Refrain

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Refrain Page 5

by Nathan Ravenwood


  The elf rested her head against his chest, her hair cool and soft against his hot skin. “The East is a much wilder than the West. The forests are denser, the mountains taller, the people more hardy. As for Rorzan's goals... I can't say for sure.”

  There was a slight hitch in her voice that Vann picked up on. He filed it away for thinking about later, wanting to focus on the pleasant sex afterglow. “I guess we'll see when we get there.”

  ***

  Yilon craned his head back and stared in awe at the ship that Lord MacAngus would be sending in pursuit of Vann. He'd heard the rumors, the whisperings around the palace that the northerners had mastered flight. But he, like most, had dismissed it as hearsay.

  Nothing could be further from the truth.

  The vessel was two hundred feet from bow to stern, if nautical terms even still applied to something that flew in the air rather than rode the waves. The body of the ship was a rounded triangle, the hull contoured and shaped. It had a main deck not too dissimilar to a ship's, with a wooden railing bolted to the deck to prevent the unwary from tumbling off the side. About two-thirds of the way along the craft's length, Yilon could see an aft cabin built up from the deck, and on the lower parts of the hull were portholes through which he caught glimpses of northern soldiers going about their duties inside.

  What truly set the craft apart from everything else were the four massive propellers on the vessel, two on each side, one in front and one in the back. Each was about the size of a large water wheel, and with the blades sitting idle Yilon could see they were angled. Glowing on the center axle of each propeller were massive charged mana crystals, with thick steel cables running from them to armored hubs on the vessel's sides.

  “Quite the sight, isn't she?”

  Yilon started at the gruff voice of Lord MacAngus. He turned and bowed to the northern Lord. “Indeed she is. I'm lost as to how she works, though.”

  “Easy!” MacAngus said. He pointed to the massive mana crystals. “We harvest the crystals in the mines up north, rip 'em right out of the depths of the earth. We have to get 'em big enough – no little dinky light crystals will work in the Seraph here. Once they're juiced up with magic, they power the propellers, and the downward force of air lifts the ship into the sky.”

  It made a certain sort of sense. “How far down do you have to go to get crystals that big?” Yilon asked.

  “Oh, deep enough,” MacAngus said. Something in his voice made Yilon narrow his eyes a little. But before he could press the matter further, the heavy doors of the palace opened behind them. Fandar strode out, flanked by a pair of honor guards. He stopped and looked up at the Seraph, his face unwavering. How can he remain impassive at a sight such as this? Yilon thought.

  “Ready to set out?” Fandar asked MacAngus.

  “Aye, just about.” MacAngus folded his arms. “Will you be accompanying us, Lord Branna?”

  “Not myself, no.” Fandar looked at Yilon expectantly. “My son will be.”

  It was something Yilon had insisted upon. He wanted – no, needed – to see Vann again. And if necessary, to stop whatever lethal intentions the airship had for his friend. Of course, that wasn't what he'd told his father. To Fandar, Yilon simply wished to see what it was like to fly. He'd heard his father's counsellors talking about the airship in low voices the day prior. The word 'heresy' had come up a few times.

  Yilon shouldered the haversack by his feet. “I packed light,” he said.

  MacAngus nodded. “Good lad. Every pound drains the crystals faster. If you're ready to go, head on up the ramp there.” He pointed to a gangway leading up into the confines of the Seraph. “My head hunter volunteered to be your aide while you're with us, Yilon.” The broad man grinned. “You'll know him when you see him.”

  Yilon gave him a look. “Is that 'head hunter' or 'headhunter'?”

  MacAngus's expression didn't waver. “I'll let you be the judge of that.”

  Yilon made a face, then waved to his father and started up the gangway into the underbelly of the ship. The cool air of Papreon swirled around him, as if kissing him goodbye as he wandered up and into the vessel. As soon as he stepped inside, he felt wobby, his mind not being able to process being on solid ground with nothing but open air beneath him.

  It's not dissimilar to being on the upper floors of the palace, get ahold of yourself, he chided himself. You'll have to do much stranger things than this when you're in charge when Father steps down.

