TR: 33

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Storm

Embers danced in front of Kade’s face as Brian stoked the fire with a sodden stick.Once the fire was breathing again, he sat back down on the log beside Kade, the end of the stick sizzling vibrant orange as if it had been forged in a volcano. The two boys stared at the flames, captivated by their radiance. There was something about them that called to Kade, igniting something deep inside him, something primitive that begged to come to the surface. It was almost a kind of…yearning, but even that word didn’t quite capture the essence of the feeling. He looked up from the campfire and glanced over at his friend. Brian’s features were obscured by the ebbing shadows, to the point that it looked like he was a part of them. But there was no question: Kade knew it was him. He could feel his presence there, unmistakable and as warm as the heat from the fire. But there was also a coldness surrounding him, hovering just above and beyond like an ominous halo. Kade didn’t know what it meant but it scared him. Part of him was afraid for his friend but the fire somehow reassured him that this was a safe place. At least for now.

Scrubby was there as well, sitting beside Brian, though strangely enough the shadows left him alone. Perhaps more odd, the gnome wasn’t fidgeting about or tampering with anything as per usual. Like the rest of them, he too gazed into the fire, as if it were the center of gravity for the place.

And what of this place?

He had been here before. But where?

The fire was all that seemed to be in the nameless realm. Other than them, of course. There were no tents, no sleeping bags, no trees. It was as if they had set up a siwash in the middle of nowhere. Yet, it felt too familiar to be nowhere, but the timing was wrong; the time was foreign. This had not occurred yet. Or, at least, not all of it had. Looking around, he noticed other formless figures that sat around the fire, all different shapes and sizes, the silhouettes suggesting some maybe even nonhuman. Either way, Kade had no idea who any of them were, what their significance was.

Was it some kind of…meeting point? No, that wasn’t quite right, but it was close. Somewhere far, far in the reaches of his mind, like a word caught at the tip of the tongue, he knew he knew where he was, but every time he ventured down one of the mental paths that lead to the answer, it ended in ambiguity. He just knew what he felt, and that was a dying thirst to be one with the flame before them. Not in a suicidal way, but in a natural one, like returning to one’s roots. He was not of the fire, but he was of this one. Whatever the place was, it was his. It belonged to him, it was where he was meant to be.

It was home.

No moon hung overhead to illumine them, but no one cared. The light from the fire was all that they needed. If there was more to see, the fire would show it in time. But there were clues: together, they completed a circle around the campfire, as if it were some kind of private ritual between them. Strangely, Kade felt nothing when his eyes fell upon the shapes. It was if they were not meant to be focused on; immaterial matter, more for ambience than substance. Yet, somehow he felt connected to those shapes. A premonition? He squelched the thought. Concerns had no place here. All that mattered was what lay before him. He couldn’t recall where the fire had come from–if someone had started it or if they had just come across it like that–but it didn’t matter. It was just as likely that it had always been that way.

Anything was possible in this place.

Suddenly a sensation of cold grew over Kade. He wrapped his arms around himself and shuddered against the chill. The fire jostled, coughing sparks into the blackening air. A voice from behind, soft and cold like the breeze that had invited itself in. Kade turned to the blackness beyond, black, black and black as far back as he could see. The voice-that-was-not-a-voice called to him, though it didn’t use words that he knew. It was a language he had never heard before, but it bore the mark of an old thing, residues of a Rynn when it was nought but a barren landscape, glacial plateaus of shale and time, sentient culture in its nascence. It was the voice of the wind itself; the voice of creation. But what could it possibly want from him?

He got up from his perch and turned to the void beyond. Nothing stirred in that oblivion. He stepped over the log and began to walk slowly into the darkness.

“Where are you going?” a voice came from behind him.

He turned back to the campfire, Brian staring at him, expressionless.

“I’m going to find more firewood. It’s getting cold.”

He continued on, leaving the fire and his two comrades behind, walking on and on until they were but a dim speck on the horizon. He watched the ground as he walked, the only way he could measure his pace against the utter nothingness surrounding him. His feet made no noise as he walked, the only sound his shallow breathing and a persistent drone of silence, that vacuous vacancy that left only the ringing in one’s own ears as company. At some point–Kade couldn’t be sure when–small specks appeared on the floor. He stopped at one, bending over to examine it closer.

They were stars. He looked up, expecting to see a reflection of the night sky but space extended into nothing, an unforgiving and bereft canvas on which no painter had made a nebulous stroke. How had he come to walk among the universe? What did it all mean? Was he meant to travel to the beyond? Was someone–or something–trying to send him a message? The more he tried to formulate a theory, the more his mind became mired. It was if the place allowed no agency; only the purest of pure could exist here. How, then, had he come by this place? And to walk among the stars!

He looked up once again to the blackness, half-hoping that he would see the sky as it were meant to be, but instead something else took shape in the ebony matte above him. At first it was only a mass, no more than an ink blot on an already blotted page, but then it began to grow edges, differentiating itself from its environment. The shape of man was birthed, a silhouette draped in a black blanket. It began to move towards him but, at some point, Kade had become anchored to the floor, or whatever it was that lay beneath. All could do was lie helpless, staring at the dark apparition as it floated silently toward him. A voice began to emanate from it–not the same voice he had heard–hardly more than the gentlest psithurism, bearing no word or meaning, yet they seemed to scathe his very soul. This creature was his anathema, the poison to his very being. This was not the first time, either; locked in an eternal dance, they had shared this space before. His pulse quickened and his breathing became shallow and he strained to turn his head to find that speck of light–that speck of hope–that was his campfire, but he had strayed too far.

As the figure grew nearer, his head pounding like war drums, the wispy tendrils of smoke emanating from the apparition began to coalesce into a solid form, features beginning to become distinguishable. The shadows began to abate across the figure’s face, the suggestion of flesh and eye creeping through. As their face started to be revealed, a dark hand shot out violently toward his throat. Kade screamed, unable to shield himself as his arms were pinned to the ground at his side. He could feel the world beneath him fall backwards as the hand came at his throat, and…

***

Kade gasped as he grabbed onto Brian’s outstretched hand, stopping himself from falling backwards off the log. The campfire crackled gently between them, Brian’s serene expression illuminated amber against their glow.

“Wh…what happened?”

Brian smiled, letting go of Kade’s hand as he righted himself on the log, looking very disoriented.

“You dozed off and almost fell. Gotta pay more attention, man.”

Kade looked all around, but the figure, the stars–none of it–was anywhere to be seen.

“There was a voice. And a…a man. He came out of the darkness, and he…” Kade stopped short, at a loss for words. “Well, I don’t know what he was…” Kade trailed off, his eyes drifting back down to the embers where they lingered, lost and confused.

Brian poked the fire with a stick. “Maybe he was lost and was calling for help. He wouldn’t be the first.”

Kade frowned. He didn’t know what Brian was talking about. Brian stood up, bending over to stretch his back.

“Well, now that you are up, it’s your turn to keep watch.”

Kade frowned at him. Smiling, Brian looked up into the starry sky above them.

Stars? Where did they come from?

Kade glanced around them. The void was gone; they sat at a small encampment on a rocky bluff above a shoreline. The forest loomed ominously behind them, a wall of wooden soldiers spearing the cobalt horizon.

“Strange though. I never thought he would be this late.” Brian said.

“Late? Who are you waiting for?”

Brian laughed. “If I knew that, then it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

Kade didn’t follow. A loud crackle of thunder billowed out from the forest, the ground trembling beneath them. A loud hiss came from the ocean and Kade watched in bewilderment as, out of nowhere, ferocious waves pummeled into the embankment like transparent hands clawing for a meal. The whinny of a horse echoed from the cliffs below, as if coming from the sea itself.

“What the hell was that?”

Kade was on his feet, backing away from the edge. A spindrift sprayed up at the cliff’s edge and out of the mist emerged a black knight atop an armoured stallion as dark as his master. The horse trotted out of thin air and onto the cliff’s edge toward them, the warrior holding a lance in one arm, ready to strike. Kade stumbled backwards, mouth agape and Brian stepped in front of him, gripping a broadsword fiercely.

“Ah, so this is who I was waiting for.”

“Who…who is that?” Kade stammered.

There was a glint in Brian’s eye. “Destiny.”

