A Single Tide’s Grace

"This is madness," Marro muttered, pacing the cramped hut's corner. "They grant him 'safe passage'—but he's still guarded like a prisoner. And we have only one day to plan our next move."

From where he sat cross-legged on a threadbare mat, Kano understood his father's agitation. So did Reina, hovering near the door, arms folded. The council's verdict had kept Brannis out of jail—or worse—but it came with a hard deadline: by tomorrow night, moonrise, he must leave Coral Spit for good. A fleeting grace that brought more questions than relief.

Kano focused on the polished driftwood table between them, where a map of the surrounding isles lay weighted by a stone. He traced his finger around Coral Spit's position, then along the routes that led to better-fortified settlements or rumored free ports. "He's too weak to travel alone," he said. "Even with the merchant captain's help, sailing under guard...it's risky."

Reina let out a low sigh. "And if he leaves, are we any closer to restoring Stormrún? Or warning the rest of these islands about Valrakan? We can't sit idle while he departs—nothing solved."

Marro paused, scrubbing a hand across his face. "Brannis insists that if there's any hope of uniting the broken Stormrún loyalists, it starts with him and the knowledge he carries. But leaving Coral Spit won't guarantee safety. You've seen the council—half of them want this nuisance gone, the other half fear a real war. Either way, nobody here will raise a sword."

Kano's thoughts roiled. Should we slip out with Brannis? Abandon our home to join him? That seemed like the logical step if they truly meant to save Stormrún. Yet the look in Marro's eyes said the same: leaving wasn't simple. The Sea-Glass family was bound by debt and suspicion; any sudden flight could brand them as outlaws—or worse, accomplices to a foreign threat.

He looked up. "What if we prove the council wrong about us? Make a gesture they can't ignore—one that shows we're not just stirring trouble?"

Marro arched an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Something that protects Coral Spit," Kano answered, a flicker of inspiration lighting his gaze. "If we find a way to handle the pirate skiffs that raid the outer reefs—or if we thwart those contraband smugglers the council's always complaining about—then the village sees we're no liability. They might even release Brannis from guard. At worst, they wouldn't chase us if we leave."

For a moment, neither parent spoke. Reina's expression was torn between worry and a tentative spark of hope. "Those pirates… they've been a thorn in the council's side for ages. Even sank a fishing boat last month."

"And the contraband ring works from hidden coves," Marro added, "moving stolen eggs and cargo. It's dangerous. But if we pulled it off—well, it's more than the council themselves have done."

Kano rose, determined. "Brannis can't fight, but he can plan. He knows how Stormrún knights conducted raids on pirate dens. If we show the council a victory, maybe they'll trust us to act without fear. And if they still won't, at least Brannis leaves on a high note—meaning we all can slip away more safely."

A charged silence settled over them. It was a desperate proposition, but the only one that felt remotely possible in the narrow window left. Marro pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. "Fine," he said at last, glancing at Reina for agreement. "We have one tide's grace to try something heroic. Let's see if Brannis can guide us. But we can't do this alone."

Reina grimaced, thinking of the watchmen who kept Brannis under lock and key. "Then our first task is convincing them to let us speak to him without shackles."

Kano nodded, determination flooding his chest. It was reckless. But time was slipping away with each wave that lapped the shore, and Stormrún's flickering legacy wouldn't endure half measures. "Let's move. One day might be all we have."

They found Brannis in the same storehouse loft, though now one guard stood outside and another hovered at the foot of the rickety ladder. As soon as Kano and his parents arrived, the sentry scowled, hand settling on his belted club.

"That's close enough," he barked. "No visitors unless the council says otherwise."

Marro lifted his chin. "We only wish to speak with him, nothing more. You can watch us the entire time."

The guard squinted. "Speak about what?"

Reina raised a small pouch she carried—a clinking of clay vials and bandages. "He's injured. We brought medicine. And he's leaving soon anyway, right? Let us make sure he won't be a burden to you."

The guard's skepticism softened just enough for him to jerk his head toward the loft. "All right, but keep it brief. I'll be right here."

Exchanging a glance, Kano and his parents climbed the ladder, emerging into a cramped upper level thick with the smell of musty straw. Shafts of hazy light fell from high windows, illuminating stacked crates and nets. At the far side, Brannis sat on a barrel, leg bandaged, forehead gleaming with fever-sweat. Despite his obvious fatigue, he forced a tired smile at their approach.

"You're a welcome sight," he rasped, voice echoing off the rafters. "Guards aren't much for conversation."

Reina knelt by him, passing over the pouch. "This might help your fever."