  He stood up straight, finding his balance and walking down the passage. As he did, Yilon looked out the windows to his left. They were level with the top floor of the Papreon palace – his room was one wing over from the one in front of them. He stopped to admire the view, and stayed there as, down below, MacAngus spoke with Fandar for a few moments more before ascending the gangway himself. When MacAngus made it to the top, a long horn sounded out a single note from somewhere ahead of him. The gangway was retracted, and the ship slowly began to rise. For all the effort Yilon had put in to suppressing his vertigo, it came screaming back with a vengeance, and he felt like someone had whacked him in the stomach with a timpani mallet.

  “You get used to it after a while.”

  Yilon lurched around, taken completely by surprise. He hadn't even heard the man approach him from behind. Then his eyes widened.

  The man was tall and slender, like a willow tree. His hair was the deep black of a forest at night, flowing down to his shoulders. It was clean enough, if a little greasy with a few split ends. He wore a long black duster that ended at his knees over a grey tunic and pants. His boots were polished and gleamed in the light emanating from the mana crystals in the walls.

  But his most striking feature were his eyes. They were a vibrant, almost violent shade of blue, a color that seemed reserved for gemstones rather than human anatomy. Normally, such eyes might have entranced and enthralled him. But there was something off about them. Something dangerous. Perhaps it was the dark circles around them, as if the man never slept. Maybe it was the slightly manic look in them. And was it just him, or were they a bit too wide?

  “I am Eckert,” the man said, his voice steady. It wasn't completely monotone, but still very level and soft. “When I heard you'd be joining us, Lord Yilon, I volunteered to be your guide aboard the Seraph.” He held out his hand. He wore dark leather gloves as well.

  “I... thank you,” Yilon said, shaking the offered hand. The material of his gloves felt odd. Yilon couldn't put his finger on it. “But please, I'm no Lord yet.”

  “They do things different here in the south, then,” Eckert said. He looked out the window at the spires of Papreon slowly beginning to fade away behind them as they veered away from the city. “All of MacAngus's kin are addressed as Lord in the north.”

  Yilon cocked his head. “You speak as though you're not from here.”

  “He's not!” Lord MacAngus walked up behind them in a flourish of cloak, his arms spread wide. “Eckert came to us from a land far away from here.”

  “It's name is rather incomprehensible to those who don't speak the language,” Eckert added, his big eyes looking askance at Yilon. “I mostly refer to it as Avantasia.”

  “Do they have music and magic there?” Yilon asked.

  “Most certainly!” Eckert actually seemed to brighten a bit, then caught himself and resumed his neutral expression. “I Sing, as you know it. But I can tell you more about that later. I'm certain you wish to get settled. There's a cabin down the hall to the right that we've set up for you. It might be a bit more sparse than you're used to.”

  Yilon felt like he'd been given whiplash from the shift in conversation topics. “Um... certainly! I mean, sparse is fine. Thank you very much.”

  “We have a few things to take care of,” MacAngus said, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Join us in the galley for dinner in a few hours and we'll bring you up to speed on what we're going to be up to.”

  Yilon nodded, then hiked up his rucksack and walked away down the c
orridor, wondering just what he'd gotten himself into.

  ***

  As they watched the young Lord-to-be leave, MacAngus looked at Eckert expectantly. “Well?”

  Eckert closed his eyes, then shuddered violently, as if he'd just swallowed a mouthful of potent northern whiskey. When he opened his eyes again, they shone with a giddy mirth that could be untempered by any misfortune. “I do believe the little Lordling has some ulterior motives, Bosie. I can see it in the way he carries himself. Seems he thinks he can find a way to bring the runaway home and not have him meet his fate.”

  Eckert was the only person outside of Lord MacAngus's wife, sons, and daughters that could get away with calling him by his first name. “Would that I'd could,” he grunted, folding his meaty arms over his chest. “I think Branna's overcompensating hard for this. He's adamant that we kill the boy. Seems a bit much.”

  “Ah, but do not forget,” Eckert said, leaning against the wall jauntily. “He said that the runaway possesses an instrument of great power, something that could lay all the Lordships low.”

