by Ron Glick
“So how--”
“If I were to guess? I would say you have been fooled by someone with the power to pretend to have one of the swords. You said he could make you see things, why not have you believe you saw a sword just like your own?”
“But who besides a God could do that then?”
Dariel giggled. “Oh, the things you do not know of this world, Nathaniel. Aside from demi-gods scattered all over the world, any number of creatures have magic at their disposal that could do precisely what you have described. It is a concern that this – well, let's call him a mortal for now, until we know otherwise – this mortal knew anything about the swords though. But I can assure you, whoever it was did not have one of the nine swords.”
“Somehow, that does not make me feel better. In fact, it makes me even more worried.”
“As it should. The things you do not know – the powers you are oblivious of – why, they could kill you. Without even a moment's hesitation. Best find a way to move on and quickly before whoever it is comes back.”
“We won't be able to travel for at least a day with a storm blowing in,” advised Nathaniel.
Dariel sighed. “No, I imagine not.” The Goddess raised herself up in her chair in as a regal a pose as she could manage. Nathaniel would have expected the ever increasing wind to at the very least muss the Goddess' hair, but apparently her divine powers protected her from the effects of the storm. “Though that will give you plenty of time to tell me about how you acquired the sword.”
Nathaniel had hoped the Goddess would have forgotten that detail. He was still sworn to secrecy by Malik. He was not supposed to let the other Gods know about First. And without explaining the use of the secret tenth sword, he was not sure how to explain how he had overcome Avery.
“Oh, don't fidget,” laughed Dariel. “I know about the other sword, the one Malik was supposed to give you. Malik and I are in that much together. But none of the others know, so don't mention it to them. Which is the real reason I insisted upon being the one to visit you this time. If we are going to keep that extra sword a secret, we are going to have need of deception. And there is none better at it than I.”
Nathaniel shrugged. Well, that was at least one less worry. “Seems we didn't need to travel all the way to Scollhaven,” he began. “Scollhaven came to us. Well, the part that mattered did, anyways. The man with One was already on the road, headed in our direction...”
Chapter 4
The waves slapped against the side of the ship. There was enough force with each new concussion that the ship jarred with each contact. The winds pulled at the sails as men in the masts attempted to furl the sails before they became tattered. It was always the way of the sea – a storm could come on suddenly as this one had, and if the sails were not secured, the winds could shred them, leaving the ship adrift.
Worse, when the ship was close to shore as The Gull-Griffin presently was, unfurled sails could result in being dashed against the rocks submerged near the shore, if they were not instead run aground entirely.
Gravin watched the men swinging and jumping around in the masts with a fascination that really was not warranted. He had watched the sight countless times through his life, and there really was no true mystery to the process for him. He had often been one of the mast monkeys himself in his younger days, in fact. Yet on this day, the sight of the crew leaping and pulling against the power of the rising storm held a special rapture for him. For this would be the last time he saw such a sight.
In spite of the weather, Captain Aris intended to carry out his sentence. So vexed was the captain by Gravin's conduct that even the safety of his ship took secondary concern to seeing Gravin removed from his ship. No, not just removed from the ship – expunged from this existence.
“Gravin!” shouted the captain. Even at the measly twenty paces, his voice was doused by the wind. It seemed even the Gods were up in arms over Gravin's conduct. That, or they were truly perturbed that Gravin had failed. Either way, their tempest could not have been more aptly timed.
“Listen to me words, ye bootlicker!”
Gravin pulled his attention from the masts to his former commander. “I hears ya,” said Gravin, though he knew his words would not reach Aris. “Jus' get it over with, a'ready.”
Though Aris could not have heard Gravin's words, his jaw set firmly as though he had. “The charge is treason and mutiny. Both be punishable by death. Do ye challenge my charges?”
Gravin only glared back at the captain. Yes, he had tried to raise a mutiny against the captain. Yes, he had committed treason against the crown in doing so. He had thought he had the crew behind him, but it turned out those who played at sympathy to his desire to commandeer The Gull-Griffin were only placating him, letting him put his own neck out.
When Gravin had attempted to assassinate the captain, not a solitary sole rose up with him. Aris was old and far from healthy. Gravin would easily have been able to take the old man even then. But he had been denied an honorable challenge, as the captain's first mate had struck Gravin from behind. The mutineer suspected that the man had been tipped off by one of his fellow renegades, though he would never know the truth of that suspicion now.
Gravin now stood with his hands and feet in irons upon a wooden plank suspended over the port side of the vessel. It was tradition to let the sea judge a sailor by forcing him to walk the plank, to give him a chance to prove his innocence against his capacity to survive. Had they been out of sight of land, Gravin would have not been bound so. He had earned that much honor in his execution. But clearly, Captain Aris was not inclined to give him any opportunity to survive, not with being in sight of shore.
Gravin could see the shore from his vantage point, even if it was a good league from the ship's far deck. The captain had decided that the mutineer's execution would be on the seaside of the vessel to give him yet another obstacle to overcome were he to somehow survive the execution. As if being bound in heavy irons were not enough.
