by Dan Zangari
“Grab my arm!” he shouted.
Terrified, Krindal glanced to the water beneath him. “I—I—I—” he stammered.
“Hold on!” Gregan said, turning around to grab a long tool from the nearby cannons. With a rammer in hand, Gregan came beside Kalder, holding the wooden rammer toward Krindal. “Here!” Gregan shouted, extending the tool to Krindal. The rammer easily closed the gap between Krindal and the forecastle.
“I can’t let go!” Krindal cried. “Wh-what if I fall?”
Gregan looked at Kalder, trying to hide his annoyance, but his emotions were painfully obvious. Cornar pushed his way past his men and stood on the other side of the bowsprit. Meanwhile, a commotion of hurried footfalls echoed across the main deck. The sailors were probably coming to help.
“I’m going to get on the bowsprit,” Cornar said, unlatching the belt that held his weapons. “Here.” He dangled the belt at Ordreth. The young warrior took the weapons and watched tensely as Cornar climbed atop the bowsprit.
The bowsprit was damp, but not enough to make it slippery. “The three of us will pull you back aboard,” Cornar said, assuming a calm tone. After a few steps Cornar laid against the bowsprit, wrapping one arm around it. His face was practically beside Krindal’s. The old scholar’s eyes warily shot back and forth between the three warriors.
“Give me your arm,” Cornar said, holding out his own hand. He could reach out and grab Krindal, but that might startle the old scholar.
“You will not drop me?” Krindal asked, his voice trembling.
“No.” Cornar shook his head. “Trust me.”
“How-how can you say that when I’ve lied to you?”
Cornar didn’t reply. If he let Krindal fall that would ruin everything. Besides, Krindal’s deceit didn’t warrant a fate at the bottom of the ocean.
The footfalls grew louder, and the Mindolarnians were crowding the forecastle. Admiral Kaetet was shouting orders for his officers and crew. Cornar glimpsed them grabbing spare lines from the sails.
“Oh, enough of this!” a woman’s voice bellowed.
That sounds like Laeyit, Cornar turned.
Laeyit pushed through the men crowding the forecastle, uttering an incantation in a magical tongue Cornar was unfamiliar with. It was sharp, staccato-like, and fast.
Green tentacles burst from nothingness, spreading wildly from her palms. They wisped around Cornar and his warriors, grabbing Krindal.
“Let go!” Laeyit barked.
Krindal looked panicked, but didn’t move. After a moment, the tentacles pried him from the bowsprit. Cornar watched as the old scholar was lifted overhead and set abruptly on the main deck.
The sailors soon dispersed at Kaetet’s orders, but the Admiral lingered on the forecastle, as did Laeyit. Cornar slid backward on the bowsprit, feeling one of his warriors grab his legs. Soon, Cornar was back on the forecastle.
“Why aren’t we moving?” Laeyit demanded.
“You’re asking me, madam?” the admiral blinked with disbelief.
Krindal rejoined them on the forecastle, anxiously looking about. The three of them discussed the sudden jolt and the abrupt change of their surroundings.
Cornar had been so worried about Krindal that he had failed to pay attention to what was happening beyond the ship. The air around them looked strange, like poorly made glass. Bubbles shifted in the air, with tiny reflections of the ship. The bubbles moved in all directions, up, down, sideways. There was no consistency to the bubbles’ movements.
Cornar looked over the rail. That bizarre substance had also replaced the ocean. It looked like the ship—along with the other connected vessels—was hovering in this glass-like air.
The whole thing was very unsettling.
Several of the other warriors took notice of their surroundings and backed away from the rails. Ordreth nearly jumped as he laid eyes on the odd substance that had replaced the ocean. He hurried back down the stairs and across the main deck, stopping partway to the quarterdeck and looking about, completely startled. Soon, he was shouting and waving everyone over. Ordreth’s words, however, were muffled and indistinguishable.
Aside from Ordreth’s shouting and the conversation between the Mindolarnians, it seemed awfully quiet.
Krindal and the Mindolarnians didn’t pay attention to Cornar’s nephew. They lingered at the bow, debating what lay before the fleet.
