by Heath Pfaff
"You look troubled." Liet said, cutting through the brooding darkness that was threatening to creep up inside of me.
I nodded. "I am troubled. What has transpired has left a mark on me. It should never have escalated to that level."
"It was always going to escalate to that level." Liet answered, almost before I'd finished what I was saying. "They wouldn't have understood it any other way. Battle. Strength. Dominance."
"Why, Liet? Why couldn't they see how close we were to done with this journey? They died for three months of time. Do you understand how terrible that is? They could have had what they wanted if they'd only waited a little longer." My voice rose as I spoke. I had to bite back the anger that threatened to explode out of me. I was angry at the Brigade for pushing me so far, but more so, I was angry at myself for letting things reach the point where sixteen men had to die.
"Some men, fighting men, do not understand patience. It is difficult to wait, when what you want it right before you. You let it eat at your heart, Drake Slayer, but the black cloaks hold no grudge over what transpired. We know you did what you had to. Fight to protect. There you find honor. Kivann fought to protect. He had honor as well, but you won. We accept that. You should accept that was well." Liet said, explaining things as though it were the simplest concept in the world. I understood what he was saying. I could make myself see his point, but I couldn't accept it.
"Sixteen more are dead, Liet." That number was one that haunted me. Any time it seemed I might put the experience behind me I found myself repeating that number in my mind, like a mantra of remembrance. "Our crew keeps getting smaller. The black cloaks are dwindling, and that's not fair. You deserve the chance to make a place for yourself in the world." I insisted, trying to get Liet to see my perspective.
My old friend didn't seem fazed. "We will find our place, Drake Slayer. The world waits. We wait for the world. You killed only our men, and there are too many of them anyway. We have a bright future ahead without them. All you've done is weed out bad leaders. Weak. Too quick to act."
The ship tossed sharply beneath us, and we both reached to the wall to gain balance. It had been happening so often over the last few weeks that it was almost second nature. I heard footsteps, booted, coming down the corridor behind me, and I turned to look. Telistera approached, moving swiftly down the hall, her arms outstretched to either side to maintain balance. She looked troubled.
She acknowledged Liet and me with a nod. She was dripping wet. It was obvious that she had been out on deck recently. I was not that wet. My shifting cloak did not hold water, but Telistera was not so well uniformed against the elements. She looked miserable in her sodden clothing, though the male part of me noted how well it clung to her sleekly muscled and feminine figure.
"Noble, we may need to take down the sails." She said as way of greeting.
I nodded. It had occurred to me the first time we'd entered a storm that it might be necessary to take down the sails in the event of really bad weather. At the time, when I had brought the matter to Telistera, she had said that it shouldn't be an issue. I wondered what had made her change her mind.
"Are they weakening?" I asked, looking for clarification.
"No, the sails are still strong, and we're still on course, at least I believe we are, as long as the instruments in navigation are reading accurately through the weather. This storm, though, is getting worse. I've never seen one like it before. I'm worried that if the wind picks up too much more, we may lose a sail. We don't have the fabric to waste if something catastrophic should occur." She explained.
"I see." My mind was churning. How much time would we lose if we had to take down sails? Another thought occurred to me, and I spoke it as it did. "What of the sea creature, will it find us if we take down sail and ride out the storm? That would be a fate far worse than possibly losing a sail to the wind."
Telistera shook her head. "No, in this kind of storm the beast shouldn't be able to find us on the surface of the water, especially if we are drifting at the will of the storm."
"How much longer do you think this tempest will last?" I asked. I had never encountered one that stayed strong so long. I could tell by Telistera's expression when I asked the question, that I was not going to like the answer.
"I've never experience one that did not blow out in a week or two, but I see no sign of it letting up. I'd say we have another week of this, maybe less, maybe more." Her answer was not encouraging. A week longer on the rough seas did not sound appealing, especially if it was to be a week making no progress.
"Do what you think is best for the ship." I replied, giving her permission to take down the sails. It was a difficult choice to make, but without the sails we would be left with no way of moving of our own accord once the storm was gone. So far out to sea, we would be easy prey for the beasts that lay below. We would have to draw sail and wait out the weather. A blast of thunder roared through the ship, causing the wood to quake around us.
A look of concern hung over Telistera's features.
"Is there something you're not telling us?" I asked the silver-eyed woman. In that instant, as the thunder roared about us, she had looked as though she expected something more than merely the rumble of distant lightening.
She smiled, a somewhat nervous expression. "It's nothing. . ."
Liet cocked his head to the side, obviously picking up on the same unspoken signal as me.
"It's something." I said, pressing for more information. "What is it about the thunder that has you so on edge? Are you afraid of lightening? There is no shame in that." I had known grown men who quaked during lightening storms. There was something raw and terrifying about the forces of nature. They were to be respected, if not feared.
