by Dan Zangari
As Cornar strode to the staircase leading to the open-air bridge, the runners returned, passing him as he came onto the quarterdeck. The crewman in the crow’s nest also shouted down a report. One of the officers took note of it, then strode into the war room.
A few of the warriors followed Cornar: Kalder, Gregan, Midar, and Ordreth. Sharon followed too, holding Ordreth’s hand. The six of them entered the war room, where Admiral Kaetet was taking reports from the runners. Cornar lingered by the doors while his companions arranged themselves around the large table, eyeing the projected map. The tevisral’s effects were magnified to show part of the World’s Frown. The islands were clearly visible, as was Dalgilur; it was smack dab in the middle of the Frown.
Once the runners relayed their reports, Admiral Kaetet turned to Cornar. “Welcome aboard,” the admiral said. “I didn’t think you’d be joining us here.”
“Thank you,” Cornar said, stepping closer.
“Are you aboard to inquire about that storm to the south?” Kaetet asked.
That wasn’t the reason, but Cornar thought it as good an excuse as any. “What do you intend to do about it?” he asked.
“You need not worry,” Kaetet said, extending his hand in a placating manner. “His Imperial Grace was aware of the potential encounter. We have four barsionists in reserve to protect the ships. But they might not be necessary.”
What? Cornar wondered. The barsionists might not be necessary? How could he say that after hearing the reports from the runners and the crewman in the crow’s nest?
“Oh, that’s right,” Admiral Kaetet said, shaking his head. “You weren’t here. The prince believes that Krindal’s attunement will grant us safe passage through the storm. He believes there are tevisrals on Dalgilur creating the storms in this area. Many reports say that the storms in the Frown are ever persistent. What better way to hide an island than a raging storm?” The admiral turned back to the table and jotted something down in his logbook.
Tevisrals creating a storm? Now that’s something. He had never encountered a tevisral with that kind of capability. But Cornar knew not to doubt the existence of something improbable. If this expedition was anything to judge by, the improbable was more often the most likely circumstance. Take the Keepers’ Temple, for instance. A perfectly maintained fortress buried deep in the earth, surrounded by magma chambers in a land commonly known for its earthquakes.
Cornar turned around, gazing out the curving windows of the war room. Here he could see that storm spreading all across the horizon.
* * * * *
An hour later, the fleet met the storm.
Winds blew harshly against the ship, and a wall of rain veiled the horizon in front of them. Dark storm clouds towered in the sky, occasionally illuminated by flashes of lightning. The storm spread as far as the eye could see. It was an unnatural sight.
Cornar removed a small compass from his tunic—one he often used on adventures. He had expected the needle to spin, but it remained true. Putting the compass back in his pocket, Cornar resumed gazing out the windows.
A temporary pavilion had been erected above the open-air bridge to shield those outside from the rain. Cornar thought the idea silly, as the officers could move all their logbooks into the war room to keep the pages dry.
A bolt of lightning shot through the clouds, then surged through the rain, striking the ocean in front of the ship. Thunder resounded, shaking the room.
“That was dangerously close,” Sharon remarked. She stepped up beside Cornar, watching the storm with him.
Another bolt struck the ocean, not far from the first. Thunder resounded again. “Well, what are the chances of that?” Ordreth asked warily.
“It senses us,” Gregan said. “Whatever is making that storm knows we’re coming.”
A third bolt hit the ocean, close to where the others had struck. “That cannot be a coincidence,” Midar muttered.
“Admiral,” Cornar said to Kaetet, “I think you should call for those barsionists.”
Admiral Kaetet turned from the table and joined Cornar. Together, they watched a fourth lightning strike hit the ocean. Worry spread across the admiral’s face, and he hurried out of the war room.
“One of you check on Vargos,” Cornar commanded.
Kalder dashed from the war room, bolting across the quarterdeck. The rain hadn’t yet reached the ships, but Kalder raised his forearm to shield his face. He returned a few seconds later. “Vargos is fine,” Kalder said, stopping beside Cornar. “He enveloped himself in a sphere of protection.”
