“We’re…different. Impossibly different.”
Ferox settled back against the bulwark, his arms stretched along the grab rail, his manner patient. “So, let’s talk about them. See if we can work something out.”
Van expected to see that signature grin spread across his strong jaw. But he had none. He was dead serious.
Again, Van looked inside herself. An emptiness echoed back at her. She had no idea what to say, or how to start this kind of conversation. “You go first.”
“Okay. Let’s see.” He paused.
Van liked that he took her request to heart. He obviously cared about the honesty and integrity of his answer.
“Well, we Balish are swarthy, dark-haired, known to be fiery and aggressive. We put faith in physical leaders like my father, King Nequus.”
“Us Lodians are light skinned, blond, cool, and even-tempered,” Van said. “We put faith into our connection to the natural energies of the Universe.”
“We worship the sun, sunlight, the day,” Ferox said. “We believe the night is full of danger. Only evil things lurk at night.”
“Like Lodians?” Van paused to smirk. “We worship the moon, moonlight, and believe the sun worshippers are susceptible to falling into the shadows, or going bad because they don’t know how to handle encounters with darkness.”
“We believe in technology and science.” Ferox continued with goodnatured banter. “Come on. Let’s get it all out.”
Van grinned. “We believe in harnessing the energy of nature for power.”
“There is only one power, an overcoming power. Survival of the fittest, smartest, and strongest. A single dominant principal, the strength of one—one family, one person who rules over the rest.”
“There is only one power—balance,” Van said. “We don’t exist individually. We’re all interconnected and interdependent. Those who thrive are adaptive, inclusive, and loving.”
Van recognized repartee as the best strategy for this kind of discussion, sensitive. A way not to accuse, or try to put their own spin on each other’s beliefs.
However, the pressure got to Van. She blew their camaraderie and said, “The Balish don’t like marr—intermingling between our people, not just the royals. The Lodians are your rivals, the only tribe with enough power to overtake the Balish kingdom.”
Van cringed over her own words. She had almost said marriage and then she brought up taking over his kingdom! Was she trying to get thrown overboard?
She inwardly sighed, resigned to the fact that she couldn’t help acting like an idiot around him.
Ferox didn’t appear bothered. “We don’t care for the…intermingling because our people are superstitious. They believe it brings misfortune. A belief that originated because of what happened after the Dark War with Manik and Goustav.”
Van wasn’t sure if they were headed for a discussion about their shared ancestors, so she said nothing and waited for Ferox to continue.
“When we come of age, those worthy become Sun Initiates,” he said in an attempt to get back on track. “They’re trained to accomplish in our kingdom the same as what the sun accomplishes—giving life and warmth to all.”
“When we come of age, some are moved into advanced placement, including Grigori training. Grigori vow to protect the weak and innocent from evil. That includes terrigens.”
“Balish vow to protect our world from all enemies, including terrigens if need be. Especially if their energy generates too many demons for the Grigori to handle and they rise into our world.”
Van flinched, expecting him to mention the second seal. He didn’t. Although he knew, as well as Van, that an increase in demon activity in the Earth World had cracked the seal, and it was the Grigori’s responsibility to keep demons under control. She felt heartened that Ferox didn’t use this predicament to demonstrate Balish superiority.
“We would do well to be rid of the terrigens,” he said.
With that last comment, Ferox sounded a lot like his sister Solana. Although Solana hated terrigens, she wanted more of them so they could produce more demons which would allow her to create a demon army.
“Killing off terrigens would create an imbalance between the worlds,” Van said. “The veil separating us from them would break down and cause Dishora, which translates to mean the end of time.”
“We don’t believe in Dishora. The Sanctus Novus warns of Solmor. A time when demons gain enough strength and gather to form armies in the Earth World, then rise into our world, alongside terrigens, in an attempt to swallow the sun and bring darkness to all the land. Meaning, they go after the royal family, my family. We’re the ones who carry the light of the sun inside our veins. It’s why our eyes are golden.”