The rider kicked the horse into a gallop, its hoof impacts echoing across the shadowy plane. The soldier’s was obscured by its helmet but wisps of smoke emanated out of the eyeholes, suggesting it was no ordinary knight. Its steed, too, was other-worldly, with eyes like embers and a voice that could only be found in the beasts of dreams. The rider charged and Brian reciprocated, the warhorse grunting as it if took some kind of malicious enjoyment in it all. As the two collided, Kade watched as the rider adjusted at the last minute, its lance honing in right for Brian’s heart. Time began to slow and…

***

They were no longer on the sea bluff. Now, Kade watched from the safety of an enclosure atop a dusty mountain summit, high above a frigid alpine grove, as his friend kissed battle axes with a massive half-man half-goat creature, the knight nowhere to be seen. As the two traded blows, a cloud cleared in the distance, the sun glaring into Kade’s eyes. He shielded his face with his hand and when he lowered his arm…

***

The fleshy punctuation of fist meeting jaw, Brian flies into several crates full of fresh produce, angry vendors screaming medieval profanities. The small village is bustling, busy, but people stop to watch the young starborn take on the village champion in a battle of the knuckles. Brian wipes blood off his jaw, smiles and gets back up. He rushes in at the burly man and…

***
They are on the deck of a ship, the hull heaving up and down against the brusque ebb of the waves. Blades clash as Brian swashbuckles with an enraged pirate who looks to be one too many sheets to the wind on grog.

***

The scenes continued to change rapidly before Kade’s eyes, everything moving at a kaleidoscopic pace, some images moving so fast he is barely able to render them. The world flickered once more and Kade stood high above the ground on the battlement of an old fortress, the wind blowing in his face inexorably. Time seemed to piece back together, slowly unwinding itself like a spinning top about to topple over. He took in the scene in the courtyard below, the flagstones stained with fresh blood, corpses gutted and burned, frozen in contorted agony. He peered over the parapet, wincing at the grotesque site, his heart racing as the biting wind lashed at him. A sound from behind, just audible beneath the howling of the wind, stole his gaze away from the bloodbath. He turned around leaned over the crenelated wall, staring down a plummeting stone face which disappeared into tight-knit treetops of a forest which sprawled out across the shadowy land beyond. In a clearing not far off, he saw two figures moving within a thicket. Somehow, they looked uncannily familiar, though he couldn’t make out much detail from their distance. Squinting in the wind, he could swear that the smaller one wore a scarf identical to his own. Kade reached for his neck and touched the soft fabric of his traton wool garment–an expensive material made from the fleece of a jambu, a type of Vos marsupial resembling a many-legged fox. His father had given him the scarf when he was about three years old, a souvenir from his time when he was stationed in the east for his work. It was the last gift from–and memory of–his father. Kade’s mind drifted forward through the past, a flashback of a dark figure standing in a burning wreck holding out the scarf, beckoning to him in that ominous voice that he couldn’t be sure was just in his head or not.

The taller one stopped, looking up at the fortress and, after shielding his eyes for a moment, he pointed in Kade’s direction, yelling something to his partner. As the two distant figures gawked up at him, a cloud shifted above, occluding the glare of the sunlight, shadows drifting across the thicket. For a moment, the figures became clearer and it was then that Kade realized just who he was looking down at:

He was looking at himself.

And Brian was with him, a dumbfounded look on his face, as it appeared he too clued in on Kade’s identity. Kade didn’t understand it. How could he be in two places at once? It didn’t make any sense. Perhaps he was seeing things in the shadows, the shifting light playing tricks on his eyes. He knew it wasn’t a dream; the air bristled against the hair on his skin, a sensation so real and unpleasant that no dream could conjure its likeness. His contemplating broke at the sound of footsteps off to his side. He turned to see a tall, sleek figure adorned in a black cloak that looked like the night strolling casually toward him. His face was veiled by an long, black hat with a wide, elliptical brim which cast darkness on his visage. His slow, nonchalant gait suggested non-hostility, but his energy was anything but; sinister waves exuded from the mysterious figure, actual physical forms of blackness, rippling through the air like phantasmal fumes. A current of air blew his cloak aside revealing an ebony-hilted sword hanging from his belt, the hilt embellished with a glittering red gemstone. Kade knew that stone, but he couldn’t say where. The way the light was captured by it drew him in, calling to him to come closer, just have one small touch. Kade shook his head, breaking the sword’s spell and he stumbled backwards, tripping on the bottom step of a staircase leading up to a sentry tower. The figure reached across his body to his sword, wrapping his hand around the ornate handle and drawing the blade from its scabbard. The blade was blood-red, unlike any metal Kade had ever seen. It glistened in the light, a priceless ruby, though Kade wondered if it were instead made of blood, not minerals from the earth. Seeing the beautiful yet deadly weapon, Kade was suddenly filled with unspeakable rage, as if its presence were a personal affront. The feeling hit him with recoiling force, entwining itself into his being, circumscribing his heart with a furious mark. It felt useless to struggle, as if battling an autonomic bodily function. The rage passed, followed the deepest, bleakest despondency, his very essence sinking into nothingness, like a flower wilting in a harsh winter’s wrath. Yet, something continued to burn inside, a light that refused to be extinguished.

Kade stood up, his heart racing as the emotional surge coursed through his veins. What had this person done to him to affect him so? He didn’t even know who they were! Yet, somehow, his feelings were justified; he knew this person was deserving of his hatred. There was something–many things–this person had done… It was difficult to put into words. The only thing Kade could draw a parallel to was that sixth sense that one got when there was something off and the hair on the back of the neck stood up on alert, even before anything had happened. It was if this person had stepped out of someone else’s story, a villain that everyone else knew by name, except the person in the new story. Just whose story this person had stepped out of, Kade could not be sure. Whoever it was, Kade feared that theirs did not have a happy ending.

The figure lowered the blade to the stones, the tip dragging along the hard surface as it kicked up sparks, a horrible ear-splitting screech. Kade’s pulse quickened and adrenaline flooded into his system. The hate swelled, reaching its apex, and Kade screamed, rushing at the figure despite being unarmed. As he ran, time seemed to slow, the world around him shifting shapes, the light flaring then fading as everything melted together like watercolour.

***

He was in a stadium, one he was not familiar with. Spotlights beamed, impossibly tall sentinels drawing thousands of eyes to the players on the field. Holos blitzed and blazed, advertising this and that, nothing ever too important to remember, not that he understood the illegible gobbledygook anyhow. The rafters were completely full, a sea of people–tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of them–chanting, cheering and jeering, like a living wall surrounding the theatre. Kade’s heart thrummed in his chest as he looked around the stadium in awe, his heart’s desire come true. All he had ever wanted in his life (other than some closure from his father, of course) was to make it in Up. Sure, he was only twelve years old, but kids far younger than him were already being headhunted for the under-leagues and, in theory, he was only three years off from potential majors, so the dream wasn’t entirely dead yet. Still, something about it all seemed wrong. He wasn’t a professional player yet, so what was all this? As if to suggest an answer, the grinding of the sword against the stone sounded again, except this time it came from all around. It grew and grew, supplanting the wild cheering of the crowd, until his head was pounding in synchronicity with the dissonance. Rage rose up in him again, and Kade covered his ears, falling to his knees as he squinted in pain. As the sound continued to crescendo, Kade screamed at the ground, tears running down his cheeks at the unbearable torment. And then, all of a sudden…

Silence.

Kade opened his eyes and the stadium was empty. The crowd, the players–everyone was gone. He was a team of one, there and forever more, just like he had always been. He stood up, wiping the wet off his face with the back of his hand. He turned and the cloaked figure stood an arm’s length away from him. Kade gasped but before he could make a move, the figure ripped off the cloak, tossing it aside where it dissolved into the darkness. Electric blue tines of hair glistened in an unseen light source, sapphire daggers in the night. The eccentric armor plates, overlapping silver and gold, a circlet with a single red jewel, just like that sword….

The man from my dreams. From my nightmares.

Fire erupted in the man’s free hand, illuminating a wicked grin in hellish haze.

“Catch.”

As if casually passing Kade an Up beet, he tossed the flaming orb to Kade. Acting on impulse, Kade caught the ball of fire and his body instantly went ablaze. He screamed in agony, falling to his knees in blinding pain.

