Sea Arrival

Naomi could smell the change in the air as they neared the ocean. Mayra had talked about reading a book that described the salty scent.

She hadn't known what it meant until now. She looked out as the river widened at its mouth, spreading as if it was finally free of the confines of its banks to take over the world.

She glanced at Mayra. This was what the younger girl yearned for, judging from her facial expression. New sights, adventure, new people. On the journey here, she'd told Naomi how she'd been through the forest, across plains and rolling foothills, even high into the mountains, and finally, now, to the Southern Ocean.

The horses paused for a moment on a small cliff as the caravan stared out to sea, most of them for the first time.

Peter, Mayra, and Naomi's horses stood side by side, snorting at the new smells and mildly unnerved by the unfamiliar wind. Mayra smiled. "That's absolutely--

"Enormous," Finished Peter, at the same time that Naomi said "Terrifying."

The three looked at each other and Mayra bit her lip, "I was going to say 'beautiful.'"

"It is, in an enormous, terrifying kind of way," Peter smirked. Mayra had resumed her teasing way with him after the bumpy start to the journey, so it seemed he had no qualms about irking her a little now.

"Well, what Naomi thinks is most important since she'll be the one permanently residing here," Mayra turned to the other woman. "Is it really that terrifying?"

"Yes." Naomi replied simply. The word carried the weight of the rest of her life with it. The vastness of the sea reminded her of the expanse of the rocky desert, but it was moving, constantly moving.

Her hair whipped past her eyes and she pushed it away with annoyance. At the news they would reach the Sea today, she had donned the traditional head and face covering of the Rhone. Naomi wasn't sure if the wedding would take place immediately that day, and wanted to be prepared just in case.

It was tradition for the groom and bride to unveil one another during the ceremony. Even if it was a primarily Cetoan wedding and her groom wore no covering, she wanted to preserve a bit of where she'd come from.

The sea wind made it more cumbersome than she had predicted. Mayra had warned her that since both parties retained a right of refusal, the wedding probably wouldn't be immediate.

The self-proclaimed matchmaker said she also wanted an opportunity to vet the groom to make sure he would be a suitable husband for her friend. She said it would crush her to see Naomi married to someone cruel or elderly or otherwise ridiculous. Naomi thought the sentiment was sweet, but beggars could not be choosers.

Naomi looked at the ocean again before nudging her horse forward, prompting her companions to follow. If Mayra's reports were accurate, the ocean itself was simply teeming with living things. The desert was a fairly barren place. Other than small rodents, snakes, lizards, and the occasional desert coyote, nothing much lived out there.

She also could not fathom the depth of the ocean. It looked large and far, but she did not know how deep it was. Naomi had never learned to swim. She cringed. That was probably a vital life skill for anyone who lived near the ocean.

She would probably have to learn. There were a lot of things she would probably have to learn. Since Mayra was single, she didn't know all that much more about being married than Naomi. The... details were not something Naomi's mother had readily shared with her.

Thankfully, Mayra had married friends to fill her in on some of the more private advice to pass on to the bride. Some of it made Naomi blush wildly, but she tried to take it in stride. Some things, one couldn't rely on a new husband to know.

Maybe his female relatives would help her with some counsel, as well, if they accepted her. She'd worried idly if she would be looked down on as a foreigner. She hadn't begged to come here, she'd merely volunteered when the opportunity was presented.

She hoped that would work in her favor, then frowned. Prince Derek... Roland... had said many of the women here were killed in a disaster. How many were left? Enough to pass on advice about how to run a household here? She hoped so.

She put aside her rampant worrying, which thanks to her face covering, her companions had been mostly oblivious to. Maybe she would keep it on until the wedding even if it didn't happen today. Nobody here would know that wasn't normal, except the two Rhone guards sent by King Duncan. She was fairly confident they wouldn't tattle on her about it.

It was some small measure of protection against the prying eyes and stares as the caravan neared the settlement.

The Cetoans dressed in simple clothes of muted colors. The pants of the men ended mostly at the mid-calf, and the few women's skirts were similar. Most people went about barefoot.

Naomi saw some horses in a corral, which answered one of her questions about the people. She wondered where the boats were kept; she saw some smaller rowing boats along the beach but had heard of much larger ones that carried many people out to sea for long stretches of time.

They passed many small houses made of wood, and occasional shops offering various wares. The road was dirt and stone.

At the center of the settlement, a gathering of people waited. Word had spread of their arrival and their leader--Mayra informed Naomi that he was called the 'Commodore'--waited. His authority among the people was unmistakable, though he was dressed similarly to everyone else.

It was as if he were the center, and the crowd was caught in his gravitational pull. His intense eyes were the color that the sea was now: a dark, chilling blue.

The emissary dismounted first. He did not bow to his leader, but put his right hand to his chest and then lowered it forward. The gesture was returned to him as the rest of the party dismounted.

Mayra took Naomi's hand to support her, and the women stepped forward through the guards. The Commodore was flanked by a wild-looking yet beautiful woman, and two younger men that looked as if they must be his sons.

One looked positively gleeful, and the other looked like a storm cloud. The girls glanced at each other, and then by unspoken agreement decided a curtsy might be better than imitating the gesture of the emissary.

The Commodore and his wife smiled in a reassuring way, and the man spoke.

"I am Haf, leader of Ceto. This is my wife, Cora, and our sons, Edmar and Caspian. Welcome."

"Thank you for your kind welcome," Mayra spoke up, feeling Naomi's hand trembling slightly. "I am Mayra of Klain, appointed matchmaker for the brides. This is Naomi, the first bride of Rhone."

She wanted to push Naomi to a position of prominence by making it clear that she herself was not on the table. All eyes shifted to Naomi, but thanks to the veil, only her eyes showed. She tried to keep the anxiety from them.

It was a difficult task.

"Naomi, welcome," Cora said, "If it is agreeable to you, I am to become your mother-in-law."

Naomi's eyes widened slightly. That seemed... excessive. She knew they were desperate for brides, but would that make her essentially royalty? She wished she knew more about their system of leadership.

Involuntarily, her gaze flickered over to the smiling man who stood beside Cora. When her eyes met his, he burst into laughter. His mother smacked his hand and he contained himself.

"Not me," He said as seriously as he could manage, "Caspian."

She frowned beneath her veil and looked to the other son. He had dark hair, hazel eyes, and a short, well-kept beard. He was at least as handsome, or more so, than his brother, but the expression on his face was one of contained hostility. She could hold eye contact only a moment before dropping her gaze to the ground at his feet.

"I'm sure he is delighted to meet you, Naomi," Haf prompted, shooting a warning look at Caspian.

"Welcome," Caspian offered her a weak attempt at a smile before looking back to his father to proceed. The Commodore sighed.

Naomi shivered. She had not expected such a cold reaction from her groom. Mayra frowned, and voiced her thoughts as she often did.

"Caspian," She smiled, "Though the face covering is tradition for the brides of Rhone, I can assure you that your intended bride is as beautiful a woman as you could ever hope to marry."

Naomi bit her lip. She'd slowly become familiar with Mayra's wit and saw the insult underneath the statement. The woman was implying that Caspian couldn't hope for a particularly pretty bride with his attitude, and was unworthy of Naomi's beauty, whether it be great or modest. She hoped the Cetoans didn't pick up on the slight.

"I'm sure you're correct about my future wife's appearance," Caspian replied, eyeing his bride with a look that told her he had also understood the jab, "but I have yet to hear her voice. Has she one of her own?"