly closed around him, sand having ended and turned into patches of dark dirt and lots of underbrush. Captain Avalon had told him to walk through the trees through a narrow path until he found himself in a man-made grove halfway across the island, where an old man lived in a shack. Apparently he was supposed to have workers who helped him and they worked on the trees.

"Ah, yes, do every task assigned to thou," he muttered, "be I so foolish to find myself doing every odd task? Aye, no more, no more. After this, the port to Sydeni should be open, and then I shall travel to Gardelle. Mine job shall be finished by the end of the week." He had left on the twelfth of summer, and by then it was the thirteenth.

As he continued to mutter to himself the bushes to his right moved. Aritemes jumped, looking each direction quickly. Crate dropping to his feet, his body instantly moved. Training installed, he was posed to fight and fight quick, arms crooked and by his side and legs apart.

"Who be there?"

A girls laugh came as his only response.

"Hello?" he asked, not breaking his pose any.

This time a boy laughed.

Aritemes frowned, not wanting to break his pose in case it was an attack, but his legs were hurting and he wasn't certain they were even dangerous. Still, the words of Master Arabelle stuck in his head. 'Never break stride. Never break pose. Attack only after thy hath seen attacker or the subject for which thou shalt kill. Do not be off set by appearance nor age.' But he had not been sent to kill.

Slowly, Aritemes lowered his arms. "Show thyself to me!"

Bushes rustling again, he watched as two children walked out. They were tall, though smaller than him, and had chubby cheeks. Both the boy and the girl were heavier set, the girl's stomach showing as though she were with babe. The girl wore only a small covering on her chest and hips, and her feet were bare. The boy wore even less, his body only covered by a patch of cloth around his legs.

The girl said something in a strange language, her voice smooth and soft. She smiled kind at him, bowing her head before saying more words he could not understand. When he didn't respond she scrunched up her eyes and spoke again, slower and louder. "Reny abull toshen no Motrel?"

"Motrel? Nay, I speak Partrall."

This time the girl didn't say anything, and the boy spoke up.

"Partrall," he asked slowly, "ye speak...Partrall?" His accent was light like the girls, but his voice was darker than men who had bore children several times.

Aritemes nodded, just as slow,and eased his body more. Just children, he thought. "Aye! Thou speak Motrel?"

"Be...so," the boysaid. He slapped a fist against his chest, "Chip!"

Aritemes nodded again, opening his mouth as he did so. "Aritemes."

"Art..e...miss?" Chip asked, then he took a few steps forward. "You look for Medicine Man?"

"Aye."

"Follow," Chip said. He started to walk along the trail, strides small, and the girl walked alongside him. She had long yellow hair, and it fell over both their backs as she leaned onto him. His hair was dark in comparison, but yellow still.

Strange skin, odd people. Where hath they lived? Here? Never seen children so light of hair and skin, he thought. Even where he lived they were of a shade tanner. With a confused shake of the head, he picked up the crate and began to walk too.

The girl spoke to Chip as they walked. Her hands flung about as she spoke, and he noticed a bracelet on her arm. It was made of vines and had flowers woven into it. Most were dead, though a few fresh ones were there as well. Aritemes had to jog to keep up with them, despite how small each step they took was.

"Odd," he said. Aritemes kept his voice low so they could not hear him. "Peculiar children, how queer they act and look. What might they have to do with any fruit?" Still, he followed them.

Chip called over his shoulder, "Haste! We be close!"

"Good," Aritemes responded.

"You banana want? Orange want? Naught apples but berries of blue and straw," Chip said. He turned as he walked, going forward but now facing Aritemes. A smile was on his face, and he had wide dimples. "Yes? Yes?"

"Oranges..."

"Oranges! New shipment? Shipment come to this day? Avalon you sent?"

Aritemes nodded, "Aye! Avalon did send me, that be true. Thou hath shipment of oranges for him now?"

"Yes! Yes," Chip said. He jumped, then turned back around and ran off. The girl stayed closer, walking as slow as before. Aritemes gave her a tiny smile.

"You are?"

She smiled wide at him, but said nothing. Her hands rested on her stomach, lower arms not half asthick as her upper ones. "Motrel toshen ont speak? Toshen Partrall? Yes?"

"Toshen...aye, I speak Partrall. Toshen...toshen mean same as tonsh?" Aritemes asked, scratching under his ears. The air was getting more humid the farther they walked. It smelled odd as well, as if someone had been burning sweet berries and wood.

"Tonsh...tonsh be Rufella speak?" the girl asked, then she grinned. In Rufella she started to talk, her words soft on his ears, "I speak Rufella! Mine muffela teach me. You speak Rufella well as? Good, good! Name Aritemes?"

