Sweet Silius Island Honey: Chapter One
A teenage sailor gets the opportunity of a lifetime.
It was the best honey anyone had ever tasted. Since introducing it, Sal's Coffee House had become the biggest sensation in the harbor town of Marcridge. Just one drop added just the right amount of sweet to your tea or coffee, infusing plenty of flavor without obscuring the underlying taste. It became so popular that Sal's began bottling it. People added it to their bread, their meat, their booze, even their bait. Marcridge's whole economy boomed.
No one boomed as much as Sal, and that naturally raised suspicions. One man had cornered the market on everyone's favorite honey, and would offer no hint as to how he had acquired it. He was no beekeeper—neither his old apartment nor his new manor had the space for it. The monastery on the outskirts of town had some hives, but Sal's honey tasted nothing like theirs. He was no magician, either. Only witches were born with the ability to use magic; ordinary humans required years of ascetic discipline just to develop a viable aura. Sal was a lot of things, but an ascetic was not one of them.
When asked where he got the honey, he would simply say, "I have a particular supplier."
None of which was of particular interest to Owen Branstern, at least at first. An orphan since he was eight, he survived by taking assorted jobs on the fishing boats in exchange for food and a hammock to sleep on. When back on shore, he'd go to Sal's for tea and a pastry, and ogle the girls that had sailed in from parts unknown. As long as ladies kept traveling and fishermen still needed a few extra hands on deck and Sal's kept the honey flowing, Owen didn't worry where it came from.
But it was one of those young women who wound up piquing his interest in the source of the honey, when he heard her mention its aura. He wasn't going to say anything to her—most of these women treated him like a kid, which, to be fair, he was—but this time something made him get up and approach her table. "Excuse me," he said, raising his voice over the radio, "I just heard you mention an aura? Are you a witch?"
She turned her head, sweeping her blue-tinged hair around, and flicked a nictitating membrane over her eyes—the deadest giveaway possible for a witch. That membrane enabled them to see the auras that indicated the presence of magic, including among each other. "Yes," she said, "I was just telling my friend about it." The woman sitting across from her gave him a nod. "It's subtle," Luka said, "but it's there. Wherever it came from, it definitely has a magical source."
"No kidding?" He scanned the rest of the coffee house, which was so crowded and noisy, it didn't look like anyone could eavesdrop. "You must be an Orlynne witch. I can't imagine an Effka witch showing up in a place like this." The two factions were fierce rivals, and the Effka were especially intense.
The witch rolled her eyes. "Tell me about it. And it's nice to meet you. My name's Luka, this is Tam."
"Charmed. Name's Owen. And you think you might know where it came from?"
Tam said, "I think she was just about to say."
"That's right," Luka said. "It's actually very similar to an aura I noticed from the ship this morning on the way into port. A very large one, coming from one of the outlying islands. If I had to guess, the honey must have come from there."
"One of the islands?" Owen muttered. There was a small archipelago a few miles off the coast. The boats generally avoided it, mostly because it was too rocky. Mostly. "Not Silius Island?"
"I wouldn't know," Luka said. "I'm only passing through on the way to Ralgyche. It was the largest one."
"That's Silius, all right." Owen propped his arm on the table. "So when does your train leave? Maybe as long as you're here, I can show you around town. This place really has a lot to offer. The offer extends to Tam as well. How about it, ladies?"
Luka gave a weary chuckle. "And how old are you, little boy?"
Owen let his head dip down. "Fifteen."
"I thought as much. It's been nice, but please go pick on a girl your own size."
"Wasn't there a few teenagers on the boat?" Tam said. "I'm sure he'd hit it off with one of them."
"Don't give him any ideas. Besides, they're probably long gone by now."
"All right, I got the hint." Owen stalked back to his own table, gulped down the rest of his tea, and walked out. It was never a good sign when they talked about you like you weren't even there.
