by Clayton Wood
“It's like the gravity sphere, mostly,” she admitted.
“Do it again,” he requested. She complied, tracing the pattern in the air. He committed the pattern to memory, then reached into his pocket, pulling out a fresh crystalline cube. He inscribed the pattern carefully into the cube.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Recording it,” he answered. “This way I won't forget.”
He streamed a measly thread of magic to the cube, and sure enough, a small blue square appeared above it. He felt a slight breeze against his hand.
“Got it,” he stated. “Thanks,” he added. He yawned a third time, then stuffed the cube back into his pocket. Ariana smiled.
“Time for bed, sleepy-head.” she whispered, leaning in and kissing his cheek. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
He closed his eyes then, and soon fell fast asleep.
Chapter 16
The morning sun greeted the moist wooden planks of the Defiance's massive deck, rising above dark, rolling clouds near the horizon to shine its rays on the ship. A flock of seagulls flew overhead, circling high above the rippling sails, calling out to the sailors hard at work below. Men swept the drying deck, checked and re-checked the cannons, and cleaned every surface of the ship's exterior. It was a sight to see, this frenzied activity, and Kyle would have enjoyed it much more if he hadn't been so dang sick.
He groaned, closing his eyes and leaning against the window he was cleaning, swallowing down yet another wave of nausea as the ship rolled to one side. He waited for it to pass, then used the cloth in his right hand to scrub vigorously at the white, salty residue that had been baked onto one of the dozens of windows on the cabin, the two-story structure at the back of the ship that housed the bridge. A few sailors had erected a makeshift scaffold on the second story, so that Kyle could clean the wall of huge windows that looked into the ship’s bridge. The ship dipped suddenly, and Kyle grit his teeth against another wave of nausea.
“Shee-it, someone ain't got their sea legs yet,” a man behind Kyle observed, clapping a hand on his back. It was Slim, one of the sailors Kyle and Ariana had been introduced to that morning. Slim was only a little taller than Kyle, but freakishly thin. He must have been in his early forties, with long, curly black hair that looked like it hadn't been washed this year. Neither, apparently, had his mouth.
“I'll be fine,” Kyle mumbled, scrubbing the last of the grit from the window. He dragged himself over to the next window, lugging a bucket of soapy water with him. The ship swayed again, nearly causing him to stumble off of the scaffolding. Slim caught him just in time, yanking him back from the edge.
“Now now,” Slim groused, “...no need to kill yourself. Things ain't that bad.” He reached into his pocket, then handed Kyle something brown and stringy. It looked suspiciously like a root.
“What is it?”
“Gutroot,” Slim answered. “So you don't puke on me.” He grinned, revealing two missing front teeth. “Go on, chew it...or I'll let you take a dive next time.”
“Gee thanks,” Kyle grumbled, breaking off a piece and putting it in his mouth. It tasted awfully bitter. Slim picked up his own bucket, dropping it beside Kyle and scrubbing the window next to him. The man made quick work of his window, cleaning the entire thing in the amount of time it took Kyle to clean a mere quarter.
“Better hurry Guts,” Slim advised. “Captain's going to be on the bridge soon.” Slim gave another grin. “Gets all pissy when things ain't clean.” Kyle frowned.
“Guts?”
“That's your name boy,” Slim explained. “Unless you like what everyone else calls you.” Kyle frowned.
“What's that?” he asked.
“Retard.”
“Well great,” Kyle muttered. He briefly entertained strangling Ariana for telling everyone he was slow. Not that that would particularly affect her.
“Some of the boys think that's too long,” Slim admitted. “They call you 'Tard', but I think it sounds too much like 'Turd' and that name's already taken. Wouldn't want folks to get confused.”
“I'll take Guts,” Kyle grumbled, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. Slim gave another dentally-challenged grin.
“Figured you would.”
Kyle rolled his eyes, scrubbing harder and faster. He chewed the gutroot vigorously, desperately hoping that it would work. Slim went on to the next window, making quick work of it. The man hadn't stopped since he'd woken Kyle up this morning. None of the crew had. The Captain ran a tight ship.
Within a few minutes, Kyle realized that he wasn't feeling so nauseous anymore. In fact, he barely registered the movement of the ship at all now. This allowed him to fully concentrate on his work, and he set about his task with renewed vigor.
“Come on Guts,” Slim shouted gleefully as they neared the end of the long row of windows. “My momma can work faster than you!”