"No, it's not lightening." She began. After a moment's pause, as if she was considering whether or not she should say anything more, she went on. "When I was a little girl, my father once told me about these storms at sea that only happen every fifteen to twenty years. He said they were bigger than any normal blow, and that they grew more powerful the closer to the center one came."
"Usually, those storms stayed far out to sea, and my people never encountered them, but sometimes one would roll over land, and they always wrought massive damage when they did. In the center of the storm, near the calm center, there is a strange type of lightening that he called a red streak. He told me that a red streak will pierce a hole right through a home, or even through a stone wall, and leave a giant crater on the other side. Once, when he was a young boy living in a fishing village, he witnessed a man getting struck by a red streak. There was nothing left of him. His bones and flesh were turned immediately to dust, and a crater was left where he'd been standing that was large enough to fit a grown man so deep that he couldn't reach the surface." Telistera looked a little embarrassed. "It's just an old story my father told me, but this storm has been going on so long, it brings back memories. I'm sure he was just trying to keep me from going outside in the rain."
"Then there is nothing to worry about. We'll come out of this storm soon enough." I said, forcing a smile and trying to sound encouraging. Stories such as Telistera had been told by her father, generally had some source of origin. It was possible that red streaks and monstrous storms such as those mentioned by her father were just another case of mundane events blown out of proportion through many retellings. It was also possible that, like the legends of the great sea monsters, there was some truth to be found in Telistera's story.
She nodded. "I know. I'll go get a crew together to bring down the sails." She seemed to relax a little. Sharing ones fears could go a long way towards easing them, I had notice. She departed, and Liet followed in her wake, obviously intent upon helping her with her task. Apparently, he saw no need to finish the conversation we'd started. Perhaps it was for the better.
I stood in the hallway alone for a moment. Red streaks. The storm raged on beyond the confines of the ship. I felt ill at ease.
Malice had departed to
the commons to have a meal, and I sat alone in our room, pining over a stack of paper that I was considering turning into a memoir. So much had happened to me since I'd joined the Knights, and I had always told myself that I would record it all at some point. My training as a keeper of records, a scribe, had left me with a strong sense of duty in regards to maintaining historical documentation. As I sat down at my desk and picked up the quill to write, the ship surged heavily beneath me, and the capped bottle of ink rolled off of the desk and onto the floor. Perhaps it was a sign that I should hold off writing until later. It had been a week since Telistera's story of the red streaks, and still our ship was embroiled in the surging of the storm. Our situation had gotten no better. If anything, the storm was growing yet fiercer.
Telistera assured me that we were not loosing much travel time, since the storm was actually pushing us in the right direction, but I did not like the feeling of floating at the whim of such a squall. I put down the quill I'd only so recently picked up. It wasn't time to write. Not then. I knew, though, that I would have to start soon. There was no one else who could tell the story that I had lived. Too many events had happened that bore no other witness than myself and a number of dead friends who could bear no witness at all. Who would speak for those who had died? Who would remember their bravery if someone did not make a note?
I got up from my desk, recovered the ink well, and returned it to its drawer where it would be safe until the storm blew over. It was foolish to even consider starting such a task while the ship still rocked and surged to the whim of the angry storm outside. A knock sounded at my door, hesitant, quiet. I had not heard anyone approach, but the sounds of the weather outside were loud enough to hide quiet footsteps. I grabbed my sword from where it lay at the side of my bed.
"It's open." I called. Malice would have entered without knocking, a friend would not find it strange to be given entrance in such a way, and a threat would be at a disadvantage, coming into a room that they did not know the layout of, plus they would have to manipulate the door and whatever weapon they were going to use. All of these considerations passed through my mind as I readied to greet whoever lay outside. I was almost surprised at just how paranoid I had become.
The handle turned, and the door swung open revealing the impossible to mistake outline of Tower. The massive Knight of Ethan had to duck to enter the room. He wore his hood down. His hair was long, light brown, and hung loosely bound down his back in two separate tied bunches. Stray strands hung about his face, almost hiding his eyes as he bowed his head upon entering. His face had a coating of very light stubble, and his jaw line was firm and strong, despite his obvious shyness. He had an almost feminine cast to his features, a grace uncommon among men. It was a face women could fall in love with, if they looked long enough after seeing his imposing frame headed in their direction.
"Tower," I greeted him, tossing my sword to the bed. It was obvious he hadn't come to do me harm. "What brings you here?"
He hesitated, opening his mouth, and then closing it again, as though he knew what he wanted to say, but couldn't force the words free. I waited. I didn't know what it was like to be as shy as Tower was, but I could see that he struggled with social interactions and I wasn't going to chide him for that.
"I wish to speak to you regarding Snow." He said, finally ringing the words out. They came out quietly, but spoken with a solemn intent that I couldn't help but take notice of. My curiosity was peaked. What he could have to tell me about Snow that I didn't already know, was beyond me.