Still, the gears had started turning like a well-tuned Poe clock. Magical honey, eh? It should have been the most obvious thing in the world, except that it was normally so hard to come by. Even among witches, only the most skilled in the world could use magic to enhance food effectively. Any human who could do that would be too strict with themselves to ever do it. But naturally-enchanted food, on the other hand, was hardly unheard of. What if Sal had found a source like that for his honey? If he was the only one who knew, then it was no wonder he'd gotten rich off of it.
And if anyone, say a particular fifteen-year-old with nautical experience, could find that source, and give Sal some competition, that particular person could get rich as well. Might never have to work on a boat again. Or possibly buy his own boat, hire his own fishermen. Or build his own house!
And if Luka's guess was right, it had come from right off of Silius Island.
Though that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Silius Island was notoriously hostile to human life. Between the wildcats, bane lizards, and venomous bugs the size of your arm, merely setting foot on that island was a huge gamble. The history of Marcridge featured many stories of seasoned hunters and soldiers venturing onto Silius Island, never to be seen again. Only witches ever returned alive, and even then, it was risky. Effka witches from down in Ornhuist, on the other side of the bay, used to go as a test of courage. The last time they did that, as far as anyone knew, was a hundred years ago.
So how did Sal get it?
Owen went to the wharf and found a spot on Captain McAvins' crew, and that night, ran the witch's theory by one of the deckhands, an older boy.
"Yeah, I've heard the rumor, too," the boy said. "But I don't buy it. Lots of things have auras, and sometimes they're the same color. Doesn't mean they always come from the same place. Heck, I've been told I got an aura myself. Can I use magic? Heh, fat chance. I bet ole Sal's worked out a deal with some Orlynne chef overseas."
"But still," Owen said, "what if he did find a natural source?"
"Then he'd be insane to go get it. Think about it. If it was naturally enchanted, that must mean it was made near a wellspring. You know what wellsprings do to creatures around it. Griffins, sasquatches, even witches—they're all what happens when something lives next to one. And honey doesn't appear out of thin air, even if it is magic. So what kind of creature makes enchanted honey?"
"Oh, damn. Enchanted bees."
"Right. And it wouldn't just be one bee. It'd be a whole hive of 'em. Now ask yourself, who in their right mind would try to mess with a hive of magic bees?"
"Maybe for the right price."
"You think Captain McAvins doesn't need some scratch every once in a while? Not like we always get a good catch. Ask him yourself how much they'd have to pay for him to go to Silius."
The following day, while scrubbing the deck, Captain McAvins happened to be passing by, so Owen asked him.
The Captain burst out laughing. "You could offer me a whole dragon's hoard and I'd never do it. Why, what're you offering?"
"Just curious."
"Then get back to work."
Still, it stayed on Owen's mind all through the voyage, while pulling in every net, loading every box, eating every meal, staring at every sunset. They passed by Silius Island on the way back, so tantalizingly close, but obnoxiously distant. At one point, Owen thought he saw a small motorboat on the shore, but right away the outcropping rocks and trees covered it up. He'd never know for sure.
When he arrived back in Marcridge, Owen helped load all the fish onto the truck that was waiting at the wharf to take everything to market. His plan after he finished loading was to wash up, then run to Sal's. This time, it wouldn't make any difference if there were any girls there. Just if there were any witches who could take another look at the honey. Somebody was mistaken about it, and Owen couldn't be sure it had been Luka.
As it turned out, just as he placed another box in the back of a truck, some witches turned up on the pier, a teenage girl and a boy of about nine or ten. The girl wore a loose headscarf covered with Orlynne designs, with some curls of auburn hair peeking out around her soft, smooth face. The boy wore a wool cap and kept his nose pinched shut while his thick eyebrows crinkled.
Captain McAvins said, "Go see what they—"
"Already on it!" Owen rushed over to greet the girl. "Good afternoon, Miss. May I ask what a lovely young lady such as yourself is doing on this smelly old harbor?"