“Then get her out here,” Kyle shot back, feeling rather fed up with the man's constant taunting. Slim grinned.
“I would,” he replied. “But she's dead!” He cackled, moving on to the next window, scrubbing even faster. “Faster Guts!” he cried. “Captain's coming any minute now!” Kyle scrubbed like a madman, his shoulders burning with the effort, sweat pouring down his arms and forehead. He ignored the pain, breathing through it. Within minutes, they were done, and Slim dropped his bucket, tossing his cloth into it and slapping Kyle on the back.
“All right Guts, time to take all this shit down,” he ordered, sitting down at the edge of the scaffolding, then swinging his legs over. He hung there like a monkey on a branch, then dropped down to the deck below. Kyle did the same, albeit much more slowly, falling the six or so feet to the deck and falling onto his butt. Slim cackled, offering Kyle a hand and pulling him up.
“You splat like a Turd,” he observed. “Maybe that should be your name.” Kyle rolled his eyes at him. “Come on Guts!” He walked up to the scaffolding, dismantling it piece by piece. Kyle took each piece, stacking it in a tall crate. When they were done, Slim grabbed a dolly and tied the crate to it. They made their way down to the cargo hold, opening a trap door in the deck and going down a ramp to get there. When they opened the double-doors to the cargo hold, they found Ariana standing there with Rusty, who was breathing heavily, sweat glistening on his forehead.
“Hey Rusty,” Slim greeted, grinning at the hefty man. “Whoa big guy, you're sweating like a whore in church!” Rusty ignored the comment, gesturing to Ariana.
“Slim, this is Ariana.” Slim regarded Ariana for a moment, his grin never faltering.
“Damn,” he swore. “You born in a cave?”
“She's got anemia,” Rusty explained.
“You're Ghost,” Slim declared. Ariana raised an eyebrow.
“Ghost?”
“You're white as one, ain't you?” Slim asked.
“Okay...” Ariana replied, glancing at Kyle, who shrugged helplessly. Rusty wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand.
“You guys all set with the scaffolding?” he asked. Slim nodded.
“You need help rotating?”
“Sure,” Rusty answered. He put a hand on Ariana's shoulder. “Though I have to say, Ariana – er, Ghost – here is quite the worker.” He shook his head in amazement. “She's twice as strong as she looks, and she hasn't stopped a single second till now!”
“Wish I could say the same about Guts here,” Slim said, slapping Kyle on the back again. “He's slower than snot.” Kyle glared at the man, while Ariana stared at Kyle, mouthing “Guts,” with a questioning expression. Kyle ignored her.
“We have to move all of the crates with the orange marks from the center to the edges of the ship,” Rusty explained to Ariana. “And take the crates at the edges – the ones marked blue – and put them in the center.”
“Why?” Ariana asked. Kyle agreed; it seemed like a heck of a lot of work for no reason.
“Well that's a long story,” Rusty answered. “See, w
here we come from – Verhan – they don't allow magic.” Ariana's eyebrows rose.
“Why not?”
“Back in what you call Ancient times,” Rusty replied, “...your Empire invaded Verhan’s cities and demolished their government. They murdered millions of natives, then made the survivors into slaves to work the mines.” He shook his head. “They sucked the mines dry, shipping precious stones back to the Empire for their Runics.”
“What?” Kyle blurted out. “That's a lie!” Slim smirked.
“Aw hell, they didn't teach you that in school?” he remarked. He turned to Rusty. “Must've skipped over the part where their ancestors got into the genocidal slave-driver business.” He shook his head. “Ain't that precious.”
“Yes, well,” Rusty muttered. “It's no lie. Eventually the natives freed the slaves and won back their freedom. People from the Empire mated with the natives, diluting their blood and creating our ancestors. Eventually our ancestors rebuilt the government and its cities.” He scratched his beard. “After...everything that happened, our ancestors decided to forbid the use of magic.”
“But why?” Ariana asked.
“Magic annihilated our people,” Rusty replied. “Twice.”
“But doesn't not making magic leave you vulnerable to those that do?” Ariana pressed. Rusty smiled.
“You would think,” he agreed. “But we discovered a technology that neutralizes magic. If anyone tried to attack our cities, they would have to do so without it.”
“Wait, how can you neutralize magic?” Kyle asked. Slim frowned at him.
“You're awfully quick for being slow, Guts.”
“He's smart enough,” Ariana interjected. “He has a hard time talking sometimes, that's all.”