Cornar and his men, however, hurried to Ordreth. Once they were past the second mast, the odd bubbles vanished, but were replaced by that shimmering in the air. Ambient noises also returned and Ordreth’s words became understandable.
“… see right where it stops,” Ordreth said. His expression had turned from fear to wonder.
Cornar glanced over his shoulder. Everything between the second mast and the bow was gone. It looked like the ship just ended.
“It’s moving,” Igan said, pointing to the decking. “Watch as the grain disappears.” The warriors looked down, watching as the variations in the grain were swallowed up into nothingness. Cornar looked about, studying the other ships. Each of the vessels appeared the same as the Executor’s Breath—only parts of them were visible and their bows were gone. The Wildmen on the Promised Maiden were petrified, they edged away from the disappearing deck, crowding toward the rear mast.
Laeyit soon appeared, walking near Cornar. She glanced to Cornar and his men, but continued to the open-air bridge without a word.
“I’m going back to the bow,” Gregan said. A few others followed him, disappearing.
“Are you all right?” Cornar clasped his nephew’s shoulder.
Ordreth nodded. “It’s just strange, that’s all…” he said. “I imagine I looked pretty foolish.”
Cornar grinned, then followed his men back through the veil of invisibility. It felt like stepping into nothingness, as if something was muting sound. Most noises ceased around him. Even his men’s footsteps were muffled, and Cornar could barely hear their conversation. But the forward parts of the ships appeared as Cornar moved through the veil.
Once on the forecastle, Cornar gripped the rail near the starboard cannon. The odd glassy substance spread as far as he could see. It was like an endless void. One of the bubbles moved past Cornar’s face, reflecting him and the forecastle. He reached out to touch it, but the bubble zipped away.
What are those things? Cornar wondered.
Cornar and the others waited for something to change, but nothing happened. Eventually, one of the officers came to Admiral Kaetet, informing him that whatever was surrounding the bow had covered the entire fleet.
It appeared that the ship was standing still. They were probably still moving, though how fast Cornar didn’t know. Those odd bubbles floated about—some zipping this way and that—but with no frame of reference Cornar couldn’t discern the ship’s speed.
Before long, the ship jolted and everyone was thrown backward. The glassy substance filling the air was gone, and the Executor’s Breath was back in open waters.
Krindal cackled with amusement. “You’ve welcomed us!” he shouted. “Dalgilur is ours! And today, we restore the world to its ancient ways!”
Cornar recovered from the jolt, standing to behold an island with towering mountains. The mountains’ sheer sides dropped into the ocean, making it impossible to moor there. White tips peaked above the mountains, sleek and reflecting the sun. Those must be the buildings, Cornar thought, remembering the towering structures on the magical map that rivaled the height of the mountains. His eye was drawn to something shiny poking out the left side of the island, looking level with the ocean. That must be the pier, he mused.
Commands resounded from the bridge, ordering the unlinking of the fleet.
Cornar spun, seeing that all four vessels were again sailing beside the Executor’s Breath. He didn’t know if Kaescis’s theory had proven true, or if Krindal’s gem had a set distance to it. Either way, the fleet had made it to Dalgilur.
“We’ve done it!” Krindal cheere
d, looking toward the ship’s stern. “My gem…” he muttered, hurrying down the stairs and across the main deck.
“Crazy old man,” Ordreth muttered, drawing a snicker from Sharon.
“So, where’s the storm?” Gregan asked. “Shouldn’t it be over the horizon?”
The warriors searched the horizon, looking back from whence they had come. To Cornar’s surprise, the storm wall they had passed through was gone. In fact, no matter where he looked, Cornar couldn’t see the storm.
“Perhaps it’s an illusion,” Igan said, speculating aloud. “If I had the capability of making that”—he gestured toward the storm—“I certainly wouldn’t want to be looking at a raging tempest for my entire life. The Channelers of Aridia probably felt the same.”
“The Channelers of Aridia?” Gregan asked, furrowing his brow. He pushed aside a strand of his auburn hair. “You mean the Keepers, right?”