The laugh that left him was unavoidable. "Aye, my lady," he responded in Rufella. Her accent was hard to understand the faster she spoke, but he managed to understand more than he had of what Huckles had said.

"Mine Serena name be! You sick very hard? Teeth rot of cruelty? Fruit help, fruit help," she said. Her blue eyes were large and he found himself drawn into them. Serena took his hand in hers and patted it four times, then started to run, pulling him along. "We much help."

"They aren't for-" He couldn't even finish talking before he had to run to keep up. The crate hit his legs as they moved, each time feeling lighter than before. The trees blended together as they went, and he noticed others out there as well. Each person, boy and girl, carried large weaved baskets filled with fruit on their heads.

"Move fast? Faster?"

"No-"

She giggled and went even faster. "We fast move? There, almost! Close, swear to you I!"

With a sigh, he pushed himself to keep up with her. Before he knew it, though, they made an abrupt stop. His body swayed but didn't fall, and his mouth fell agap the second he saw the open field.

Several little tepees were setup, and a shack lie in the very center, bright pink and purple flowers growing on the vines that lined its sides. Through the large open door, all made of leaves, he could see several containers filled with fruit. Purple fruit, several things of berries, oddly shaped yellow fruit, and lots of oranges.

"This...be amazing," he said. Then, in Rufella he spoke again, "You people hath done well in building. How many people doth live in area of this?"

Serena tilted her head and shrugged her shoulders. A frown boarded on a smile as she responded,"I no understand...you ask of us? Of people?"

"Aye, of people."

"We bare several," she said. "Mine sisters number thirty...and mine brothers number eighty and nine. Moms number over twelve and fathers over thirty."

Whistling, his eyebrows raised high. "That many?"

She nodded, then grinned at him. Her teeth were whitish, though chipped in several places, and her lips were large despite her stretching them so. "Yes, yes. We now get fruit?"

"Aye," he said.

"Come, come!"

Not any slower than before, Serena made her way to the shack. She knocked on the wood. Then, Serena walked inside, shouting something in her language. She translated it in Rufella for him, "Old man! Get out, man of Rufella here be! Fruit of Oranges by way Avalon of! You now get out?"

As he walked forward Aritemes could hear the old man's reply. In the harshest, quickest, and loudest voice Aritemes had ever heard, the old man said, "Get here him. Busy."

"Parlt, yes, yes."

Serena poked her head out and beaconed for him to come forward.

"Here, Parlt of Mister called for you," she said, smiling still. "You sign and leave now."

Aritemes did as they asked, filling up the crate with the oranges and signing for Avalon with a pencil on a sheet of wood. "This be well for you?"

The old man shook his head no,then shook it for yes. "Hurry. Busy. Leave quick, 'fore I make you. Go 'way. Go 'way."

"Aye, sir," Aritemes said with a slight bow. "Good days to thou."

With that, he picked up the crate, now heavier and harder to hold. He breathed in and out as he walked out of the shack. The heat was beating him now, sending sweat down his body in mass. His lungs burned with each step, and within a minute Aritemes had developed a wheeze.

Great Gods, he thought, let me walk to the sea again! Lest I die before my journey is to be started.

Despite the strain, the heat,and his wheeze, Aritemes continued on the trail back. I must carry on...do not falter...do not...shall not falter. Looking up though the canopy of trees he noticed the clouds, which were moving in faster than normal. The sun was lost, and his trail grew dark, though it stayed just as hot. "This be no good," he said.

The smell of rotting meat hit him hard, but was gone just as quickly. The burning of argul wood? Oh, why cannot I think? With a frown he moved on, uncertain of what was happening. It was as if someone was performing some sort of spell on the skies, yet he knew that could not be. To create weather and storms of such magnitude would require tens of magicians working at a time. None of such he knew would do that.

"Queer," he whispered. No one be powerful enough for such magic. Nay, it be merely a storm brewing well and strong.

As he neared the boat his wheezing grew, and soon he was doubled over on the beach, coughing heavily. A couple pirates had came ashore, and they took the crate from him. Fingers sore and red, and face even more so, he thanked them the best he could.

Avalon himself had came ashore, and he put a hand on Aritemes's shoulders, "Are ye hurt?"

"I shall live," he said. To spite his words he began to cough more. "We get back on boat?"

"Aye," Avalon said. He threw Aritemes's arm around his shoulder, "Ye'll need help, boy. Curse on your lungs must be a strong one."

Neither said a word after that until they were back onto the boat. Aritemes thanked him profusely, then took to sitting on the floor, breath uneven. His head and chest seemed to be full of water, and the world was dancing across his vision.