đď¸Â Chapter 48: Flight to an Exotic Port
đ October 10th, 92 BCE â Late Autumn đ
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The villagers watched in awe as the Leviathan rose shrouded in a mist that drifted against the wind, a moving wall that betrayed something vast within.
Hands shaded eyes, children clung to parents, and a murmur ran through the crowdâhalf pride, half aching envy.
"Gods, to ride such a ship," one miller whispered, knuckles white on the fence.
"Bring back stories for us," another called, though no one aboard could hear.
The black hull climbed higher, shrinking until even its phantom outline blurred against the sky. Only when the mist thinned and the last tremor faded through the soil did the villagers finally breathe again.
Far from the valley, high-ridge shepherds and wandering miners only occasionally caught a clearer glimpse, a fleeting vision between clouds. What they saw was not a ship of iron and sails, but a phantomâan apparition of tattered canvas, dripping masts, and lanterns burning with cold green fire.
The Leviathan shimmered in ghost modeâits hull cloaked in illusions of tattered canvas, dripping masts, and lanterns burning with cold green fire. It drifted across the heavens like the Flying Dutchman itself, a spectral hulk that no mortal carpenter could have built. Some fell to their knees, others pressed their foreheads to the earth, and a few raised their hands toward the sky to whisper prayers to the mountain spirits, river gods, or their forgotten ancestors.
In truth, the ship flew silently west, then southwest, skirting the high mountains of the Kunlun and Karakoram ranges. Clouds parted before it like water, and high above the world, a legend was being born.
â Arrival at Barbarikon
The Leviathan glided down to the coast and descended onto the sea like a feathered shadow, the anti-gravity plates bleeding almost all weight so the hull kissed the water with barely a ripple. From the port of Barbarikon, it appeared as a vast foreign galleon wrought of obsidian and gold, a vision out of legend that had suddenly taken form. When two elegant longboats were dropped into the harbor and rowed toward the docks, a hush fell over the crowd. No one had ever seen a ship like this.
Barbarikon, near the mouth of the Indus River in what is now Karachi, was a bustling port of the Indo-Scythian kingdom. Its warehouses brimmed with cotton and dyed cloth, pearls and ivory, gems, and rare spices. Merchants came and went from Alexandria and Barygaza along the sea routes, but even in such a cosmopolitan hub, this new arrival unsettled the people. As the longboats touched the dock, children were pulled back by nervous mothers, and sailors muttered hurried prayers to the river gods, scattering flower petals into the water. A few merchants, braver than the rest, stepped forward to meet the strangers.
"Strangers of the West," one interpreter called. "From whence do you sail?"
Junjie only smiled, but Claudia stepped forward, placing jade coins into the man's hand. "Generosity opens more doors than swords," she said smoothly. Beside her, Lianhua raised her hand in a gesture neither local nor foreign, and together their small company was allowed through.
What followed was a whirlwind. Porters were hired. Lianhua went wild with curiosity, buying seeds, herbs, and powders unknown to her. The group traded for cotton, carved ivory, sandalwood oil, and fragrant teas. Claudia lingered at a perfume stall, finally selecting a carved wooden box filled with rare scents. She inhaled the fragrance with a pleased expression before nudging Junjie. "Finally, something that smells better than you after training," she teased, drawing a chuckle from nearby sailors who understood the tone, if not the words. Chengde, meanwhile, traded spices for scrolls and books written in the curling script of Parthia.
The market gave them no shortage of stories. In a crowded alley, a teenage pickpocket made a clumsy attempt at Junjie's coin purse. His hand barely brushed the leather before it was caught in an iron grip. In the blink of an eye, Junjie had lifted the boy into the air with one arm, holding him up like a sack of dates. Without a word, he carried him nearly forty-five meters through the street, the crowd parting in stunned silence, before tossing the would-be thief into a shallow runoff channel rank with sewage. Laughter erupted from all sides as the boy splashed and sputtered, his humiliation sealing his punishment more thoroughly than any beating. Hours later, he was still scrubbing the stench from his clothes.
When he told his friends the tale, he swore, "I swear to the godsâhe had eyes in the back of his head. He moved like a thunderbolt. I was flying. Flying like a bird... thenâsplat!" His companions stared at him, wide-eyed, before bursting into laughter that echoed through the alleys long after.
Watching from the sidelines, Claudia sighed, shaking her head with exasperated fondness. "You could have just scolded him, you know," she murmured. Yet her smile betrayed her amusement. "But I admit... that was memorable."
Later that day, a local strongman tried to challenge Junjie. Before Junjie could answer, Claudia tilted her head, her voice low but sharp in a dialect no one around them recognized. "Leave us in peace. Your luck lies elsewhere." Whatever he heard in her toneâor thought he heardâdrained the color from his face. Muttering about bad omens, he backed away quickly and did not return.
đ Â Departure
They returned to the longboats at sunset, their hulls heavy with goods and fragrant with spice. The townsfolk crowded the docks to watch them row back, silent rows of faces pressed together in the fading light. Even as the Leviathan raised her sails and turned toward the open sea, no one moved from their place on the shore.
The last light of day caught the black-and-gold flag unfurling high above the ship. At its center shone a strange symbol: an eye within a golden triangle, rimmed in flame and set above stylized mountain peaks. The Eye of Illumination.
Whispers rippled through the harbor. Is it a god's mark? A celestial order? A warning... or a blessing? Some bowed toward the ship, murmuring prayers to local river gods, while others made offerings to Shiva, Mithra, or Varuna, depending on their ancestry. Parents clutched their children close, their eyes fixed on the departing silhouette. A few onlookers stood perfectly still, committing every line of the vessel and that eerie watching emblem to memory.
And so the Leviathan became more than a ship; it became a mystery. In years to come, sailors would call it a ghost vessel, or swear it was a sea-dragon tamed by mountain men. Its shadow would pass into sailors' songs, into the dreams of shipwrights, and into the long memory of the sea.
đĽď¸Â Above the Clouds
High in the sky, far from the coast, Nano's voice chuckled softly in Junjie's mind. "Well, Host. I've catalogued four hundred thirty-six new plant compounds, fourteen gene samples, one accidental mythological cult seed, and roughly three thousand GCR in cultural data. Not a bad haul. And we still have the spice racks to unpack."
Junjie smiled at the report. Claudia leaned against the railing beside him, her eyes fixed on the horizon as the ship rode the upper winds. "You forgot the perfumes," she said quietly. Then, softer still, "This is only the beginning."