"Perhaps you can help us," the girl said. "You see, my parents have just inherited a small estate over at Wilmilde Shore, and it happened to come with a small sailing yacht. We need someone who can take care of it—cleaning, repairs, even piloting when needed. I figured as long as we were out, I could check around here."
"Sure, let's go ask Captain McAvins, shall we?" Owen led the two over to his captain and let her explain her situation. Her voice was like an angelic song. Maybe when she found the sailor she needed, she might be interested in a cup of coffee at Sal's. The boy could tag along, too.
Captain McAvins nodded, and answered, "I think you've already found him." He patted Owen on the shoulder, said, "She's all yours, Owen," then headed off to speak to one of the truck drivers.
"Wait, what?" Owen said. "Me?" Was this turning into what he thought it was? He thought a cute girl coming to see him was lucky enough.
"Oh, so you're Owen Branstern," the girl said. "The harbormaster recommended you as well."
"She did?"
"Yes. She explained your situation, told me about your skills, and you sound like just the man for the job. We're offering room, board, and a steady salary. All my family asks in return is that you do the work."
"Like… Permanently? A home? A job? For me?"
The girl nodded, then gestured toward the boy. "Perhaps you could even teach my son how to sail. He's very interested in ships."
"Yeah, I guess I could do that," Owen said. "I know my way around a… Wait." Her son?
The boy tugged on the girl's sleeve. "Mom, I have to go to the bathroom."
She nodded, then asked Owen, "Which way, Mr. Branstern?"
Owen gave directions to one at the nearest warehouse, and as soon as the boy was out of earshot, said, "Your son?"
The daughter grinned with a sigh. "You thought he was my brother, didn't you? We get that all the time. Trust me, I'm older than I look. But back to the job. Will you take it?"
"I…" Owen had to shake himself out of his daze. Maybe he didn't have a shot with her, but this was still a huge opportunity. "Y-Yeah, of course! Let me just check a few things with the captain first. I… I don't know what to say."
"Well, when you figure it out," the girl said, pulling out a business card, "just go to that address. You can start as soon as you're moved in.
He read the card. "Marjorie and Willard Hansett?" Why did that name ring a bell? Unless… "Not as in Hansett Inn?" Everyone in town knew about Hansett Inn, though maybe only a fraction could ever afford to stay there. It overlooked the whole shore from up there on Devra Cliff. You could see it from here on the wharf.
"My late uncle Verne," she said. "It's a little more than we know how to handle right now, but we've managed so far. My name's Wanda, and my son's Duncan."
Little Duncan happened to return just then, still holding his nose. "How do you stand the stench in this place?"
"You kinda learn to like it after a while," Owen said. "Something tells me sailing on a yacht's gonna smell a lot better. But yeah, Mrs. Hansett, if Captain McAvins is sure it's okay, I'm in!"
"Then we'll let you finish your work. Hope to see you soon."
As they left, Owen loaded one more box, then ran straight to Captain McAvins. "Captain, sir, you really think I should do this?"
"Of course. You've been a great help over the years, with me and with the other captains. You're more than qualified for a job like that."
"You sure? Repairing a boat?"
"You probably know more of your way around one than my first mate."
"But I can still do whatever you need me to. If there's something I need to do to get better, I'll get better."
"I'm not trying to get rid of you, kid. Look, the fact is, you deserve better than to have to hop on a different boat every few weeks just for a place to sleep. Sure, Verne Hansett was a bastard and he stiffed his contractors, and I can't stand that overgrown bed and breakfast of his looking down on little folk like us, but he's dead now, and this new Hansett seems nice enough, and those folks can do more for you than any of us ever could. Just finish your shift, clean up, get yourself something to eat, then go out there and take this job."
Owen scratched the back of his neck. "When you put it that way."
When the shift ended, and the sun dipped over the Tawney Hills that encircled Marcridge, the Captain gave Owen an envelope containing his final payment as a fisherman. Owen hit the showers, ordered a sandwich at the market, bought some new clothes and a bottle of Sal's honey, then took a train out to Wilmilde Shore.