A moment of tense silence passed as Cornar and the others eyed the coming storm. Cornar doubted the barsionists would be able to cast their spells before the storm hit.
“Uh… guys,” Gregan began.
“What—oh!” Ordreth blurted.
The others let out similar startled exclaims.
Cornar spun, seeing Krindal’s twenty-one sided gem rising above the table and glowing a brilliant hue.
“It just started rising from that tevisral,” Gregan said.
The gem neared the ceiling, then shot through the bulkhead. A beam of light trailed behind it, persisting above the mapping tevisral.
* * * * *
Krindal remained at the bow in the face of that bitter storm. Rogue droplets of heavy rain hit him occasionally and sparsely wetted the forecastle. He stood arms wide, embracing the coming curtain of rain and lightning. A cacophony of noise filled the air.
This will not bar me, Krindal thought. He could see the individual raindrops that composed the stormy wall. They would wash over him in seconds.
And then, the storm hit. The wall of rain struck so hard that it knocked Krindal to the decking. He pushed himself upright as a bolt of lightning shot from the sky. It struck the bowsprit, then unnaturally lingered.
Krindal had seen many a lightning strike, but never one like this.
The lightning bolt persisted for a moment, then retreated skyward, followed by the rain. Huge droplets formed from the wet decking, then fell upward. It was as if the rain was being reflected. The winds ceased, and soon the decking was dry. Krindal also was no longer wet.
“By all that’s magical…” Krindal said with a gasp, looking skyward.
The storm was retreating. The rain continued to fall above him, but was stopped by an invisible barrier. It was like a transparent bubble pushed the storm back, forming a tunnel of sorts. This was not the doing of those barsionists kept in reserve. No, a barrier of theirs would have a blue tint to it. Whatever this was, it was different.
Surprised shouts from the crew resounded behind Krindal. He turned. They weren’t reacting to the storm. A brilliant speck of light shone atop a beam rising from the ship’s stern. What is that…? Krindal scanned the skies, noticing that the brilliant speck was at the apex of whatever was shielding the ship from the rain.
“Could that be my gem?” he whispered, then moved to the starboard rail to get a better view of the aft portions of the Executor’s Breath.
The beam of light looked like a spire rising above the observation room on the highest deck.
“It is,” he smiled. Krindal spun back around, nearly dashing to the bowsprit. He threw his arms wide. “I have parted the rains,” he shouted, “stilled the winds, repelled lightning, and forged safe passage! Dalgilur, receive us seekers of truth!”
* * * * *
Strange shouting echoed into the war room, drawing Cornar’s attention from the odd beam of light. He couldn’t tell what was being said, but the voice sounded like it belonged to Krindal.
One of the doors swung open, and the admiral hurried into the war room. “What happened?” Kaetet demanded.
“I don’t know,” Gregan said. “One moment I was staring at the map, then that gem Krindal uses to activate this tevisral began to glow and hover. It shot through the bulkhead.” He pointed to the ceiling.
Admiral Kaetet furrowed his brow, stomping toward the table. He stopped beside Gregan, gazing up at the
hole, not amused.
“Admiral,” an officer shouted, dashing into the war room, “the compasses are erratic!”
“Go fetch Krindal,” Kaetet said, still eyeing the ceiling. “We’ll enact our backup plan.”
Cornar swiftly drew his own compass, seeing the needle spinning uncontrollably.
“Excuse me, sir,” Midar cleared his throat, “but how are you going to steer the ship without a working compass?”
“Krindal can sense the island,” the admiral replied. “He’ll tell us which direction to steer.” With a distracted look, Admiral Kaetet left the war room and returned to the bridge.
“The rain looks like it let up,” Ordreth said.
“But it’s still storming out there,” Kalder said, pointing to the gloomy sky.
“It has to be this gem,” Gregan said, hurrying out of the war room.
Everyone followed Gregan out onto the unnaturally dry quarterdeck. Cornar had seen the rain fall and rise. It was an odd sight to behold. This entire storm was odd.