***

Kade screamed as he fell back off the log, landing hard against the forest floor. Gathering his bearings, he slowly pulled righted himself, leaning against the log, his hearth pumping furiously. Brian looked over at him for a moment where his gaze lingered expressionless for several seconds before he looked back to the fire where he was singeing the end of a stick. Kade looked around, the formless black sheet around them replaced with a forest setting, though he still had no idea where he was. He got to his feet and sat back down on the log. He jerked his hand away as he felt wet, looking down to find his log now partially rotten and waterlogged. It hadn’t been like that before, had it? He looked around the fire, past Brian whose gaze was locked onto the fire, to the places where the other figures had been sitting before. They were all empty.

Something had changed, but what?

Knowing of nothing else that he could do, Kade turned his attention back to the fire, watching the tinder in the firepit crackle in the still of the night. He shook his head, bringing his mind to where he sat. How many more tales did the fire have to tell? His eyes fixated on one glowing ember near the base of the flames, something about the particular piece drawing him in. As he watched in ebb in brightness, Kade wondered how long it had been there. Then he wondered how long he had been there. And where was there?

As Kade pondered his situation, every path his mind took him down led him to the same conclusion, regardless of the route it took to get there: wherever he was, he needed to get out.

***

Brian cursed to himself angrily under his breath as he hand-mopped the whitewashed planks of the stern deck. He kept asking himself in his mind how he had gotten himself into his situation–a question which seemed to be popping up more often than he cared to admit. The constant rocking of the ship did nothing to help his mood, nor stomach. He had only been on the ship for several days and already he couldn’t fathom how anyone could live a life at sea.

A homely looking sailor came up to him, followed by several other crewmen. Brian stopped when he saw them coming, straightening his back and groaning as
it cracked back into place. The man stopped a few feet in front of him, spat on to the deck where Brian had just finished mopping and took a swig from a mug of ale. He made a sound of contentment and wiped the excess foam from his week old stubble.

“Ya’ missed a spot boy.”

He smacked Brian on the back, throwing him off balance for a moment and walked away chuckling with his cronies. Once they rounded the corner, Brian threw his mop down hard against the deck and stormed off in a fury. He had had enough of this wasting time. He wanted answers, and he was going to get them. Now where was that ruffian Jack Ballade? That’s what the other crewmen called their boss, anyhow- that same sorry sot who shoved the damn mop into his hand and demanded that he be put to work immediately. Ballade was supposed to be in charge, so why was he about? Wasn’t one supposed to lead by example? Brian needed to find his friend and that man was the only one keeping him from him. As Brian reached for a door handle to enter the main cabin, he stopped as he remembered Ballade’s admonition not to interfere until the Captain’s meeting was finished. That very same meeting where Celine–his healer–the one they called the envoy, was said to be. As fate had it, Celine would likely also know where Kade was. So if Ballade and Celine were both at this meeting, that put everyone he needed to get to in one room. Except… it was a room he wasn’t supposed to be in.

Brian groaned as he let go of the door, rubbing the back of his head in frustration. He didn’t know what to do. As he paced impatiently back and forth along the creaky ship deck, consumed by his thoughts, he ruminated on his first encounter with the healer Celine and how she had gone out of her way to help him. A sense of profound gratification overwhelmed him and he stopped pacing, placing a gentle hand against his throat. There were no scars, no prior indication of injury. He was one hundred percent fine, all thanks to her. Brian realized then that, perhaps, barging in on an important meeting, likely disturbing not only her but her confidants, probably wasn’t the best way to show his appreciation.

As he turned to go, a small clicking sound grabbed his attention. Curious, he followed the sound until he came to a pile of old crates and barrels nestled in the hollow of a stairwell. He walked around the pile and there was a small enclosed area, surrounded by soggy sacks of grain and other staples heaped in piles. In the center of the floor sat Scrubby, cross legged as he hummed to himself, rolling pebbles across some sort of strange playing board scribed into the deck with red chalk. The rocks made plunking sounds as they bounced across the wood on to the drawing. Brian had never seen the game before, nor did he recognize the song that Scrubby was humming. Gnomes were strange creatures, and he knew very little about them but, in a weird kind of way, Brian was happy to see a familiar face, even if it was the stubborn little oaf.

“Is this a two player game?”

The gnome nearly jumped out of his skin, squealing at the top of his lungs and thrashing about as if his life depended on it. He span around, making strange arm motions that, from Brian’s best guess, were meant to be self defense measures. Brian laughed at the gnome’s strange manner and sat down on a box. Scrubby took a moment to assess the situation before his nerves cooled. He lowered his arms and coughed into his hand, cheeks bright red in embarrassment.

“I…um…thought you were some one else. Naturally.”

Brian smiled sardonically. “Naturally.”

His smile faded. He raised an eyebrow. “So where have you been this whole time, huh? Kade was nearly killed, I was nearly killed! Some
kind of friend you are.”

Scrubby sat back down and pulled a handful of stones from his pocket. He shrugged. “Gnomes do not reveal themselves unless absolutely necessary. Besides, what could I have done? They would only have gawked over me, maybe chased after me in lust for wishes, like two other hooligans that I know. It would have
only slowed down those who could actually help.”

The gnome’s reasoning was annoying but true.

“Well how are you supposed to travel with us if you always have to hide in the shadows everywhere we go? That’s not very companion-like.”

Scrubby rolled his stones across the floor. Chunk plunk kunk.

“Who says I’m your companion?”

Brian put a finger to his chin. “Hmm. This is true. Well, we could always shove you in a jar and carry you around like that. You could be our little genie. When we
need more wishes we will just rub your jar.”

Brian laughed and leaned forward, rubbing the gnomes head, messing up his hair and knocking his hat askew.

“You will do fine I think. You already look the part with your funny little hat and boots.”

Scrubby smacked Brian’s hand away and fixed his hat grumpily.

“What’s wrong with my hat? I like my hat.”

Brian enjoyed pestering the little man; he got some strange satisfaction out of it. Perhaps, it had something to do with the fact that the gnome did little to help along his own wretched demeanour.

“Nothing. I was just joking around. So, how do you play this game?”

Brian picked up a couple of stones off the ground. Scrubby rolled a stone across the floor. Tump, tump, fump.

Scrubby sneered. “It’s too complicated for a human to understand. Maybe some other time when I have my rule book.”

“Aww come on. Just give me a basic idea. I don’t need to know every…”

The sound of footsteps cut Brian off. He looked up and Jack Ballade looked down on him.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for ye boy, and here I find you playing stones by yourself?”

“I wasn’t playing by myself. Me and Scr…”

Brian turned back to the board to find that Scrubby was nowhere to be seen. Pebbles lay derelict on the strange chalk drawing.

“No time for shenanigans boy. Come with me.”

“Now wait just a second! If you think I’m going to go mop some poop deck with your hopeless crew, think again!”

Jack rounded on Brian with a scornful look. “Mopping? Boy, have you not been paying attention to what be goin’ on around ye? There be a nasty storm
brewing and we be heading straight into its bosom. There’ll be no mopping necessary where you’ll be goin’ if you don’t keep yer’ head out of yer’ arse. Now, like it be told already, come with me.”

Brian stood dumbfounded. He just couldn’t keep up with the man.

“Head out of my… wait, where are we going?”

Jack lumbered off ahead of him, not paying heed to Brian’s question.

“I swear Ballade, if you don’t take me to Celine…”

The larger man rounded on Brian furiously, sausage finger up in his face. “Two thing, boy. First: it’s Mister Ballade, to you. Ye ain’t no friend of mine to address me as such. Second: you got your wish. Whatever heads you’ve been rubbin’, they’ve done you right. You’ll see your soothsayer, you will. Captain’s called a meeting in the hall, and everyone’s to attend.” He leaned so close Brian could smell whisky on the bristly man’s breath.

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Am I the soothsayer? The meeting hasn’t ‘appened yet. If ye want to know the future, why don’t ye ask yer pretty friend when ye se her.”

Brian frowned at the man’s back as he lumbered off.

“Jandros Crusp! Does the damned sea make everyone grumpy?” He muttered under his breath.

***

Brian wiped the sweat from his brow that had accumulated from the day’s work as he came to the door of his quarters. As he reached for the knob, several crewmen passed by in an adjacent hall, exchanging glances with him. Brian nodded but they merely scowled at him, grumbling something unheard but certainly unfriendly before they were out of sight. Brian sighed, staring down at the handle of the door.

