The Keeper of the Creed

She stood facing the wind and wrapped her coat close around her body, though it did little to ward off the bitter chill. The bow of the ship rocked in the waves as she bared down more firmly on her feet trying not to stumble. Looking out on the horizon she caught glimpse of what she thought was a ship, panic instantly rising in her chest. Realizing that they couldn't possibly know she was already, she allowed herself to relax a bit. Her eyes must be playing tricks on her.

Everywhere around her men bustled - checking ropes, pulling on sails. She glanced up towards the captain, his hands firmly on the wheel as he braced the ship against the angry tide. Their eyes met she worried about the knowing intensity of them. She remembered getting the same look from her father when he caught her sneaking extra dessert to give to the baker's son. Her hat shifted in the wind as she caught it and fixed her hair underneath. The danger of letting even one lock slip out was too great.

"Boy! Grab that pail over there, everyone earns their passage on this ship. the captain sees you standing around again you'll be over board in a blink."

She grabbed the pail and brought it over the Quartermaster, a man whose mustache overpowered his face and whose anger filled every bit of his small stature.

"It's not my job to swab the deck. Get moving!" He threw the pail back at her and stormed off.

She grabbed the closest mop and got to work, trying to look like she knew what she was doing. Her hands rubbed on the coarse wood of the handle, the skin she attempted to stop the bleeding. She would need to hide the wound to keep up her disguise, at least until the callouses developed. At dusk the cook came around and served dinner, some sort of slop that she wasn't sure was edible. She longed for Beatrice's cooking and remembered that she was serving duck tonight. Her mouth watered as she sighed, realizing going to be a long voyage at sea.

Watching the sun set on the horizon, she gauged it should be around dinnertime at home as well. In her mind she saw her father sitting down to eat, waiting for her at the table and getting annoyed with her tardiness. She wondered how long it would take him to check her quarters, then the safe in his study and realize she was . Emotion caught in her throat as she imagined the hurt in his eyes and the regret he might feel as he remembered their last argument. She allowed the feeling of missing him to overtake her for a moment, and the gravity of what she had done sank in. Then the memory of Asiya's tearful face floated through her she heard the anguished scream that was etched in her ears - a sound she would never be able to . She swallowed her emotion and remembered her mission.

After hours more hunched low over the mop, the Quartermaster called for bed. Walking towards the hull she wiped the sweat and sea and other unidentifiable grime from her face. She smiled at the thought of how her governess would react if she could see her now...a look of disgust with sharp words of disparagement. As Ms. 's disapproval had always been her guiding force, she felt reassured in her decision to leave the life of petticoats and embroidery behind. Collapsing into the hammock that would be hers for the next three months, she forced herself to stay awake until the cabin quieted.

She shook herself every time she nodded off until the last deckhand drunkenly stumbled down the stairs and into bed. Once the heavy breathing of her shipmates turned into a synchronous snoring, she walked over to her belongings - careful to avoid the squealing mice that scurried around her feet.

She dug in her bag to locate the pile of clothes that wrapped in, looking around to make sure no one had woken up. Her caution was justified as anyone on this ship wouldn't think twice about killing her if they knew what was buried in her bag. After looking around once more she grabbed the pile of clothes and unwrapped the book, the weight of it heavy in her hands. The gold radiated in the dim light of the cabin, reflecting the moonlight that shone from the lone porthole. Holding it , she thought of the countless lives sacrificed in protection of this book...and the lengths that men like her father had gone it.

She didn't dare open it, not yet. The creator's spirits emanated from the pages, that of Asiya's family and ancestors. The power and wisdom the book contained is legendary, creating greed in the scores of men who searched for it. She brushed her fingers over the intricately etched cover and the book seemed to sigh in return. She could have sworn she felt it settle into itself, as if resting after all these years...as if it knew going home.