“No. The Keepers didn’t make this place,” Igan said. “I was reading one of the tomes we found, and this place was abandoned thousands of years ago, during the Dragon Wars.”
Ordreth snickered, then choked back disbelieving laughter. Cornar probably would have reacted the same, but his time with Solidin in the Keepers’ Temple had opened his mind to other possibilities.
Igan ignored Ordreth and continued speaking. “The Channelers of Aridia made this place at the onset of the war. Many decades later, they left to join a coalition that was fighting against the Cheserithean Empire. The Keepers didn’t come here until several hundred years after the war ended.”
The warriors looked surprised at Igan’s brief history lesson, but not Cornar. He turned back toward Dalgilur as Igan continued relating the bits of information he had gleaned from the book.
* * * * *
Kaescis gazed out the windows of the observation room, his hands clasped behind his back. His vision in Vabenack had instructed him to wait here until they moored. Ahead, Kaescis could see the edges of the island beyond the sails. The sky was clear in the distance, a result of an illusion cast by the tevisrals creating Dalgilur’s defenses.
I would rather gaze upon that storm, he thought. The notion of an isolated utopia sickened him. He thought the ancient inhabitants of this island were cowards. A knocked rapped on the door of the observation room. Kaescis knew it was Laeyit, come to give him a report.
“Kaescis,” she said, crossing the room. “Each of the—”
“I know,” he interrupted her. “Everyone made it through, and Krindal almost fell off the bowsprit.”
Laeyit grunted softly, and Kaescis knew she looked incredulous. He was seeing this event in his mind as it was happening.
“How did you know about Krindal?” she asked, stepping up beside him. “You can’t see the forecastle from here when the sails are unfurled.”
“Because you were about to say it,” Kaescis said calmly. Laeyit started. She rarely reacted so.
“I have been to the Translucent Fields, Laeyit,” he said. She said nothing, as he expected. In the vision, Laeyit had given her report, and he had relayed his experience to her.
“I’ve lived these next few days,” he said. “The Messenger of the Promise came to me. He stood right there,” Kaescis pointed back to the spot where the divine being had touched him. “He showed me what I must do.”
“Kaescis…” she muttered, bringing a hand to her mouth. Were those tears in her eyes? He turned, returning his gaze to the window.
“Will we find…” she trailed off, though he knew what she was asking.
“Yes, Laeyit,” he said. “It is all here. All the wonders of the ancient world.” Kaescis grinned, then turned to the door, glimpsing Laeyit. She looked exuberant. “Save your outburst for when Bratan arrives. He will be here in a few seconds.”
Footsteps echoed through the opened doorway, and then Bratan entered the observation room as Kaescis had predicted.
“Oh, Bratan!” Laeyit cheered, then ran toward him, leaping so he would catch her. Bratan looked confused as he scooped Laeyit into his arms. She laughed, patting his chest, then pointed back to Kaescis.
“He’s seen this, all of this,” she waved her hand, still laughing. “He’s been to Vabenack!”
Eyes wide, Bratan almost dropped Laeyit.
“The Messenger ministered to him!” she exclaimed. “We’ll fulfill our mandate from the emperor. The world will bow under Mindolarnian reign forever!”
Bratan stared blankly at Kaescis. The burly Praetorian was probably unsure of what to say. Bratan stood, holding Laeyit as she laughed uncontrollably.
“How much did you see?” Bratan finally asked.
“The entirety of the island,” Kaescis answered. “I was shown everything until the third day.” He eyed his friends for a moment before continuing. “We must be exact in our actions. Everything we do here will have a part to play in the return of our God.”
Laeyit stopped laughing. She looked serious and slid from Bratan’s arms.
“The three of us must adhere to my vision. Mister Dol’shir and his band also play an important role.” His friends tensed at the mention of the Sorothians.
“But…”—Laeyit squinted—you have to kill him.”
“Not immediately,” Kaescis said. “He and his men must make certain discoveries. I believe the last time I saw him is the moment I must strike, but not before then. His death at the wrong time could doom us and our God.”
Laeyit paled at those words. She brought a hand to her mouth and stepped around Bratan, edging to the door.