It hand’t taken him very long to figure out the psychology behind Jack Ballade and his crew. If there was one thing Brian was good at–other than punching down doors–it was figuring out what people were about. He had a natural knack for it and the crew of the Leviathan were an open book. Most of them had only ever known work at sea. For some, that extended to their entire life. It was an understatement to say that this created a myopic view of the world. Sure, there were a few who were sympathetic, maybe even curious about the outside world–the dirtwalkers they called them–but they were few and far between. Ninety percent of the crew he’d met were happy with nothing more than a chore and a boat to do it on. It gave them a sense of purpose, it seemed, if not a simple one. But within this simple life there was a world unto itself, and it was a hierarchical one, it turned out. To an outsider such as himself, it might seem like a game at first–a proving match of sorts to stroke the ego–but in actuality, the crew had created a system in which a man could test the limits of his skillset, no matter how mundane the task. Be it hoisting a mast or just plain mopping the deck, it was the only thing the men and women on that boat had to delineate themselves from becoming just another face lost in the water.

Brian was introduced to this system secondhand while scrubbing barnacles off of a bilge tank down in the engine room about a week earlier. A particularly filthy looking sailor known endearingly as Fugl Snotcrub had taken it upon himself to try and best Brian at his assignment, after deciding it would be a good way to put him in his place. Brian had been prying off the tiny sea creatures with a small trowel he had found, though in actuality working with cement probably would have been more forgiving. So, when Mr Snotscrub came along and noticed Brian down on his knees with a look of consternation, it was only natural that the man give him his most reassuring partially toothless grin–his remaining teeth hardly a shade off from the rust on the boiler–and proceeded to pluck the barnacles off with his bare fingers. Brian watched as in partial amazement and fully disgust as the man continually stuck his fingers in his mouth, sometimes producing a long string of saliva which clung between his fingers and tongue like a bridge no one would ever want to cross, and then used those same forsaken fingers to twist the barnacle deftly from its position. Forget elbow grease; this guy had it in his mouth, apparently. Brian noticed that Snotcrub’s fingernails were all but abraded away, which told Brian there truly was no free lunch in the universe. Despite the man’s guile at extirpating crustaceans, he had not an ounce of humility to go along with that. After only several minutes, he had picked his area of the bilge clear, a pile of barnacles at his feet like sad little upturned stones, which was more work than Brian had accomplished in the past two hours. Clearly, Fugl Snotscrub knew this very fact all too well and pointed at Brian with that mutilated, slobber-ridden appendage he called a finger, and laughed out loud, the other sailors joining in the ridicule.

“Come on boy, yer not gonna let ole Snotto have the best of ye, are ye?”
“Yeah, scrape ‘er like a man! I’s bad ‘nuff we be dealin’ with one woman aboard. We don’t need
two.”  jibed.
The men laughed, patting themselves on the back at their grand accomplishment of demeaning the youth. Brian stopped scraping, staring in to space as he held his anger back. He had met a lot of idiots in his life but never a bunch that acted like such immature children. He didn’t know what their problem was but he didn’t want any part of it. He stood
up and went to leave but two of the men closed in shoulder to shoulder, barring his way. They exchanged violent glances.

“And just where do ye think yer going, little man? When you’re aboard our ship, you do things our way. And our way is to finish
what we started.”

Brian looked at the man for a moment, making a fist at his side as he felt his rage boil over. Just who did these castaways think they were It was as if they wanted a fight. Brian imagined the subsequent scenario, where he threw the first punch, debilitating the sailor on the left while the one on the right went to his immediate defence, which Brian easily dodged and responded with a good shot to the midsection, sending his internal organs into an imminent state of failure. The two others then rounded on him from behind but, in one swift roundhouse kick, they were down for the count, unconscious like their comrades. All in all, it was an easy fix but a grisly and piteous sight. To his surprise, where he should have felt a sense of triumph looking down on his victory over the unreasonable lot, there was a heavy, lingering weight of guilt. It was then that Brian realized these men were merely a product of their environment, having very likely grown up around the same kind of abuse that they now readily doled out, and that they couldn’t have turned out any different, given their circumstances. What they needed wasn’t a fist to the face, but one solid example of human decency.
Brian raised his fist up to his face, one of the men startling back a step, raising his fists into fighting stance. Brian swung his arm to the side, his fist slamming against the boiler with a loud, metallic thud which echoed throughout the engine room. The barnacles shook with tremendous force, every single one popping off on to the floor, raining down to the waterlogged  floorboards of the hull in a symphony of ‘clicks’ and ‘clacks’. Brian lowered his fist, blinking at the dumbstruck sailors before him.

”Guess that about wraps it up.” Brian said, and walked past the sailors, bumping shoulders with one of the sailors who stumbled backwards, Brian unaffected by the contact. The men stood gawking at Brian’s back, exchanging incredulous glances between themselves and the barnacle-riddled floor.

That was how those men had looked at him now, and exactly why they didn’t trust him. You were damned if you did and you were damned if you didn’t with those folks. Despite it all, He smiled at the memory of their expression. You couldn’t buy that kind of rewarding feeling at the local supermarket, that was for sure. Brian couldn’t wait to tell his friend all about it. If he ever got the chance, that was…

Brian turned the handle and opened the door to Kade’s room. It hadn’t taken him much sleuthing to find out where his friend was kept; with the amount of gossip and chitchat that circulated among the workers on the Leviathan, it wasn’t long before he had heard his friend’s name spitballed amidst daily tongue wagging and, from there, it was only a few steps and ear leans to discover his whereabouts. What he wasn’t prepared for, however, was to find a women sitting on the edge of Kade’s bed.

She turned her head toward him at the sound of the door closing behind Brian. She took her hand away from Kade’s forehead, placing it in the lap of her very expensive looking dress. Her crystal clear eyes were penetrating, the colour of tropical azure seas, and he found his breath caught in his throat at her beauty.  The woman smiled.

”Ah, so we finally get a proper introduction.” She looked around the room. “Or, at least as proper as this vessel will allow.”

Brian rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh…yeah. I, uh… Need to thank you. For helping me…I mean helping us back there. We’d both be dead if not for you. So, uh…thanks for that!”

Celine chuckled. Even her laugh was perfect.

“Think nothing of it. Every sister would have done the same, given the opportunity.”

Brian nodded solemnly.  “How is he?”

Celine looked down at Kade’s resting body. He seemed peaceful now.

“He has made much progress, and I am sure that I have expelled whatever it was that had
infected him, but there is something else that concerns me.”

“What is that?”

Celine turned to Brian and stared at him with her beautiful emerald eyes. Her skin—her face—it had no apparent imperfections. It was if she had been carved from porcelain, where the artist had spent exhausting detail making sure every curve and arch was meticulously just so. Brian had no experience with her kind; perhaps it was necessary for all envoys to be so. Or maybe it was a magick thing. As if hearing his thoughts, Celine asked:

“What do you know about divination, Brian?”

“Divination? You mean mind reading?”

“Of a sort. It is one of many crafts which we are taught since childhood. The Ovraelle, I mean.”

Brian shook his head, not following.

Celine smiled kindly. “Oh, I apologize, Brian; I am getting ahead of myself. I keep forgetting not everyone has heard of the Sisters. Believe it or not, in some lands, uttering the name is akin to calling out a murderous witch. Yet, throw a stone to the neighboring village and we are respected healers.”

Brian cleared his throat. “Well, you certainly don’t look like any witch I’ve ever seen. And I think I can speak from experience.”

“Indeed. And in that regard, you are a very lucky young man. I’ve met many a mage and paladin who were bested by a kindeghoul, let alone a mere boy.”

“Kindeghoul?”

Celine nodded. “A vexed spirit of a child, usually one that died in a traumatic manner. They cling to a life that they were denied, often haunting an area or object associated with their previous pain. They can be very dangerous, especially when provoked or threatened.”

Brian rubbed his throat. “Tell me about it.”

He laughed.

Celine raised an eyebrow. “Your near death experience is humorous to you?”

“No, no, it’s not that. It’s just that… a couple months ago, if you’d tried to tell me that there were demons, witches and monsters in the world then I’d probably thought you were as crazy as the creatures you ranted about. But now, after everything I’ve seen… I’m not so sure the world hasn’t gone crazy, and that’s just the new normal. I mean, look at me: aren’t I talking to a witch?”