“I will take yer silence as a confession to the charges,” called Aris. “By the authority vested in me as captain, I--”
Gravin let out a sudden crow loud enough to drown out the captain. Once he was sure his outburst had shocked Aris into silence, he spat over the side of the plank in disgust. “You have no authority, Captain. No law gives ye right to send someone o'er the plank. Yer bound by the crown's law, which gives me right to trial by court. So don' get yerself all high'n mighty o'er power ye don't rightly have!”
Aris' face grew red with rage. Gravin imagined spittle flecking the other man's lips as was so common for the old man at moments like this. Aris never had responded well to challenge.
“The law of the Kalrios holds over any law of land when 'pon the sea, ye bastard! So long as we're ta sea, I hol' to his law, not that o' the crown.”
Gravin guffawed. “We're p'rhaps a half day from port in Levitz, an' yer in such a hurry to cast me off, there's no way ya believe that. Yer puttin' the safety o' yer ship at risk so's ye can be done an o'er with me. There's a storm, damn ya man! Hate me all ya want, but don't kill the Griffin fer it!”
Aris' face grew redder still as he drew his cutlas from his side and waved it at his former crewman. “Off with ye, or I'll have my mates run you through, then cast ya off!”
Gravin cast an uncertain glance at the choppy sea beneath his feet. It was a struggle to maintain his balance as it was with the pitch and yaw of the ship in the storm, but he knew he would be unable to hold his footing if someone else came out to swing a sword at him. Still, he fought for some way to delay his inevitable end.
Raising his head in defiance, the mutineer made one last protest. “Ye denied it before, but I call again the right to challenge, ye old goat! Give me a sword an' the right to stand in challenge 'gainst ye. Don' choose a coward's end fer me. There's no honor in it fer either of us.”
Aris only waved his cutlass again, signaling with his other hand for anyone nearby to come forward to carry out his order
s to drive the criminal off the plank. The captain did not realize that every able hand was too engrossed in doing what he should have been doing by this point, though – securing the ship against the storm. It truly had become a confrontation between the two, no one else left to witness the outcome, and no one save the captain to drive Gravin into the sea.
Realizing that none would respond to the captain, Gravin grinned maliciously. “Come on, old goat. Come'n get me!”
Aris cast a quick glance and finally realized he was alone at the ship side of the plank. With a growl of frustration, he climbed up to the bulwark, kicking solidly at the plank. Gravin felt the vibrations along the wood, yet still managed to hold his footing.
“Not goin' ta be that easy, ya goat!” Gravin called. “Yer gonna have ta bloody yer own sword, if ye wan' me off yer ship!”
Aris spat himself as he climbed fully onto the plank, though he still held firmly to the railing as he did so. Gravin had not actually given the captain credit for coming so far, yet here the man stood, ready to walk the plank far enough to see Gavin cast off.
The mutineer shifted his feet to stand against any charge the captain might actually attempt. His left foot moved to the side to brace himself, but the support he expected was not to be found and his foot only found air. Gravin unexpectedly found himself pitching backwards towards the sea.
Gravin's fall was abruptly cut short with a lurch. Inexplicably, the mutineer found himself dangling wrong side up, with his head swinging precariously above ever rising waves.
The mutineer's first thought was that someone had caught hold of him, preventing his fall. Or at the very least the chains on his legs, since he could feel them gouging into the flesh of his bare ankles. Yet the only person within possible reach had been Aris, and that man would have cut off his leg before grabbing hold of it.
Looking up was difficult, however, as he swayed worse now than when he had been above the plank. A wave crashed into the side of his head, dousing his mouth and nose with brine, stinging his eyes and making it even more difficult to determine the identity of his savior. Squinting, he stared up at to where his feet were and saw no one – just the outline of the wooden plank itself.
The irons! The realization came to him in an instant. The chains had caught on the plank, and his life was dangling solely upon whatever snag the metal links had become lodged in!
Gravin was not given the opportunity to even try to comprehend how securely he was held though – for no sooner did he recognize the source of his salvation than the wooden lifeline took a downward turn directly towards him. A moment's comprehension was afforded him to guess that Aris had knocked free the barrels weighing down the far end of the plank and decided to let the wooden beam join the renegade in its seaward pitch.
But the moment was gone in the next when the cold, harsh shock of the stormy sea stung Gravin to a new sense of awareness. He plunged under the surface without time to even take a breath, the force of the impact knocking what air he did have from his lungs. Worse, the sharp cold forced him to inhale, filling the space within his lungs with ice.
Gravin tried to cough, but that only made him inhale more as he felt his body pulled along in the rough currents. A limited awareness let him perceive that he was being drawn feet first along the current so that his face was not carrying the brunt of the current, yet it did little good in helping him regain the life he had already lost upon hitting the sea.
Then without warning the next spasm of Gravin's lungs to cough and inhale was met with dry air rather than liquid. He gasped, choking on the air as much as he had on the water. But it was all short lived as he soon found himself again sucking in water as he plunged yet again below the surface.