“The Lodian’s Victus Opuseulus says Dishora is a natural phenomenon that occurs when the two principles of good and evil rise up and oppose one another. Whenever a new cycle of creation takes place, with it comes a battle for power, a great war. One of two things comes from this—balance of one another or overcoming of one another.”
“Who gets to decide what’s good and what’s evil?” Ferox shrugged. “It’s subjective.”
“Demons are evil,” Van said.
“No doubt.” Ferox shifted toward Van. “I’m trying to understand your beliefs, Van. They’re important to me. But, I mean, come on. Lodians believe the Balish descended from the mud, same as terrigens?”
“From what I can tell, the terrigens and the Balish have a lot of similarities.” Van expected him to get upset and dash away, putting an end to their fledgling relationship once and for all.
He didn’t.
“All vichors are made from a piece of the Creator,” Ferox said. “It means we all have the light of the Creator flowing through our veins. Terrigens were created from the mud, that’s why they generate demons and why their world is dirty, violent, overpopulated, and diseased.”
“So, we’re back to hating on terrigens again,” Van said, with an edge to her voice.
Their conversation had gotten awkward. Van worried that trying to understand and tolerate each other’s differences might have propelled her people into a war with the Balish.
Still, she felt closer to Ferox now that they had shared their thoughts—but remained unsure if she should feel angry about his beliefs or not. Van glared at him anyway, annoyed that her attraction to him grew like a rising tide and was just as inevitable.
Before she could decide what to do next, Ferox took the matter into his own hands.
“Don’t be mad,” he said in his smooth, deep voice, probably not even aware of the sly, confident curl to his lips.
He softly cupped Van’s chin in his hands.
Her insides instantly turned into lovesick mush.
“I respect your right to believe anything you want, even if I can’t understand it myself,” he said in a whisper. His kisses were as light as a butterfly’s wings fluttering on Van’s cheeks and neck.
All her anger washed out to sea. Van couldn’t even remember what had made her so upset in the first place. Right now, her only thoughts were of how much she wanted to press that fluttering butterfly against her lips.
Ferox paused and stared at Van. Little flecks of moonlight highlighted tips of his cropped, brown hair. His face remained so close she could feel his soft breath.
“Let’s not fight.” He crushed her lips with his.
She wasn’t sure if it was the romantic moonlit ocean, the heady sea air, their intimate conversation, or a combination of all three. But her body’s response to his kiss filled Van with such overwhelming passion she gave in completely.
For about a minute, then she got a grip on her emotions and pulled back again, afraid.
Ferox stopped kissing her and, once more, patiently leaned back against bulwark.
To Van, their differences still seemed insurmountable. Confusion about their relationship caused a swirling sense of turmoil inside her. Then, a dominant thought rose to the surface.
Did the
ir differences really matter all that much?
Neither spoke for a moment.
Then, Ferox confessed, “I’m still grieving over my mother, brother, and sister’s deaths.”
“Uh, oh,” Van said, surprised he took the conversation even deeper. She expected him to be insulted and angry that she pulled away again.
“It’s—I still can’t believe they’re gone. I’m struggling to do right by my people and my remaining family.”
“That’s not the same thing?”
“Not always.” Ferox lowered his eyes. “I’m worried about the growing upheaval in my kingdom. As I mentioned before, the Council will seek war with your people, to take over Salus Valde including the portal and the Grigori’s responsibilities, in an attempt to prevent Solmor.” Ferox wrapped his arms around Van.
“What do you want?”
“What’s best for all.” He shifted as if the conversation made him uncomfortable. “But sometimes what’s right isn’t so clear cut.” He sighed.
“Your Council’s beliefs have the power to set in motion a war between our tribes based on expectations and superstition.” Van shivered over the thought and sank deeper into his embrace.