You could almost see the bank accounts grow as the train ride went on, just from the size of the houses, and the huge lawns, the gardens, the stables, and the sleek, new-model cars. He passed even fancier mansions on the walk toward the Hansett estate. Owen felt almost like an intruder, with his sailor's tan and second-hand clothes and probably a little bit of fish smell lurking beneath his body odor. But he still had Wanda's card. If anybody acted like he didn't belong, hopefully that would keep them off his back.
He arrived around sundown. The Hansett estate, grounds and all, could have taken up a sizable chunk of the wharf, and the house looked like it could fit at least five fishing boats. The gate was shut, but he soon found the intercom, pushed the button, and said, "This is Owen. I'm here."
Wanda Hansett answered. "Of course. Come right in."
The front door of the mansion opened as Owen hiked the driveway, and Wanda and her son came out to greet him.
The two of them brought Owen in, introduced him to Mr. and Mrs. Hansett, then guided him through the mansion. "Let me show you where you'll be staying," Wanda said.
Even the most ferocious storm was not as overwhelming as this. Huge columns supported vaulted ceilings carved with gilded ornaments. Family photos hung on the walls alongside lavish landscape paintings and eye-catching abstract art. The floors were so sleek and smooth Owen could look down at his own reflection. They passed through so many rooms Owen felt like a rat in a maze.
And he was sharing a home with such a gorgeous woman.
"Incredible, isn't it?" Wanda said. "Most of this is left over from Uncle Verne. We still aren't really sure what to do with it. We haven't had a chance to start redecorating. Though Duncan's already made himself at home in the kitchen. Oh, don't be embarrassed, Duncan, I'm sure Owen would love to try your cooking. And here are the servant's quarters."
She had brought Owen to a common room that looked and felt like the dining room of a restaurant, albeit with only a single dining table in the center. On the far end of the room, a floor-to-ceiling window looked out over a wooden deck, with a view of the ocean—the beach, the dock, and the yacht. "That's what I'll be working on?" Owen said.
"It's seen better days, hasn't it?"
Even from here, Owen could see the rust, barnacles, and bird poop covering various parts of the yacht, not to mention all the trash and dead leaves all over the deck. There was almost certainly going to be more junk inside, plus any necessary possible repairs that would have to be made. "I've cleaned worse than that," Owen said.
"Really? You think so? Can you start tomorrow?"
"Don't see why not." He put a little swagger into his voice. Some part of him still wanted to impress her. Still saw her as a girl his age.
She showed him upstairs to his bedroom and gave him his keys. The bed was already made. Out the window, down below, a groundskeeper was still trimming weeds in the garden on his way back inside. A cook, a maid, and the groundskeeper lived in the other apartments. The bathroom was down the hall.
"So this is really my home now?" Owen said, dangling his new key ring from his finger. "I live here?"
"Don't you like it?" Duncan said. "I mean, I wish the house were smaller, but it's a nice place."
"No, I… I love it. Really. Thank you. All of you."
"Just let us know if you need anything," Wanda said, and left with her son, shutting the bedroom door behind them.
Owen dropped his bag of new clothes and sat on the bed. This was too much. In all these years, he'd rarely been found wanting for shelter. If he couldn't find a spot on a ship, he usually had enough from his last voyage to find a hotel room for a night or two. But he couldn't always. On some occasions he'd had to find a spot under a bridge or a corner in an alley where he could curl up and stay hidden until morning, hoping he'd wake up without a robber, sex fiend, or homicidal maniac finding him first. Not all the ships had been safe, either. Not with pirates and smugglers out there.
Owen began to sob. His whole life up to this point had been an endless hunt for the next meal, the next ship, the next bed. Now, for the first time since he was eight years old, he could finally rest. The hunt was over.
He went to sleep thinking of Wanda Hansett's face.
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