The two shared a friendly laugh. “Well, as you put it: I’m not your usual witch. As a matter of historical fact, the very name Ovraelle itself means “those who
clear the way” in the ancient tongue. We are also known as the Sisters of the Calm, though we are more of a guild than a family or coven. It is this very guild to which I belong that governs all the Sisters in their use of the gift. Our mission is to bring light and healing to those who seek it. Despite belief to the contrary, I can assure you there is strict punishment for the misuse of magick among the Ovraelle.”

“Punishment by magick, I imagine?”

“Yes, and depending on the severity of the abuse, punishment can be…exacting.”

“Well that’s kind of hypocritical, isn’t it? Your whole thing is to make sure that no one uses magick to do harm, yet you punish your own with magick if they use it to do harm. Sounds kind of like…a circular argument, no?”

Celine smiled. “I like the way you think, Brian. It’s keen minds like yours that help drive progress forward. I think you would make a good mage one day.”

Brian waved his hands in the air. “Thanks but no thanks. I try to stay as far away from that kind of stuff as possible. It’s why I live in the the woods, out in the middle of nowhere. Well, at least part of the reason…”

Brian drifted off, his mood seeming to sour some. Celine frowned.

“Perhaps another story for a different day, I sense?”

Brian nodded. “So, how is he?”

Celine turned to Kade. “As  I had mentioned before, our true powers lie in divination. From the time that we are just little girls, Ovraelle display miraculous insight into those around them. From just a simple touch we are able to discern the mood of our vessel, even their worries and pains.” Celine caresses a gentle hand across Kade’s forehead, moving a stray lock of hair. “As our abilities develop, we are no longer limited to just surface emotions and affectations; we see deeper into the mind–desires, dreams, fears, anything that the mind affects unto the body. The Ovraelle are beholden to help those in poor states of mind and to show them a way onto a healthier path. In other words: for those lost in the dark forest of their mind, we are a guiding hand into the light. We cannot push though, only persuade.”

Brian nodded. “So Kade is in a bad place?”

“No, not at all. What worries me about him isn’t his current mental state, but his entire mind itself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have visited many minds in my travels Brian, and never have I experienced one like your friend’s. When I divine into Kade, I become the one lost in the forest, like a child in a maze that cannot find their way out.”

Brian frowned. “I’m confused.”

“The only way I can explain it so that it makes sense, is that when I step into a mind, it is as if I view the world from above and make decisions on where to go and what to affect. When I step into his mind I have no choice but to be the watched, as if I am human again, denied to join the birds in the sky. It is a very un-liberating feeling, and I cannot grasp what it means.”

“Does he need help? I mean, if someone with your kind of pow…I mean abilities can’t guide him, or whatever it is, how can he be saved?”

“I am not entirely sure that he needs saving though. When I went into his world, though I was keenly disoriented, I was guided to him. I don’t know what brought me there–it wasn’t any kind of preceptory sense–it was more like an intuition, but I knew where to find him just the same.”

“What do you mean you found him? He’s right here.”

Celine giggled. Her laugh was beautiful music. “No no, I don’t mean his physical body. Inside every being’s mind there is a mental projection of oneself. In the Sisterhood, we call it the Vasad, ‘the body of the mind’. Usually this figure comes and goes and is part of some story the mind has created, and it is rarely coherent within the chains of thought created by the being. A lot of the time it changes at the whim of the mind, but it is always defined by whatever
is happening at the moment. When I found Kade…” Celine stopped staring blankly at Brian.

“What? What did you see?”

“He was…aware. Aware of me, of himself, of his environment. I have never heard of such things happening. The Vasad is supposed to be a faculty of the mind, and not vice versa. Kade’s was in complete control, completely and utterly aware of everything around it.”

“What did you say to him? Er…to his Vasad I mean?”

“I found him sitting on a tree stump, high on a cliff overlooking a small town about a hundred feet below him. He was himself, and he seemed to be in deep thought.”

“That sounds like Hollow, his home town. He used to tell me about it. His mother lives there.”

“He mentioned her, yes. I could tell he had been crying when I sat next to him as his eyes were red. I put a hand on his lap and he didn’t even acknowledge it. He just continued to stare down at the town. I asked him what he was watching, though I didn’t expect a reply. The Vasad cannot usually be treated as a cognisant entity as it is not aware of itself. I just ‘is’, like a cog in a system, a part of the whole. But he looked at me, acknowledged me and even spoke to me!”

“What did he say?”

“Not a whole lot. Just that he missed his mother and that he hoped she was doing well. He mentioned you as well, and how happy he was to have made a new friend. He told me that he doesn’t have any friends. It was quite a depressing moment, actually. He seems like such a gentle boy..”

Brian swallowed, his chest growing tight as emotion fluttered to the surface.

“But then, he changed all of a sudden.”

“Changed?”

“Yes. A sound came from behind us and he got up instantly. He listened for a moment and then told me that I had to leave. How he knew I wasn’t from his world I don’t know, but he knew, somehow. He seemed to be in distress. I couldn’t figure it out. He yelled at me to go, and when I asked him where, he pushed me off the stump. Except I was no longer on a stump, nor above the little town. I was falling–falling through free space. The pictures were fragmented, disjointed, things I could hardly make out they passed by so quickly. And then…everything began to dissolve into light. It was the scariest thing I have ever experienced in all my years of divination. It was as if the world of his mind was just a facade, the light underneath the true form of his nature, and slowly it shone through the cracks, breaking through in rays of magnificence. And as a I fell into the light, I heard his voice: why do we always run from ourselves? And then the light overtook me. After that, I awoke here, in his chambers.”

Brian looked at the floor, collecting his thoughts. The whole thing had some kind of deeper meaning, he just knew it. It couldn’t be just the frivolous inner workings of a child’s mind; Kade was trying to tell them something.

“This…this light; can you tell me more about it? Was it painful?”

“No. That’s the strangest part of it all. It didn’t hurt at all. In fact, it was euphoric. Sublime, even. Like bathing in the warmth of a million sunny days; an overwhelming sense of freedom. It was if I had been a prisoner of a lifetime sentencing in solitary confinement, and that I was stuck in that one eternal hour where you got to take your last breath out in the yard. It was the embodiment of liberation…”

Celine closed her eyes and a smile touched her lips as she relished the memory. Brian gawked at her, at the perfection that was her face. His eyes followed her wavy auburn locks down to her shoulder, the curve of a collar bone against alabaster skin. Her eyes opened and her gaze met Brian’s. He quickly diverted his eyes, his face flushing red. He turned his head and coughed into his hand.

“Well, he looks a lot better, so I’m sure that whatever the light means, it’s a good thing.”

Celine didn’t look convinced. “Perhaps. Still, the events that transpired concern me deeply. I will be sure to discuss it with the Vem’aldreinne upon my return, though I am not sure if Kade’s condition is even within the realms of the Sisterhood’s providence. This could be another matter entirely.”

Brian frowned. “Wait…you don’t think you can heal him? What else could be going…”

A knock sounded on the doorframe. The two looked up to see Jack Ballade standing passively by in the entryway to the room. His time-worn work clothes had been replaced by a clean button up doublet with a frilled, collared shirt underneath, starched and pressed to immaculate, accompanied by finely-woven pantaloons capped by knee-high jackboots polished to gleaming leather. In addition, he had shaved and tied his hair back with a ribbon, the wear of months of sea scrubbed away like the decks upon which he toiled. All in all, the man cleaned up well.

“Pardon m’entry ladies and gents. The Captain has requested that you two join him in the bridge to supp.”

Celine nodded and Ballade bowed slightly before exiting.

“I’ve never seen him look like that.” Brian said, scratching his head. “It must be some dinner then. But why would he want to see me too?”

“The admiral is a cautious man, to say the least. If he is calling all crew to attendance then it is not likely good news.”

Brian sighed. “Well, hopefully the food isn’t as disappointing.”

***

The bridge was a deceiving place; to an outsider, a room of such opulence could not exist within such a humble exterior, but it seemed that its designer intended such a misdirect. The bridge–if it could be called that on this occasion–had been fashioned into a veritable banquet hall. An impromptu banquet table had been positioned lengthwise across the center of the room, spare planking rested atop large wooden casks and benches drafted in similar fashion, easily seating sixty men or more. A single nondescript (but elegant nonetheless) silver chandelier hung from a beam above, adding to the ambient light from the candles riddled around the room.  An embroidered tablecloth–which Brian realized after the fact was a decorative course sail–was draped over the planking, providing a luxurious but apt setting for the heaps of silver platters and trays of steaming food which lay before them, though he was told they were merely appetizers.