Cornar gazed at the brilliantly glowing gem. Its light seemed to repel the storm, keeping it back like an umbrella. The forceful winds from the south had all but ceased. The waters which were once turbulent were mostly stilled, except for the wakes caused by the four ships.
“This is incredible!” Sharon said, awestruck.
“It’s like that gem is creating a tunnel for us,” Midar remarked. “Burrowing its way through the storm.”
Perhaps Kaescis was right, Cornar thought. This storm was most likely the barrier that protected Dalgilur from the outside world.
Footsteps drew Cornar’s attention, and Krindal approached the helm. The scholar paid little attention to Cornar and the others.
“Did the compasses fail?” Krindal asked.
“Yes,” Kaetet replied. “Just as we entered the storm.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Krindal said. “I suppose I will have to guide the fleet.” He sounded disappointed. The old scholar had probably wanted to be at the bow to see the island before anyone else.
Krindal closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I… I can see it,” he said. “To our right. Maybe thirty degrees.”
“We were driven that far off course?” an officer exclaimed. “No wonder ships are swallowed up in the Frown.”
Krindal worked with the sailors for a while until they righted their course. The old scholar had to give them corrections every few minutes, as the ships drifted frequently.
* * * * *
Kaescis gasped awake, finding himself once again in the observation room of the Executor’s Breath. A beam of light shone not far from his feet, passing through the decking of both floor and ceiling.
“We’re in the storm,” he muttered, turning to face the windows.
The sky was an inky black, lit occasionally by bursts of lightning. Heavy rain beat against an invisible barrier. It was like a dome of glass had encased the fleet, protecting them from Dalgilur’s defenses.
The Messenger of the Promise claimed this storm never ceased. The ancient inhabitants of the island created the storm at the onset of that millennium-long war between the sha’kalda. It spread through the entirety of the World’s Frown, except for a small area around Dalgilur. The storm’s creators thought it a means to protect themselves from the rightful rulers of Kalda. Kaescis thought them fools for defying Lord Cheserith.
There was more to Dalgilur’s defense than just this storm. It was only the first layer of protection. The Messenger had explained the particulars of the defenses in great detail. A veil of invisibility surrounded the waters not touched by the storm. Kaescis had been shown the storm from a great height. The storm swirled around a speck of clear blue water, like the eye of a great hurricane. There, Dalgilur remained untouched.
A third defensive measure was employed beneath the veil. It was a form of teleportation magic that encased the island and its surrounding waters like a bubble, seeping deep into the ocean. If anything touched the invisibility barrier—matter or energy—it would be transported through it, directly to the other side. That meant if something were to attempt passage through the apex of the dome, they could be sent to the bottom of the ocean, instantly crushed against the ocean floor and the island’s defenses.
The only way around these defenses was to either use a transportium located at any of the Keepers’ shrines or brave the storm with an attuned Keeper. Kaescis had known as much, to a degree. It was why he had gone to such great lengths to protect Krindal. Krindal’s gem could repel the storm, but only Krindal could unlock the third and final defense of the island. Kaescis learned that Krindal’s attunement would allow whatever he was touching to pass through those veils of magic and sail through safe waters.
There was a fourth defense, but that wouldn’t affect them. It would bar the Chosen of Cheserith from entering Dalgilur. The Messenger didn’t explain exactly how, but even if the other three defenses could be breeched, the Chosen could never set foot on Dalgilur.
That made Kaescis wonder about the stranger at the Feast of Sorrows. The stranger had mentioned being unable to reach Dalgilur.
Kaescis rose to his feet, still gazing out the windows. Could that stranger be one of the Chosen? he wondered. But the Chosen had disappeared, abandoning the world.
“If that stranger at the feast was one of the Chosen, why would he urge me to seek Dalgilur?” Kaescis muttered. That question bothered him deeply. Kaescis knew the Will was guiding him. But the Chosen? No…
Troubled, Kaescis clasped his hands behind his back. Those questions—along with what he had experienced in Vabenack—weighed heavily on his mind. Kaescis had seen the next three days. The Messenger had shown him the various events that would transpire and the actions he was supposed to take. Kaescis was to follow them exactly. The Messenger had warned that one wrong deviation here could doom the world and prevent Lord Cheserith’s return.