Brannis nodded thanks, gingerly uncorking a small vial while Marro laid out fresh cloth strips. Kano crouched nearby, trying to keep their voices low. Beneath them, the sentry's footsteps thumped as he paced.

"You've heard the news," Marro said. "You must leave by tomorrow night."

Brannis grimaced as he swallowed a dose of bitter herbs. "Yes. Our…one 'grace' before exile." His gaze shifted to Kano. "But something tells me you haven't come just to say goodbye."

Kano took a breath. "We want to prove our worth to the council—show them we're not just troublemakers who invite war. There are pirates or smugglers around Coral Spit, a long-standing thorn in the council's side. If we can deal with them, maybe we can free you from watch or at least part on better terms."

A flicker of interest sparked in Brannis's eyes. "Ambitious. You've only got a day."

"Exactly," Kano said. "That's why we need your help planning. We can't do it alone."

Brannis exhaled, gazing past them at the crates and beams. "Stormrún knights once rid small isles of such pests. Usually we lured them into an ambush, forcing a surrender or scaring them off for good."

Marro nodded. "And with your knowledge, we might stage something similar. If we capture a pirate skiff or their leader, the council could see us as protectors rather than problems."

Reina dabbed Brannis's brow with a damp cloth. "But you're in no shape to join a raid. We'll have to move without you—and that's if we can even find the pirates' hideout in time."

"Any intelligence on them?" Brannis asked.

Marro sighed. "Only rumor. They use hidden coves near the western reef."

Kano pressed on. "What we need from you are the tactics—how Stormrún used to do it. We'll sneak out after dark, find them, and hit them fast. Do enough damage to send a message."

Brannis considered this, brow furrowed. "Time is short. But I can outline a plan. You'll need a small boat, something that can hide among the reefs until you ambush. If you can separate a pirate vessel from the rest…"

He coughed, a shudder racking his shoulders. Reina steadied him until the fit passed. Catching his breath, Brannis continued in hushed tones. "Remember: intimidation goes a long way. You don't have to wipe them out, just make them back off from Coral Spit. A show of force, a capture—any such victory might win the council's trust."

Kano nodded, absorbing every word. He reached into a pocket for a scrap of parchment and a bit of charcoal, hastily jotting down Brannis's suggestions: approach routes, signals, feint maneuvers. Treading carefully was essential; they had no illusions about how dangerous a misstep could be.

Marro's gaze flicked toward the trapdoor. "We'll have to gather volunteers quietly. If the pirates sense we're coming… But who would join us? Most folks are too scared or too busy making ends meet."

Brannis rubbed his temple. "Check among the fishers who've lost kin to raids. Some might risk a fight if it means driving the pirates away. Offer them spoils from the smugglers' contraband. It's… not noble, but it might do."

Reina's eyes darted to Kano. "We should talk to the few allies we have—like Aila, maybe one or two fishers who remember what Stormrún was."

Brannis reached out, his hand briefly touching Kano's arm. "Be careful. We have little to bargain with. And if this fails, or the council learns you're stirring more trouble…"

Kano understood the warning. If things go wrong, we might lose even our fragile standing. But the thought of doing nothing—letting Brannis sail off under a cloud of suspicion—felt intolerable.

He closed his notes. "We'll do what we must." Lowering his voice further, he added, "Tomorrow night might be our last chance to prove Coral Spit isn't doomed to fear—and that Stormrún's not just a memory."

Brannis's weary smile held a flicker of gratitude. "Then let's make it count."

A moment of shared resolve pulsed between them. Outside, the guard's footsteps scraped near the trapdoor, a clear sign their time was up. Reina helped Brannis settle back against the barrel, and Marro tucked the bandages away.

"Thank you," Brannis managed again, quieter this time.

They nodded and rose, stepping carefully to the ladder. A sense of purpose mingled with dread in Kano's chest. There was no telling if this bold strike would truly shift the council's stance—or if the pirates would prove too formidable. But one thing was certain: they had to try.

Descending the ladder into the watchful glare of the guard, they said nothing, only mustered calm expressions. The plan had begun, however fragile. Now came the hardest part: gathering what meager resources they could, forging an impromptu strike force, and praying they could rattle the pirates enough to earn Coral Spit's respect.

The sun had dipped low by the time Kano and his parents stood at the edge of Coral Spit's western pier, scanning the faces of the few villagers who had answered their discreet summons. Lanterns bobbed in the dusk, and the briny air carried a hushed urgency. In the distance, reef-tipped waves glimmered in fading light.

At Kano's side, Marro wore a determined set to his shoulders, arms crossed. Reina lingered behind them, offering the occasional nod of greeting. All three knew they were risking scrutiny—if the council suspected they were plotting a raid, the fragile goodwill that kept Brannis safe might vanish.