Brian felt out of place in such a room, though he had donned the nicest clothes he could find in his wardrobe, which was to say the nicest clothes the Leviathan provided. In hindsight, they were much nicer than anything he recalled owning, despite the fact that it was a dress shirt, trousers and suspenders. The shoes weren’t sized right, however, so he kept his boots on, hoping the admiral would forgive the impropriety or, in the least, not notice them beneath the table. Brian had no idea who had provided the clothes to him; they had not been there when he first came aboard. It wasn’t until after the long day’s work that he had found his boudoir slightly ajar, like a suggestive hint, and there they were: a fine threaded collared shirt, pleated down the torso with inflated virago sleeves, custom tailored jute pants with a leather belt, and a brand new pair of loafers, newly shined with brass buckles. Though, of course, the boots didn’t fit.  Brian had no idea who this admiral was, but if this kind of apparel was a regular demand of his guests, Brian already thought the man vain.

A man who wears his pride is better to walk naked.

He couldn’t recall where he had read the adage, but the metaphor seemed to apply in this case. Although, he was sure that, after all her patronage and support,
Celine would definitely not appreciate his dining in the nude.. Which was probably a good thing as the envoy sat next to him. She looked bedazzling as ever in a cerulean dress with a high neckline, fastened precisely to a diaphanous shawl by a large sapphire broach. Her hair was done up in an intricate braid which seemed to loop in on itself, held in place with a single porcelain hair stick. Celine finished up her conversation with the sailor next to her and glanced over at Brian who stared around the room gloomily, apparently disgruntled by the lack of familiar company.

“Not much to say?” She smiled at him. Her eyes glistened from the wine that she had been sipping.

Brian cleared his throat. “No, I…uh…I was just taking it all in, you know? I’m not used to…well…any of this.”

She paused, staring at him as if considering a question, and then her ‘all business’ expression stole over. She looked around her as if analyzing a specimen.

“Yes, Admiral Hadurynn has a particular knack for display, doesn’t he? One might wonder if it’s overcompensation, though I have spent time in his company and, I must say, he can be quite the gentleman.”

“Oh…I didn’t mean to…” Brian blushed, looking down.

Seeing the youth’s discomfiture, Celine took a moment to catch on to the subtext and then reared back in her seat, chuckling as she held a hand against her chest.

“Oh, no, no my dear. That is not at all what I meant. The admiral is a charming figure, indeed, but I cannot afford to keep that kind of company in my line of work. Attraction is distraction, as they say.”

“Really, it’s none of my business. I didn’t mean…”

“Geln Hadurynn, yes he is a noble man.” Celine interjected, cutting off the awkward exchange with a swallow of wine. “He is quite revered where he comes from. He is known by many across the oceans for his daring exploits into treacherous territories, and there are few that can boast to rival his skills as a mariner, though it is well known that his services do not come cheap. Despite his propensity for reward, he is also a devout servant of the Prince. The Leviathan is one of hundreds that ferry trade back and forth from the ports on the southern coastline. Occasionally, if the schedule permits, the admiral will take on custom jobs as well. So you see, these kinds of forays are more like a second job.”

Celine paused to take a delicate draught of her Vissignon. “So you see, even if I did deign to elicit such companionship from the man, he, too, hardly has the time for it.”

Brian nodded bashfully. “You make him sound like a bounty hunter or something like that.”

She smiled, sipping from her wine. “Something like that.”

“But he’s also an admiral, so is he the head of the navy in Brazen City? I mean, you can’t just pull a rank like that out of a hat.”

“It’s a similar idea, you are right, but in Brazen City they don’t have a navy so much as one guard that divides itself into three elements- the land, sky, and the sea. And within those elements they are further divvied up into specific branches, and from there it gets ever so complex, as things do in the big city. In short, Admiral Hadurynn is one of a handful of powerful people that manage Brazen waterways but, as mentioned before, as part of his royal creed, he can be commissioned wherever need be.”

“That sounds like a lot of training.”

Celine nodded. “In Brazen City, children are monitored from a young age in order to ascertain their natural talents. Usually around the end of schooling they have already been chosen for their life’s vocation by their superiors. They spend their entire lives preparing for their careers.”

“That sounds horrible. Where is the freedom to choose?”

She laughed and put a hand on his shoulder. “In a city of fifty million people, people tend to get lost in their choices. It’s the most efficient system, and the only one that seems to work. At least, that’s what a long history of political discord, war and loud voices have taught us.”

“Hmm. So no one complains? No riots or rallies or anything like that?”

“Oh you can never please everyone, that’s the first rule of politics, Brian, but no one is stopping anyone from leaving either. We like to call ourselves a community, not a dictatorship, and we work as the people, not for them. Do you know what I mean by that?”

“Politics was never my strong point.”

“It means that all the decision making power is not assigned to one individual, but to many, passing through one group on to another, like a filter, and each group represents a different view, as to avoid bias.”

Brian raised an eyebrow.

“It means that the leaders don’t call the shots, the civilians do, and we interpret them in a way that works for everyone.”

“That sounds like any other town I’ve heard of. Unless you start heading out of the Archipelago, and then you get into some pretty crazy stuff.”

“Right, but don’t write it off like a template. Politics is like swordplay; one small change in position could mean a fatal blow. You must monitor your every move and be vigilant of those monitoring you.”

Brian laughed. “I don’t know if I would use such a strange analogy, but I guess I see what you are saying. Dealing with people as much as you do, you’d see and hear many things. It makes sense to be wary.”

“People are my life, but not all of it.” She quieted he voice as to avoid eavesdropping, sipping on her wine in a private manner.

“I intend to be part of a movement one day, Brian.” She said, hushing her voice. “A movement that will change the world as we know it.”

“What kind of movement?”

“The sisterhood has been pushing for a long time to expose their craft for what it is: valuable, applicable knowledge. But due to the literal dung-pile of social stigmas that we have to face daily, we still struggle to maintain a modicum of sensibility, credibility. We are still witches in many lands, and it is these backwater views that keep us from realizing a greater potential. I will not allow it to continue so. We offer valuable services that would greatly benefit the world, and if we can just sway a few figureheads we’d be able to…”

A pair of bifold doors opened and six ushers dressed in expensive silks poured into the room carrying large covered, platters, glittering silver in the candlelight. The smells coming from them hinted of long-marinated, perfectly spiced meats and they were absolutely mouth watering. The porters positioned themselves at parallel intervals along each side of the table and laid the platters down with acute precision, being careful not to rub shoulders with the guests seated at the table. Another group of livery servants emerged out of seeming nowhere and daintily placed folded kerchiefs on the laps of the diners. Brian felt his face growing hot as the napkin was placed across his legs. Never had he been catered to like this, and he wasn’t entirely sure he would ever want to be again. This must have been what it felt like to be a king. The servants bowed, backing away in that position several steps before turning in equal measure, scurrying out of the room as swiftly as they had arrived.

Everyone at the table stood up at once. Brian looked side to side in confusion and Celine gave a perfunctory tug on his sleeve. He stood and looked in the direction of the turned heads. Geln Hadurynn stood on a small landing overlooking the dining hall, with his hands clasped in front of him. Celine was right: the man was a stately figure. He was tall, but not looming, and his clothing was distinguished to match his features. He wore a standard blue navy jacket with decorations across the breast, tassels hanging from multi-chevroned epaulets fastened to the shoulders, denoting his storied rank. His black boots gleamed in stark contrast against his pearly white slacks, as if they had never even heard the word ‘mud’. The thick soles of his boots clicked as he made his way down the staircase. Jack Ballade, who sat just to the right of the head of the table, pulled out the large empty chair next to him.

“Good evening, everyone.” Haduryn said, nodding at Celine specifically. “M’Lady.”

She bowed her head gratefully. The Admiral paused at the table’s end, staring across the elaborate meal before them, wrinkles crossing his forehead. Brian leaned in toward Celine, hand by his mouth.

“Does he not like the food?” Brian whispered.

“He’s thinking.” Celine whispered back.

Celine was correct about the admiral: Geln Hadurynn was a handsome man by all accounts but, as his frowning visage could not belie, it was not hard to see that his spirit had been whethered from
the years at sea and his age along with it. He had deep, inset eyes with crowfeet at the corners; coupled with his beaklike nose, he reminded Brian of a hawk. In the dim light, shadows played across his face and it seemed that his expression was constantly changing, as if the darkness would not let him make up his mind.