“A war I’m not sure if I—or anyone—can stop.” He hugged Van tighter and whispered close to her ear. “But whoever wins can create a better world.”
Ferox’s optimism, his husky voice, and his warm body pressed against her’s set off an unquenchable desire for more of his touch. With great courage, she peered deep inside her Self. She acknowledged her feelings for both Brux and Ferox, but only one could hold a place in her heart. And that was Ferox.
She no longer wanted him there so she could steal back the Coin or the tear. Having them wouldn’t change anything, she would still want him to accompany her on the mission. Her forbidden romance with her assigned protector, Brux, seemed distant and no longer an issue. Now, she faced a greater challenge—romance with the enemy, embodied in Ferox. But, they were two parts of a whole, like darkness to light; like night to day; like good to evil.
Yet, Van couldn’t shake a nagging thought in the back of her mind. Once she retrieved the Cup of Life, would Ferox take it from her?
Van suspected that Ferox knew she was Goustav’s heir, it was clearly stated in Manik’s text. Something Ferox admitted he was well versed in. This made Van a threat to Ferox’s throne as the true heir to the Balish kingdom. There was an entire underground movement called the Anti-Manikist Rebels whose sole goal was to find and put Goustav’s lost heir on the Balish throne.
This gave him a solid motive for wanting Van dead.
She also wondered if Ferox would be a worthy ruler or if he would want more and succumb to the call of darkness like his sister Solana. He would be especially susceptible to corruption by possessing two of the four Items of Creation. Misuse of those items would poison his mind and send him running into the arms of darkness.
But, Van had made her decision. Right or wrong. Good or bad.
She was willing to bet her life on Ferox.
Chapter 46
The earliest rays of sun peaked over the horizon promising a bright dawn.
Van and Ferox disentangled their bodies and meandered down to the galley. Together, they made a breakfast of fruit and oatmeal. They ate in blissful solitude enjoying each other’s company. They talked about their school years—their funny classmates, teachers who were mean to them, dumb things they did or didn’t do.
Once finished, they went topside to check in with the captain.
“We’re getting close,” Captain Widsith shouted from behind the helm. “Steady as she goes.”
The others woke and began trickling onto the deck.
The ship bobbed as it steadfastly cut across the ocean. The masts creaked, and sails noisily flapped in the wind as they neared land.
They came to a narrow opening between two cylindrical stone structures. One on each side of two land masses that stretched as far as the eye could see.
Van gaped in awe, craning her neck to see the top of the two towers as the ship glided between them. The whiteish-gray stone tower to the ship’s the left had striations as if a giant had stacked round, flat stones one on top of the other, reminding Van of a jenga game.
The other tower was made from ominous-looking black rock. It had a smooth, melted appearance as if lava had shot from the ground and solidified, forever reaching for the sky.
She could feel the change in atmosphere as the ship passed between the stone towers. The air got cooler. The ocean grew calm, but not in a peaceful way, more of a calm-before-the-storm kind of way. The message sent by the towers rang loud and clear. Enter at your own risk.
Van couldn’t shake the feeling that they had passed through the gates of hell. She rubbed her arms to ward off the chill that had nothing to with the drop in temperature.
“All’s well,” cried the man in the crow’s nest.
Van felt a raindrop hit the back of her hand. Then little drops hit her hair. The patter increased, so she dashed inside and went down the stairwell to Paley’s cabin.
“How’re they doing?” Van stared at Wiglaf and Paley. Both looked worse.
Pernilla twisted around, raising her gaze to Van. She looked pale and had dark circles under her eyes. She shook her head, letting Van know her friends had made no improvement.
Paley lay motionless on the cot-sized bed, tucked under the sheet with her top torso, arms, and head exposed, giving Van the impression of how Paley would look in a coffin. Wiglaf rested too, next to Paley, his body also half-tucked under the sheets.
Van could see Wiglaf’s ribs moving up and down with his weak breath. But she didn’t notice any respiration in Paley’s chest.