“What must we do?” Bratan asked.
“Stay with me while we moor,” Kaescis said. “I will tell you our tasks.” As Kaescis finished speaking, Laeyit hurried out of the room. “Laeyit!” he shouted after her,
Her footsteps echoed through the hall and down a flight of stairs.
“Bratan, fetch her,” Kaescis said, concerned. “She mustn’t go.”
“Yes, my prince!” Bratan saluted and bolted out of the room.
Kaescis tensed as he watched Bratan bound away. This hadn’t happened in the vision. Was it because he had interrupted her report? The Messenger had said each action of his was delicate. Kaescis hoped whatever Laeyit did, it wouldn’t ruin what must transpire. Pushing down his worries, Kaescis turned back, gazing once more out the windows.
* * * * *
The fleet rounded the island, sailing eastward. Cornar and the others quietly watched from the bow of the Executor’s Breath. Vargos had since joined them, and Igan had finished recounting part of the book, Origins and Oaths of the Keepers. It was one of the volumes they had pilfered in Klindil and was an introductory read for anyone seeking to become a Keeper of Truth and Might. Igan hadn’t finished reading it, but he intended to do so on the voyage home.
They rounded the northeast tip of the island, sailing farther east to skirt the nearest pier. The entire pier glowed a faint pale blue while also reflecting the sunlight. It was sleek, like the tips of the buildings he had seen peaking over the mountains. The pier was longer than any Cornar had ever seen, and it hovered above the water, totally lacking any supports. He estimated fifty ships could moor along one side. That was twice the capacity of the largest pier in Soroth.
Cornar’s men made awestruck remarks about what farther inland. It looked like a city.
Pale-blue buildings scraped the sky, reflecting the afternoon sun. As Cornar remembered from Krindal’s map, the outer ring consisted of twenty-one buildings, although he couldn’t distinguish each from this distance. They looked like a cluster of glistening spires.
The second ring of buildings rose higher than those in the outer, though not quite as high as the central buildings, which were white and peaked above the mountains; the central buildings looked almost twice as high as the outer ones. They all looked pristine, unlike the ruins in Klindil or the Fortress of Anigar.
The island’s defenses probably shielded the buildings from the elements and therefore preserved them.
“Those are the pr
ettiest ruins I’ve ever seen,” Vargos remarked.
“I don’t think those qualify as ruins,” Ordreth said, glancing to the old barsionist.
“Don’t argue with your elders, boy,” Vargos said.
After a while, Krindal returned to the bow, wearing the necklace which held his gem. “Isn’t it glorious?” he asked, pushing past Vargos and leaning against the bow rail.
A few more of Cornar’s men came to the forecastle: Nordal, Midar, Cordel, and Hemrin. They watched with wide eyes as the fleet rounded the northeast pier.
Conversation was sparse. Most of them just admired the grand scenery. Then the Executor’s Breath turned westward, sailing along the central pier. At this distance, Cornar could see the pier in greater detail. It was made entirely from one solid stone slab, as if it had been transmuted and reformed all at once. The glow he had seen from afar was coursing magic flowing along the entire length of the pier’s surface. Cornar thought it might be a layer of barsion magic. Perhaps the barsion was stabilizing the pier above the water.
As the ships sailed inland, Dalgilur’s buildings seemed to grow taller. Even the shortest buildings obscured the mountains behind them.
The Executor’s Breath sailed as far as it could, mooring along part of the pier that spread along the shoreline, spreading as far as the cluster of buildings. Admiral Kaetet shouted orders, and the crew readied the starboard gangway.
Krindal hurried away, obviously wanting to be the first to set foot on the island. Wildmen were behind him, anxious to stand on solid ground. The storm had unsettled many of them.
Cornar looked at each of his men on the forecastle. “Kalder, round up the others below deck,” he said. “The rest of you, go grab our gear from the Promised Maiden.”
The warriors obeyed, as did Sharon. They left Cornar alone with Vargos and Igan on the forecastle.
“That storm was incredible,” Igan said. “How was it for you, holding up the barsion?” the wizard asked Vargos.