Hadurynn sighed. “I am disinclined to bring up such a trifle before such a fine meal, but I am sure that you can see that I am unsettled.” He met the glances of his crew.

“Why not tell the crew what ails you, sir?” Ballade asked.

Seeing everyone standing there looking at him in earnest, the admiral seemed to realize his own compunction and waved a hand.

“Please, please, have a seat.”

He nodded thanks to Ballade–his majordomo–who took his own seat, and the admiral seated himself. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, clasping his hands in front of him as he looked over the rows of eyes fixated on him, glistening like dull diamonds in the surrounding firelight. The silence in the room was a weight, offset only by the slow ebb and tilt of the room as the sea sighed beneath them. Brian swallowed, looking briefly at Celine who had her serious face back on, transfixed on the admiral. Finally, he spoke.

“Before me I see a sumptuous feast as dedicated to its cause as those who preside over it. And so, to preserve both the integrity of this fine spread and you—my dear guests aboard my ship this evening—I do not wish to mince words.”

A dire pause as the admiral leaned his weight against the back of his chair, his dark eyes sparkling with internal turmoil.

“As I am sure you have all seen or heard by now, a significant storm front is approaching us fast from the west. Typhoon Synnama, they are calling it. And try as my fastidious navigation team will, there seems to be no way around but through. And I think it is fair to say that, after the years we have spent together, I know my ship’s limits; and she will be put through a crucible these next thirty-or-so hours. As will all of you, if you wish to come out abovedecks on the other side.”

The crew exchanged worried glances. Even Celine—usually so composed and professional—struggled to hide her emotion.

“I have braved several hurricanes in my time, but never have I seen anything of this magnitude. All we can do now is hope that the
creator guides us to safety. After supping, our appointed parson, Father Ceszpia, has agreed to set aside some time to aid you in your prayers. His office can be found in Crew Quarters B, near the marshalling station on deck two, port-side. I am sure many of you already know him and he needs no introduction. But I will close with he is a fine man and will listen to your entreaties without prejudice.” The admiral nodded acknowledgment to an elderly man sitting mid-table and the man nodded thanks while gently reaching up and clasping a golden pendant on a necklace. Brian recognized the circular design: a large circle circumscribing a smaller one—representing the world and mankind at its center—the universal Hexaddai emblem.

“Let us now take a moment of silence to clear our minds for the path ahead.”

The admiral sat down and lowered his head, Ballade following suit then everyone else at the table. Except Brian. Brian could hardly believe what he had heard. Were they just going to roll over and die? What kind of game plan was that? Some admiral this man was—to admit defeat before the fight had even begun. Brian looked to his side, seeing Celine head down, eyes firmly shut, shaking her head ever so slightly, either in disapproval or disbelief. Perhaps both. Seeing her there like that only added fuel to his fire; how could someone with the abilities that she had just…just accept that kind of fate? Surely her training had taught her more than that…

The admiral raised his head, addressing the group.
“Come now,” he said, donning his best facsimile of a smile, “let us enjoy this fine meal that has been so generously prepared for us. If it is to be our last, then let no scrap be undigested, before the ocean may claim her.”

That drew a handful of uneasy laughs but most reluctantly picked up their eating implements, though some continued to stare at them as if they had no idea what they were for. Brian smouldered. How could they just stuff their faces and ignore what was happening? What if they took that time to turn around and head back. Surely they had enough provisions aboard such a massive vessel. Hadn’t the admiral considered that option?

In what seemed like a blatant contravention to Brian’s last thoughts, Hadurynn wiped his face with his silk kerchief and said:

“Please, eat! I know it may be much to bear on uneasy stomachs, but lest we forget: A hungry sailor brings with him the wrath of a storm.”

This garnered another round of chuckling at the table and the crew’s spirits seemed to warm ever so slightly.

“Aye, the cap’n speaks true this eve: let us not battle two storms at once.” Jack Ballade interceded.

They seemed to accept the Admiral’s offer and, after several rounds of exchanged glances and reluctant nods, the lids were removed from the platters and the porters began doling out the food around the table. The Admiral was served first. There was roasted lamb, steamed daikon with salted tallweed, poached hayfish and many other dishes that Brian didn’t recognize. Though his mouth watered and his stomach rumbled, he could not bring himself to indulge his appetite as his injured pride wouldn’t let it win over. As the food was served to him, he stared at the meal in front of him. He picked up his fork and stared at his reflection in the glossy metal. Celine ate her meal sullenly. Brian had had enough. He slammed his fork down on the table and stood up from his seat. Brian opened his mouth to speak but a large crack like a whip cut him off.

The ship rumbled and the lights flickered. The room jarred sideways with violent force and Brian fell back onto his rear. Glasses fell from the table, some onto laps, and people bolted upright in their seats. Hadurynn was looking up at the ceiling as the floor boards above creaked with a plangent warning. A man burst into the dining hall from the main corridor. He was soaking wet and his hair was matted to his forehead.

“Admiral, Admiral! The main mast, she’s about to topple! We need men on deck!” he pleaded frantically.
“Mr. Ballade, prepare your crew! All able bodies on deck immediately!”

Jack Ballade nodded and he and the men filed out of the hall hastily. Brian stood up and went to follow after them. Celine grabbed his sleeve.

”I will come with you.”

Brian’s heart leapt into his throat as he large eyes bore into his own. A deep voice cut the moment off at the knees.

”M’lady, I am afraid that won’t be possible.” The admiral stood between them now, his own gloved hand on top of the one that held Brian’s. “We will need your services on the bridge, to help guide us through this storm.”

Celine pulled her hand away. “I can help right that mast. Without it, you won’t be getting anywhere, let alone through that mix.”

”My men are fully capable of handling that task, I assure you. Your abilities are better spent on the bridge. Without your oversight, we stand no chance of making it through. The crew can raise a boom but they can not erect a magical barrier to stay rogue waves, nor can they bail a strade of ocean water at a time with their mind.”

Brian could see Celine struggled with the conundrum in her mind. In the end, reason won over and her expression sank. She nodded at the admiral and turned to Brian.

“Please, be careful!” she pleaded. Her eyes had lost their usual vibrant edge; now they were all a mask of fear.

“M’Lady?” The Admiral beckoned to her.

Brian swallowed, a half smile and turned to follow the procession storming out of the dining hall. Celine held her hands to her chest, watching him go. She couldn’t quite explain it, but she felt for a moment as if she were disconnected from herself, as if she were watching a scene from a play from above, and
that it was to be the last time she ever saw him.

Don’t be silly, she told herself. Brian has
proved to a be formidable boy.

“M’Lady! We must hurry if I am to bring us out of this mess!”

She shook herself out of her daydream and ran after the Admiral to the bridge.

***

Brian ran through the halls, slamming against the walls of the cabin everytime the ship swayed. He rounded a corner and braced himself against the ship as it tilted obtusely. He could hear the men yelling above against the wail of the storm. He didn’t know why, but he felt like something evil was behind the storm, like a sinister puppet master moving pieces about a game board. Of course,  that was only his imagination getting away with
itself. And the makers of adrenaline coursing through his veins.  He ran through the halls and, as he made his way to the staircase leading to the hatch, he stopped. He turned his head and realized that he was near Kade’s quarters. Just down the hall, about four rooms down, the door to Kade’s cabin was firmly shut, the paragon of the untouchable. But what if this was it? What if they didn’t survive the storm and he never got to properly say goodbye to his friend? He glanced back at the hatch, swallowing as a bead of sweat ran down his temple. He turned and headed toward Kade’s quarters.

He went into Kade’s room and closed the door behind him. He wasn’t sure if he would be awake or not, but he guessed that even magick took its time to work, like medicine. He was right—Kade was fast asleep, just as he had been the last time he had seen him, but all of his colour had come back and he no longer had the contorted expression paining his face. Brian smiled and sat down on the edge of his bed.

“Hey buddy.” He swallowed a dry lump in his throat.

He had never had to talk to someone unconscious before. He had knocked out people in the ring, sure, but this was something entirely different all together. Brian reflected on
that point; Kade had indeed become a good friend. Almost like a little brother in fact. Brian didn’t know why, but he felt like the two of them were meant to be together. Destiny was the word he thought of.

