The crew cheered as Reva’s court-vessel passed the same stars for the third time. Its glass sails flashed. A dark current and a bright current pulled towards opposite horizons. The crowned navigator called for more force. Several of the crew were quietly seasick.
Ahead lay the Strait of Needles. Reva tightened every rope and shouted until her voice broke. The vessel struck a reef made of abandoned trophies.
An apprentice pointed to the compass. Reva opened it for the first time. There was no arrow: only a small court diagram and a question. Where are you going?
She had named the obstacle and the triumph. Now she named a harbour where the youngest players could train without tribute.
With somewhere to go, she could put both currents to work. The dark one gave depth, the bright one speed. A small correction before a narrow passage spared a desperate turn within it. When a storm came, Reva changed course.
At the harbour, the crew asked which current had won. She hung her crown beside the compass. From the deck they could see young players entering the court.