I held my hand out and offered him a seat on the bed. He took the offered seat, and I sat down in my desk chair. Even sitting, Tower was still tall and imposing without meaning to be. The boat heaved in the sea, and I had to stop myself from sliding across the floor in my chair by grabbing the corner of the desk.
"Speak your mind, Tower. I'll always hear you out." I readied myself for whatever news might come next. Tower, I knew, wouldn't come to me lightly.
"Sir, King Noble, I need. . . I wish. . . I would like to know what your intentions are in regards to Snow, King Noble." Tower asked, his request coming out haltingly, and with far too many formal addresses. Of all that he may have asked me or told me, those words were perhaps the last I'd expected to hear. What were my intentions regarding Snow? That was a good question. She had been a dear friend, and a lover, but I wasn't sure where I stood with her any longer. I couldn't look at her without seeing betrayal. Was Tower asking for his own benefit? Did he have some interest in Snow beyond the professional? A pang of jealousy struck for a moment at that thought, but I pushed it away. Snow was not mine, and never had been. That had always been understood. I did not love her, at least not as I did Malice. Since her betrayal, I wasn't even sure if she was still a friend.
"Why do you ask, Tower?" My curiosity got the better of me.
"Sir, I . . . she is . . . what I mean, is that she's very nice. Er, what I want to say is that, if you do not want her. . . No, I mean, if. . ." Tower stopped, he looked frustrated. His fists were bunched closed, but I did not want to stop him. He opened his hands, apparently a conscious effort, and took a few deep breaths. "King Noble, I think I love her." He said, the words coming out in a burst, almost knocking into each other on their way out of his mouth.
I stifled the smile that wanted to come to my lips. He had tried too hard to get those words out for me to squash them by taking him lightly. Tower was serious, so I would treat the situation with the respect that it was due. There were times for levity, but matters of the heart, I knew, should be handled with caution and seriousness. Tower still needed his answer.
"I have no claim on Snow, Tower. No man has. If you love her as you say you do, you are free to pursue her until she indicates otherwise." I told the young Knight, and for the first time since entering he lifted his head, his hair falling back from his eyes. It is often said that we Knights of Ethan have eyes that are black and soulless, lacking the emotional connection of human eyes, or even the lively color of the Uliona, from who we steal our vision, but in that moment there was no denying the joy behind the two black mirrors to Tower's inner self.
"Tower," I added, locking eyes with the young Knight. "If you wish to pursue her, you must know that she is strong and independent. She's not going to be caged, and you'll have to be bold to attract her notice. She holds herself, and others, to a high standard." In all the time I had spent with Snow, those few truths were what I had taken away from her. I once would have added that she was loyal and trustworthy as well. I would no longer give her such credits. Perhaps to others those titles would hold true, in my case, she had been neither.
"Caging such a bird would be a crime, Sir." Tower replied, looking bashful as he said the words, as if realizing only half-way through his speech that what he was saying was about as un-Knightly as possible.
This time I did smile, though it was not a mocking expression. "Indeed it would be, Tower."
Tower departed as quietly as he'd come. I wondered what Snow would make of the young man's approaches. I hoped that she would take him as seriously as he took himself. It would be far too easy to hurt the young and shy Knight. Even if Snow wasn't interested in him, she would need to be careful otherwise he might withdraw further than he already had. It was not, however, my place to meddle in their affairs. Bringing the matter to Snow would only serve to humiliate Tower. He would have to do things in his own time, and in his own way.
Sometime later, the door opened, and Malice stepped back into the dimly lit interior of the room. She wore her shifting cloak, and beneath it a full set of light armor. Her hair was tied back, though not as severely as she had tied it back before her memory loss. Still, she looked much as she had when I'd first met her. The illusion was somewhat marred by the partial smile that always seemed to rest on her features, a change, I thought, that was for the better. Malice's honest smiles had been too few and far between back in those early days.
"I passed Tower on my way here." Laouna said, pausing
to see if I would have anything to add. When I said nothing, she continued. "He seemed a little flustered."
"Did he?" I asked, feigning ignorance, more for a spot of fun than for any intent to hide the truth.
Laouna walked across the room and cuffed me lightly on the shoulder. "There are only two rooms down this hall, and I passed him just before he reached Snow's door."
"So he passed Snow's door?" I asked, honestly curious. I had wondered whether he would go directly to her, to make his feelings clear, of if he intended to wait. It had obviously taken him considerable effort just to confront me on the matter.
Malice cocked her head to one side. "Yes, why?" She pressed, her curiosity as tenacious as my own. I snaked out my arm, grabbed Laouna by the shoulder and pulled her down into my lap. She fell with little protest, wrapping her left arm about my shoulders she landed.