“I’ve gotten us into another mess, Kade, and I’m not sure there’s a way out this time.”

Tears came into his eyes as he looked down on his peaceful friend. He fought them off. His training had taught him not to show weakness, and mentors could not be weak. He quickly composed himself.

“If I don’t see you before you wake up, I just wanted you to know that it’s been a lot of fun, man. I never imagined that so much adventure could happen in such a short time. Maybe…” He cleared his throat as his voice cracked. “Maybe there’s plenty more adventures to be had elsewhere, you know?”

He looked up at the portrait hanging on the wall above the bed. It was a painting of a serene sunset casting its red haze across the harbours of a distant, tropical port. Ships sailed about gracefully, some fishing, some moored, but all was still and peaceful. Brian wished they could be there; the warm summer breeze blowing through their hair as they walked along the pier, laughing at the memories they had shared together. The creaking and yelling of the
men brought him out of his vision.

“I’ll see you around kid.” He smiled at Kade, patted him on the arm and left the room.

Three men rushed past him as he closed the door. He hugged the wall to avoid being trampled. He raced after them up the winding staircase that led to the main deck. As he lifted the hatch the scene came at him all at once.

Thunder, yelling, lightning, rain, wind, creaking, groaning; men running about haphazardly, bailing water here, helping fallen crew there… it was a panoply of chaos. Brian ran over to a small group of men tugging on a rope that was bracing the foreboom from being taken by the wind. The mast had been knocked over to a sixty degree angle; they must have caught it just in time. The sails were tattered and the wind threatened to pull them right
off their yards. Brian heaved with all his strength as the men slowly pulled the mast upright again. The man in the rear reached out with his line which had a slipknot tied into it and he latched the end of the knot around a hitch on the gunwale. Once it latched it tightened itself and the mast creaked as it tried to oppose the force.

“That should hold her for now!” the sailor yelled above the din. The men released the boom apprehensively and it yielded to the
rope. They all sighed in relief and took the moment to wipe the sweat and rain off their faces. Lightning cracked behind them and they turned to see a bolt strike the forecastle, shattering the boards and lighting the deck ablaze. Crew members screamed as they were propelled off the ship from the force. Brian watched in horror as flaming bodies fell into the dark ocean where they were consumed without impunity. A short, gaunt man ran towards them from the starboard.

“We need hands on bow! The foresail has come undone!”
He ran away before any of them could react. A loud snap sounded behind them, and they all ducked, covering their head expecting lightning.

“The rope!” someone yelled.

Brian looked over and saw that the rope holding the boom had snapped under the tension. They
all ran to the frayed end as it slid across the slippery deck. The mast began to topple again and the crew grabbed the end just in time to brace it. They slid across the deck for several blades and, just when Brian thought they were going to go over with the mast, they slid to a halt and muscled it into place again. He looked between them and the flurry of crew members running about frantically at the fore of the vessel, growled indecisively and headed to the bow.

The ship swayed liked a carnival ride as he ran along the gundeck. He lost his footing and tumbled sideways towards the gunwale, his side slamming against the wood stripping, briefly knocking the wind out of him. He collected himself and got back to his feet.
The foredeck was even more of a mess than the aft. Men were nearly on top of each other in
pandemonium as they fought the sagging foremast with three rope harnesses. Brian saw Jack Ballade in the rear of one group and he ran up to him securing the tail end of the rope. Ballade yelled over his shoulder. “We can’t hold ‘er much longer, boy! The pressure from the sail is too much too bear. We need to cut the lines to get rid of the air pressure.”

Brian looked up to the mast above them. Men were attempting to climb up but they didn’t seem to be able to combat the wind force on them. Brian heaved on the rope.

“Don’t even think about it boy!” Ballade yelled
over the howling. “I’ve got my most experienced hands up there and they can’a even reach the crow’s nest. We’re at the mercy of fate now!”

Brian watched as a rogue gust of wind snatched one of the crew ascending the mast and carried him off into the abyss, his screaming fading off.

“Like hell we are!” Brian yelled and he dropped the rope.

Jack Ballade yelled after him but the mast lurched and his attention was diverted. Brian ran up the flight of stairs leading to the upper
forecastle and jumped onto the shrouds. The wind whipped at him bitterly but he clung on. He unlatched his jackknife from a thong on his thigh and put the handle in his mouth. As he looked up he noticed he could see the bridge, and inside was the Admiral and Celine. They watched him with petrified awe. Brian made his way up the shrouds, though it was difficult to maintain a grip as the mesh was drenched in water. He passed by a struggling crew man who clung to the mesh with dear life. The wind picked up and howled across Brian’s back. The gust took the man beside him and in one fell swoop flung him off into the water. Brian swallowed and continued up towards the nest. The sail lashed back and forth against the boom like a wild animal. As he neared the gaff he could feel the wind pressure pick up. The crow’s nest was only an arm’s reach
away. As he climbed over the protusion the wind grabbed him and flung him off the mast. Celine covered her mouth as she watched Brian
soar through the air. Luckily, he tumbled across the gas and managed to latch his arms around it. His ribcage smashed against the hard wood and he felt the air get knocked out his lungs once more. Somehow,  he had managed to hold onto the knife with his teeth. He struggled against the slippery wood but the gaff was too slick for him to manage so he let his weight down. Hanging, he slowly shimmied himself sideways along the measure until he
reached the upper shrouds again. He grabbed on and sighed a breath of relief.

“It’s not over yet.” He said to himself.

He reached the crow’s nest and grabbed onto the mast immediately as the wind sucked him towards the sail. He felt as if someone was trying to pull his arms out of their sockets. Ever so carefully, Brian took the knife out of his mouth while holding the mast with his other and he reached out and began to saw on the line anchoring the sail to the gaff. The first rope snapped and the sail doubled over onto the other side. The open space invited free air and it blew past him in a fury. He swayed for a moment but threw himself against the mast, hugging it fiercely. When he caught a moment of lesser turbulence, he reached out again and began to saw on the other line. Brian’s palms were sweaty and he hoped he didn’t drop the knife. Not now, not when everything was on the line.

Literally.

The second rope snapped and he smiled.

That’ll show Ballade, he thought.

The freed sail flapped in the wind like a dead limb. Brian sheathed his knife and began
to climb down from the crow’s nest. He could hear faint yelling and shouts of triumph below him over the wind. From the bridge, Celine grinned as Jack Ballade shook his head with a slightly berated look on his face. As Brian let himself over the edge of the nest a report echoed above him. He looked up and
a streak of blue surged towards the nest. He screamed as the lightning blast struck the crow’s nest and it burst into flames. The next moment he was sailing through empty air, the cries of the crew yelling after him. Celine’s heart nearly stopped as she watched Brian plummet off the mast.

She closed her eyes and focused in on her breath. She reached inwards and grasped that familiar light within her and, embracing it, became one with its luminous ebb. She opened her eyes and travelled through the nexus with her mind—the channel between her and Brian. She could he feel his energy, his racing heart. She latched onto him and summoned a bed of air around him. He halted in mid air as a cushion of support suspended him. He stopped screaming and looked down in disbelief at the crew far below. They stood with open mouths, just as in shock as he. As Celine concentrated on her ties, she began to feel abnormally weary. Such a spell should not have been taxing, but something clawed at her, something from the outside. The sounds of the storm which she had shut out with a barrier seemed to have taken on an anthropic quality and they began to scream and slam against her barrier as if it were a fist pounding at a locked door. She winced as they continued to relentlessly assail her, and from within the din she could hear a voice growing.

Inaudible at first, it crescendoed in her mind until it became a thunderous cascade of repetition; an ancient evil finally unbound after millennia of confinement from its torturous prison, wailing:

“The boy is mine! The boy is mine! The boy is mine…”

She could feel the voice wrap itself around her, a physical force, crushing her mind with its taunting jibes. Its mystic claws reached out and grabbed onto her ties that held Brian suspended from his death. She struggled against them but her flows were child’s work compared to its practiced power and it severed them with a graceful tug, like pulling a shoelace knot, undone.

Her connection was lost.

She fell to her knees in the bridge, sobbing, Hardurynn quickly came to her aid, looking confused and distraught all at once.

The pockets of air vanished beneath Brian and once more he fell. As he sailed past the edge of the ship he saw their faces—Celine, Ballade, the crew… They reached out for him with desperate pleas, hopeless handholds,  but it was the ocean that took him.

Cold, black, eternal.