But the momentary respite had given him a brief surge of strength, enough so that the would-be pirate could twist himself towards his feet. He found the ankle irons twisted around the plank, still clinging to what had before been his life preserver, and now served as the means by which the current was dragging him along. Twisted as it was, the wood acted as a sail in the water, catching the current and pulling Gravin further below the surface with the undertow.
Gravin lacked the strength to wrench the wooden rudder free with his hands, but once released, he found he could kick at it. With vicious desperation, the man assailed the wood now lodged between his legs, trying to break free.
At last, the dead man felt the wood crack, split and then fall away. He tried to now kick for the surface, before he realized he had no idea where that was. The small amount of strength he had gained had by now completely fled and what kicking he could manage was little more than feeble swishes in the water. His awareness was also quickly slipping from him as the lack of air forced darkness into the edge of his vision.
I need air, he inwardly gasped. If only I were a fish to command the water to let me breathe...
Absently amidst his failing consciousness, Gravin wondered why he could see at all. After all, he was likely deep under water with a storm raging on the surface. He should have been surrounded by murky blackness.
Yet the man could see. At least, he could see where the blackness had not yet encroached on the edge of his vision. Lazily casting his eyes above where he lay – for he now realized he was on the bottom sea floor amidst sand and broken coral – he caught sight of something. Something that his hand had somehow grasped as he had been pulled through the water.
To all appearances, the object was made of stone, though it was not a rock as much as it was a slim shard rising from the broken ground. But Gravin knew enough about the sea to recognize that the object was likely just covered in barnacles and coral, and that whatever was beneath was likely made of metal or wood.
Or water...
The thought made no sense, but reason was gone. Gravin knew that much.
Up...
Without warning, Gravin felt his arm pulled sharply, forcing him bodily away from the sea floor. Dumbly, he kept hold of the rocky substance which had somehow given him something to see in his last moments, little comprehending that he should not have still held it if he were no longer where it had been buried in the ground.
The next thing Gravin was aware of was retching brine and bile. His lungs and throat were raw, suggesting he had been vomiting for some time before his mind had recognized what he was doing. Yet between each retch, sweet, sweet air replaced the vile mixture. And after several minutes, the retching stopped and there was only air.
Gravin continued to cough, hacking at the burning in his lungs and throat. But he was alive. That much was unmistakable. For no afterlife he could imagine would include being able to breath air after drowning in the ocean.
Through tears in his eyes, Gravin dared to look around himself. He expected to find himself on some shore or perhaps on the deck of some boat that might have rescued him. But he saw none of that. He saw only...
Water. For as far as he could see, there was only ocean. No land, no ship, nothing but water. And it was not the stormy surface he had left behind, either. Whatever squall had come upon the sea had now passed, and only mild crests and furrows comprised the ocean's expanse for as far as he could see. Even the sun had returned through parts in the clouds overhead.
Startled, Gravin looked to where his hands and knees rested only to find that he seemed to be resting upon water, as well, though this water churned and moved beneath him. It was as though the water were pushing up to the surface, then leaching off to the side like...
All Gravin could think of was a fountain, like he had seen before in certain city decorations. A spout of water would rise from a fish or a mermaid or some other sculpture, with gravity eventually claiming the liquid when the spout reached its apex. Yet this... This spout – if that is what it was – did not come from a sculpture into the air, but from below the water. And it was somehow holding him above the water... Worse, the water felt as solid beneath him as the deck of a ship.
Gravin's eye caught the sight of the long rocky object clutched in his right
hand and he suddenly felt cold inside. He had salvaged something of magic from Kalrios' domain, for only magic could answer for what was happening. No mortal salvaged from the Sea God's domain, not if they wished to live. For Kalrios was a greedy master, and what he claimed beneath his surface was for he and he alone to treasure. These were amongst the most basic tenets of a seaman's life – show homage to the sea through gifts and sacrifices, and never take back what is given.
And yet, Aris had declared Gravin himself as one such sacrifice. The captain had specifically claimed his right to cast the mutineer into the sea under Kalrios' law, which made Gravin property of the Sea God's domain. Once cast into the sea, only Kalrios' mercy could have spared the sacrifice.
Shakily, Gravin pulled himself to a sitting position, fully expecting the water to give way beneath him. In doing so, he noticed that his shackles remained firmly in place, making any plunge back into the sea likely to be the death sentence to which he was originally condemned. Yet the water did not change its density, and he remained safely above the water level.
The mutineer carefully inspected the rocky structure of the object and found he had originally guessed true – the outside was merely barnacle and rocky deposits, not substance of what the object beneath truly was. He imagined it would take a great deal of effort to clean the object, though he also knew there was a chance that some small part could be forced loose to gain an inkling of what lay beneath.
Gravin applied a bit of force to an area near one end, only to find the crusty exterior flake away in a large chunk. An air pocket perhaps? Yet this theory did not hold true as he continued to work along the length of the object to discover that the entire rocky exterior easily fell away when only a small effort was expended. It seemed that whatever was beneath, the barnacles of the sea had only formed around it, and could not attach to the object's surface.