  MacAngus snorted. “I'll believe it when I see it. Fandar's always been one to be dramatic. He's so focused on running his own Lordship just to his specifications that he's ignoring the larger problems. He can't be oblivious to what's going on in the Borderlands.”

  Eckert stared out the window, but his eyes were looking in the far distance, to the west where, eventually, human territory ended and the elf lands began. Between the two was the Borderlands, a vast arid desert where the human Lords mined the rocky depths for mana crystals. Lord MacAngus kept him in close confidence, so he knew of the incidents that kept happening out there. Miners vanishing without a trace, towns vanishing into the ground, elven raids. In the north, the people knew. But down here, it seemed Fandar Branna was keeping everyone in the dark as much as possible, including his own son. “Can you blame him for his focus?” Eckert said, his fingertips caressing the glass. “Guarding that guitar was his family's purpose after the Metal Rebellion, yes?”

  “Mmm hmm,” MacAngus nodded. “The Brannas got the guitar because their family was at the center of that mess.”

  “Ah yes, right, right,” Eckert nodded. He still looked lost in thought.

  “You're certain you can contain the boy?” MacAngus asked.

  Eckert looked askance at his Lord. His fingers clenched a bit tighter on the big gemstone at the top of his cane. “You still doubt my abilities after all this time? You wound me, Bosie.”

  MacAngus smirked. “Just making sure. I want to have a long chat with this lad who managed to run away from Branna and turn Ansel into a gibbering mess of a man.”

  “And then, my Lord?”

  “Then, Eckert, we'll have to see.”

  Chapter Three – The Spire

  Vann put a hand on his lower back and pushed, throwing his shoulders back. He felt something pop in his spine and a feeling of relief spread through his whole body. He sighed in contentment like a cat.

  “Have a fun night?” Janaza asked, striding up behind him and slapping him on the butt.

  “My hips are gonna be sore for a week,” Vann sighed, feeling the ache in his pelvis that he'd woken up with and that didn't seem to be going away. It was a good pain, though, the kind that you knew where it came from and thinking about it brought all the delightful memories back to the forefront of his mind. “Arielle can go.”

  “Myself and the good captain heard,” Janaza said.

  “If you heard, then what does that say about what the two of you were getting up to?” Vann asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “You ass,” Janaza hissed playfully, giving him a firm grope. “You'll be howling my name the next time I get my lips around your cock, and you know it.”

  Arielle joined them a few moments later, with Rorzan trailing in her wake. The bright morning sun was tempered by a thick layer of fog that wrapped gently around the galleon, the wind pushing the sails forward only a little bit at a time. The elf had a glow about her, as if her rabid coupling with Vann had rejuvenated her in a way that food and rest couldn't. “Good morning,” she purred, running her hand down Vann's arm as she passed.

  “Mmm, I taught you well,” Janaza said, nodding in satisfaction with a big grin on her face.

  “Oy, you three!” The captain's voice came from above, and they turned to look up at the helm. He stood at the wheel, his hands making minute instinctive adjustments as he looked down at them. “We're coming up on the Harpy Spires soon. Be ready – I'll drop you off by the biggest one. How you're going to get up to the tops where they are is beyond me.”

  “We'll manage!” Arielle said.

  “We will?” Vann whispered to Rorzan. The ghost nodded. He was uncharacteristically silent. No poking fun at how loud Vann and Arielle had been. No ribbing Janaza about what had happened between her and the captain. He kept glancing off into the distance, as if he expected his gaze to make the fog part.

  “Oh, come now, Revak,” Janaza said, running a lock of her long dark hair through her fingers, her voice becoming husky. “You really doubt my strength after my display for you last night?”

  The captain blushed furiously, jerking his head away and finding something interesting in the fog to look at. Janaza snickered, turning to Vann. “He was a really sweet lay to be honest. Preferred it slow. He totally pinned me to the wall, though.”