That frightened him.
Death… a voice lingered at the back of his mind.
Kaescis had been so absorbed in what he experienced in Vabenack that he nearly forgot about the voices.
Kill Dol’shir… several hissed in unison.
“I have to stay my hand,” Kaescis whispered. A disappointed growl rumbled in the back of his mind. Nowhere in the vision had he acted hostile to Mister Dol’shir and his band. In fact, they were to be advance scouts and were critical to securing the island. Several made significant discoveries.
The vision, however, had ended in a damaged room overlooking the ocean where Mister Dol’shir knelt before a waist-high pillar, holding a red book in his hand.
Kaescis wondered about the significance of that moment.
Kill him there! the voices cried. They chanted those words over and over as Kaescis ruminated on what he had seen. At no time had the Messenger of the Promise said he shouldn’t kill Mister Dol’shir. It seemed to Kaescis that his actions were leading to that moment at the vision’s end. Perhaps Mister Dol’shir needed to live only till then.
But what had—or would—Mister Dol’shir uncover? Was that book pertinent to Lord Cheserith’s return?
Mulling the questions, Kaescis continued staring out the windows, watching the raging storm above the fleet.
“For years Cheserith walked among men, proclaiming his divine truths, performing miracles, and manifesting the powers of the Channels without incantation. Such manifestation was supposed to be impossible, as each Channel required speaking Words of Power in conjunction with mental focus. It would appear that Cheserith’s very thoughts manifested the powers of each Channel.”
- From The Thousand Years War, Part I, page 23
Thunder erupted against that invisible shield protecting the fleet. From what Cornar had overheard, they had traveled three hours in this accursed storm. He had since moved to the raised forecastle, staring up at the odd tunneling effect caused by Krindal’s gemstone. Though the elements were furious, Cornar couldn’t help but feel calm.
“The seas aren’t a
s turbulent in this bubble,” Ordreth observed.
“That gem probably has some calming effect,” Igan noted. He had since come topside and joined Cornar and a few of the warriors. The wizard pointed to the wall of rain. “Look there,” Igan said. “The waters there are a raging torrent. You can see the line where the gem’s influence begins.”
Igan was right. The difference between the waters in the storm was so distinct that it looked like the waves were splashing against glass.
“Visibility is pretty bad,” Gregan remarked.
Cornar stared silently into the raging elements, waiting to see something different. He could barely see past the influence of Krindal’s gem.
After another hour, the rains dissipated. Lightning strikes became less frequent. The clouds lightened in color. And then, the storm vanished.
Sunlight shone so brightly that Cornar and his companions shielded their eyes against its brilliance. The clearing spread far, but the walls of rain, cloud, and lightning rose above the distant horizon.
Hurried footfalls resounded from the main deck, growing louder. Cornar glimpsed Krindal dashing up the steps to the forecastle, pushing past Cornar’s men. The old scholar stopped beside the bowsprit, eagerly gazing into the clearing.
“We’ve made it!” Krindal declared. “Now, Dalgilur, show yourself unto us!” He stretched his arms wide.
Several warriors held back laughter, looking at each other with gazes that said, “He sounds like a madman.” Krindal did sound deranged. He kept his arms outstretched as a shimmering ripple appeared beyond the ship’s bow. It looked like the same effect as when Sharon donned her cloak.
Is that a veil of invisibility? Cornar thought. I wonder—
The Executor’s Breath—and the other three ships—abruptly stopped, tossing Cornar and the others forward.
Krindal yelled as he fell on top of the bowsprit. He bounced against it, struggling to grab a handhold.
“Grab him!” Cornar shouted the command, but Kalder was already moving.
The old scholar managed to wrap one arm around the bowsprit, dangling two phineals away from the forecastle. That would have been out of arm’s reach for most, but Kalder’s arms were unusually long. Kalder nearly threw himself over the rail as he grabbed Krindal’s robe.