“She’s breathing, right?” Van placed a finger under Paley’s nostrils in an attempt to feel the expiration of air.
“Barely,” Pernilla said. “We don’t have much time.”
“We’re almost at Insulam a Mortuis,” Van said, with a confidence she didn’t feel. “We’re all going to make it.”
Van heard pings echo off the walls so loud it sounded like millions of thundering pellets hitting the ship.
“That’s some bad rain.” Pernilla leaped from her chair as if she could go out there and stop it.
Van and Pernilla left the cabin, walked up the narrow stairwell, and peered at the deck. The rain poured so hard it seemed like there was more water in the sky than in the sea.
The ocean turned rough, the waves rocked the ship, reaching upward like giant wet fingers striving to climb aboard. Van and Pernilla crashed against the door jam.
“If this rain keeps up, it’ll sink us,” Pernilla shouted over the noisy storm.
“I’m going on deck to see if Ferox—or anyone—needs help,” Van said, loudly. “Go back to Paley.”
Pernilla shook her head.
Van covered her head with her arms and dashed into the heavy rainstorm. Pernilla followed.
“Tidal rains,” Ferox yelled through the thundering downpour.
Brux and Thyra had joined him on deck.
“Sammy promised us smooth sailing!” Van said, feeling betrayed by the selkie.
The ship rocked from the waves. Salty seawater splashed on them.
“Rain not caused by selkie.” Thyra held herself steady by gripping the taffrail.
“Just bad weather,” Brux said.
All were drenched.
“We entered into a marginal sea after passing the Towers of Good and Evil.” Ferox gripped the base of the mast to hold himself stable. “It’s a division of the ocean, partially enclosed by islands.”
“No rules here,” Thyra said.
The ship violently rocked, causing Van to slip. She tumbled, knocking into Pernilla, sending them both sprawling across the deck.
Van felt a crunch in her tailbone as she hit the hard planks. “Ouch.”
Brux weaved his way over to her slipping and sliding as he went. He grabbed Van around the waist, got her upright, and held her ste
ady. He stretched his other arm for Pernilla who struggled to stand on the slippery deck of the rocking ship.
“Get below!” Ferox grasped onto a nearby rope hanging from the mast. “All of you.”
“What was that?” Pernilla spat water out of her mouth, swallowed from the heavy rain as she spoke.
“The rain is coming down so strong and fast, it’s creating mini-tidal waves.” Ferox looked grim. “Get below deck!”
“No.” Van coughed. Her mouth filled with rainwater; she spit it out.
The roiling of the ship made her stomach queasy, it felt like being trapped on an endless roller coaster ride. “We’re staying here.” She spit out rainwater again. “We want to help.”
Just when Van thought it couldn’t get worse, lightning streaked the sky followed by an eardrum-busting thunder-clap.
Then the rain began to feel more like small stones pelting her body.
“Rain, now hail,” Thyra yelled. “Get worse.”
“Get below!” Ferox cried, more aggressively this time.
Golf ball-sized pieces of ice crashed onto the deck, hit the mast, and plummeted right through the sails causing holes that looked like little dots.
“Ow!” The ice-balls bruised Van’s skin, and when one hit her head, she felt dizzy from its sheer force.
The ship swayed from side to side, hit by another strong wave. Seawater continued to splash onto the deck.
Brux struggled as he attempted to drag Van toward the stairwell leading below deck.
Even if Van wanted to go back inside, between the slick wooden planks, the incoming ice-bombs, and the rough sea, there was no way she would be able to get there. Brux wrapping his arms around her didn’t help.
All of them could barely stand.
The ship rocked again, hit by another wave. It seemed like the ocean wouldn’t be satisfied until it pushed them all the way back to Cortica.
The rain turned heavy again and mixed with the hail. Or was the water coming from the sea? Van couldn’t tell.
“Scylla!” the man in the crow’s nest shouted.
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