  “Kinky,” Vann said. It felt right, somehow, to be able to talk so casually with Janaza about what had transpired between them and their respective partners. He hadn't been entirely sure about how he'd deal with hearing about her tryst, but he got a kick out of the fact that she could make the taciturn captain blush. It felt good knowing that she'd given him a good time, that she'd enjoyed herself, and that she'd be back in his bed again soon. Given how her hand was still firmly cupping his rear, that time might have been sooner rather than later.

  “Land ho!” the lookout called from above them. “Rocks, port side!”

  The captain immediately adjusted course to take them parallel to the rocky shores while staying far enough away to prevent a stray spire from putting a hole in his hull. Through the dense fog, Vann could barely make out a rocky shelf rising up a little from the waterline. “Is that it?” he asked Rorzan in a low voice.

  “Aye,” the ghost said.

  “We can't swim over, we'll be dashed against the rocks,” Janaza commented.

  Arielle tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Leave that to me,” she said. She Sang a single high note, her omnichord wrapping around her. Vann had tried to get the elf to explain how the construct actually worked. She had proceeded to rattle off a complicated series of magical formulae that had made his head spin. It seemed there was a reason only the elves had ever been capable of summoning the magical instruments.

  Her fingers floated over the magical strings, bending and letting them snap taught like you would to play any sort of stringed instrument. However, the omnichord had the capacity to produce any kind of sound the user needed, whether that be the trill of a brass horn, the lowing notes of a horn, drum beats, anything at all. At that moment, Arielle had it set to some kind of flute, producing light, trilling notes that echoed through the mists off the rocks and back to them.

  She let the sounds hang for a few moments, the wind blowing her flowing silver hair gently as the sounds faded into the mist. Then, Vann saw the water begin to bubble. A moment later, square columns of rock around five feet square burst free of breaking waves, rising up to become level with the deck. Enough of them rose to make a series of stepping stones of sorts, stretching all the way from the deck of the ship to the shore in the distance.

  “We'll take it from here,” Arielle called to the captain, vaulting over the deck railing onto the first of the stone columns, Rorzan following behind her. “Thank you very much for getting us this far!”

  “Aye, thanks!” Vann echoed, following her.

  “I do hope we meet again, darling!” Janaza cooed, blowing the captain a kiss. She
threw her leg over the railing in a way that caused her leather skirt to billow about for a moment, flashing him a glimpse of what was between her legs. Vann saw the captain turn beet red and duck his head as he waved farewell to them.

  The three of them crossed the columns slowly, careful not to slip and fall into the raging surf below. The galleon's sails pulled taut as they drew further away, and within moments, it vanished into the mists.

  “You're awful quiet, Rorzan,” Vann said as he hopped to the next platform.

  “Missing my dry wit and propensity for stimulation?” Rorzan said, floating around ahead of Arielle.

  “Maybe don't flatter yourself when it comes to how stimulating you are, eh?” Janaza snickered.

  “Ha ha,” Rorzan drawled. “Very clever.”

  They arrived at the base of the massive rocky spire, the platforms level with a large ledge that jutted out into the sea. They stepped onto it, then craned their heads back to look up the length of the spire.

  “Right!” Rorzan said. “Let's get to climbing.”

  “I'm gonna go with 'fuck that',” Vann said.

  “Oh, come on,” Janaza teased him, pinching his arm. “You look like you could use a little definition up here.” Vann gave her a flat look that set her off giggling.

  “Not to worry,” Arielle said. Her omnichord flashed into existence again, and she played a cadence of notes using the same strange woodwind sound that she had used to summon the rock platforms from out of the sea. As she did, large chunks of the rocky spire began to rumble and push out from the sides of it, forming a makeshift series of exposed steps like spokes radiating from the rock. “I'll spare your arms some wear and tear, Vann,” she said.

  “Lame,” Rorzan grumped, drifting forward. “Kids these days can't climb rock spires like we used to be able to in the old days.”

  “What instrument are you playing from the omnichord?” Vann asked Arielle, ignoring Rorzan's grumbling.

  “It's called an ocarina,” Arielle said. She stepped up onto the first step, hopping a few times to make sure it held her weight. “It's a kind of flute that the harpies created. They make them from cleaned, hollowed out bones. Lovely things, especially if you get a few of them harmonizing with one another.”

 

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