A handful of fishers hovered in a tight semicircle around an overturned crate. Most bore the lean, sinewy look of people who spent hours at sea. One man nursed a scar across his brow, while another's face was lined by salt and grief. Aila, the midwife who had helped them before, stood nearby with a tense expression.

"Let's keep this short," Marro began, voice low. "We've caught wind the pirates have a skiff anchored near the western reef. If we can intercept it—force them to see Coral Spit isn't easy prey—it might push them off our shores for good."

The fisherman with the scar sniffed. "Council's known about those skiffs for months, but done nothin' except grumble."

"That changes tonight," Kano said, pitching his voice just loud enough for the group to hear. "We'll take a small boat, lure the pirates out, then strike fast. Make them think we've got more backing than we do. If we succeed, Coral Spit might finally be rid of them."

A murmur ran through the fishers. Aila cleared her throat. "Suppose we do chase them away. What stops them from returning with more ships?"

Marro glanced at Kano, letting him answer. "We're counting on pirates being opportunists. If they believe a well-armed force defends these waters, they'll look elsewhere for easier loot." It was a gamble, of course, but Brannis's advice had been clear: intimidation often made half the battle.

The fisher with the scar spat into the water. "I lost my cousin to those raiders. If there's a chance to spook 'em, I'm in."

Others nodded slowly, though fear lingered in their eyes. An older woman shifted her weight. "You talk bold, boy, but I don't see no Stormrún knights here. That man Brannis—he's locked up. We're just fishers."

Kano steadied his breath, mindful of how his tarnished name might undermine confidence. "We're fishers, yes," he said, forcing conviction into each syllable, "but we know these reefs better than any raider. And we have enough grit to fight for our homes." He met each gaze in turn. "We've planned out an ambush—hit them after dark, confuse them with decoy lanterns, maybe snare their hull on the coral edges. We don't need shining armor. Just courage and a bit of cunning."

A muted hush followed. Then one by one, the fishers exchanged glances, some nodding in reluctant agreement. The older woman blew out a breath. "Fine. Let's hear your plan."

Marro pulled a rough chart from his satchel and spread it on the overturned crate. Reina angled her lantern, illuminating the hastily sketched outlines of the reef. Kano pointed to a narrow channel. "They'll likely keep watch here, waiting to catch small craft heading out for night fishing. If we move along the deeper lagoon, we can circle behind them."

"That's when we'll show a single lantern, drawing their attention," Marro added, tracing the route with a calloused finger. "A second boat—manned by whoever's most confident—can approach from the south, cutting off their escape."

Aila's brow furrowed. "We have so few boats. If the pirates see through our bluff—"

"We aim to never let them see the full picture," Kano said. "We'll keep the darkness on our side, try to jam their rudder against the reef. If it works, we capture or at least damage that skiff enough to make a point."

It was a risky plan built on half-lies and borrowed nerve, but it had an undeniable air of possibility. One by one, the fishers agreed to tasks: man the decoy boat, handle the net snares, flash lantern signals. Aila, lacking direct combat skills, volunteered to ready basic first aid for any wounded. It all felt precarious, but given Coral Spit's reluctance to act, it was the best they had.

"Meet back here at moonrise," Marro instructed, rolling the chart. "Bring only what weapons and gear you can hide. No sense rousing the council."

As the group began to disperse into the twilight, Aila caught Kano's arm. "I still worry the council will blame you if something goes wrong," she whispered. "Are you sure it's worth it?"

He glanced at her, memories of Brannis's weary resolve flickering in his mind. "Brannis risks everything for us. If we just let these pirates keep roaming, we'll never win the council's trust—and he leaves tomorrow anyway. Our time is now."

Aila offered a tight nod and slipped away, leaving Kano alone with his thoughts for a moment. The ocean's gentle swells glistened under the rising moon. A single tide's grace, he reminded himself, heart thudding. They would either drive off the pirates and gain the council's favor—or fail and lose what little ground they'd earned.

Rejoining his parents, Kano exhaled deeply. "No turning back now," he murmured, scanning the horizon where the coral reefs rested like dark silhouettes against silver waves.

Marro clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll make it work. If nothing else, we'll give Coral Spit a reason to believe we're not the 'tarnished family' they've painted us to be."

Reina pulled her shawl tighter, eyes on the shifting sea. "Let's pray the currents favor us tonight."

A faint breeze ruffled the pier's palm fronds as they headed home to prepare for a skirmish that could change everything. Kano's stomach churned with dread and anticipation in equal measure. Soon enough, the moon would rise, and they'd set off to face a threat bigger than any of them had bargained for—hoping the boldness of their gamble might redeem them all.