“Oh,” Rusty replied. “Well, I can't really tell you that,” he admitted. “You’d have to ask the Captain.” He shrugged. “Anyway, no magic is allowed in Verhan. Not in things, not in people.”
“What happens to people that are born able to make magic?” Ariana asked.
“I’m not sure,” Rusty answered. “Come on,” he added. “We'd better get going on moving this cargo.” He walked up to one ten-foot stack of crates, crouching down before it. “Each stack is on a metal pallet with wheels that lock,” he informed. “We unlock the wheels, then push the stacks.”
“Isn't that dangerous?” Kyle asked. “What if it tips over?” Slim grinned.
“Why you think we're having you do it?” he countered. Rusty rolled his eyes.
“It's dangerous, yes,” Rusty admitted, bending over to unlock each wheel. “Take it slow and they won't tip over.” He gestured at the stack. “All the marked crates – the ones we need to move – are shorter and lighter than the stationary ones.” Rusty and Slim got to one side of the crate stack, then pushed hard. The stack slowly rolled, and they moved it a dozen feet before stopping.
“Now,” Slim stated, “...we take a stack from the edges and put it here,” he added, pointing to where the stack had just been.
“So why do all this again?” Ariana asked.
“To suck the magic out,” Slim answered. Rusty nodded.
“The Captain does business with the Empire,” he explained. “We ship gemstones to your government, in return for a variety of crops and other goods. Problem is, your goods – your whole city – is contaminated by magic.” He wiped a few beads of sweat from his forehead. “Since magic is forbidden in Verhan, we have to make sure all that magic is leeched out before we get to port.”
“Or else,” Slim agreed.
“What happens if they find magic?” Kyle asked.
“Best-case scenario,” Rusty answered, “...they confiscate and destroy the contaminated cargo, and fine the Captain.” He cleared his throat then. “Worst-case, they hang the Captain and the crew.”
“Whoa,” Kyle murmured.
“That's why he wanted you two Tested,” Rusty explained. “If you'd made magic, you would've contaminated the entire ship, and he would've been done for.” He gave them a pained look. “That's why he said he'd, you know...”
“Shoot us and throw us in the ocean?” Ariana asked.
“Right.”
“Great,” Ariana muttered.
“So anyway,” Rusty continued, looking rather flustered, “...we Test all cargo ahead of time, and mark the stacks that Test positive for magic. Then we put as many as we can as close to the hull of the ship as possible, and if we can't fit them all there, we rotate them every day.”
“But why?” Kyle pressed.
“The ocean,” Slim answered. “Slurps the magic right outta stuff.” Rusty nodded.
“The deep ocean has no magic,” he informed. “So it slowly sucks magic out of anything near it. The Defiance's hull has metal beams designed to conduct magic, so any contaminated crates near it will leak magic to the hull, which will carry it out into the ocean.”
“Ohhh,” Kyle murmured. “Got it.” He had to give the Captain credit; that was actually pretty clever.
“All right ladies, enough yapping,” Slim groused, gesturing for Kyle and Ariana to follow him to another stack of crates. “These things ain't gonna move themselves.”
* * *
Kalibar sighed, closing the book he'd been reading and tilting his head back to rest his aching neck. He slid the book across the table he was sitting at, staring absently across the room, at the row upon row of bookshelves in the Runic Archives. Then he sighed again, glancing down at the book's ornate cover.
A Brief History of Verhan, it read.
He'd come down to the Archives soon after talking with High Weaver Urson about getting his children back. He didn't know why he'd had the sudden compulsion to come here, to be surrounded by books. He found it comforting, he supposed. To be steeped in knowledge, to escape, for a moment, into someone else's mind. But it was telling that every book he'd chosen to skim through was dedicated to that continent on the other side of the ocean: Orja. Liberated by the Ancients a mere decade before the fall of the old Empire, only the easternmost coast had been mapped, its native peoples and cultures poorly understood.
Now was no different. They'd rediscovered Orja by accident, recovering ancient texts about the continent a few years ago. Ships had been sent to Orja, to the coordinates recorded in those books...some of which Kalibar had just spent the last few hours perusing. They'd found the bustling city of Verhan, much larger than Stridon. A city without magic.
Kalibar heard footsteps approaching, and turned to see a stooped old woman walk into the Archives. It was Master Lee, Erasmus's mother. He smiled wearily at her.
“Good afternoon, Lee,” he greeted. She smiled back.
“Kalibar,” she replied. She glanced down at the books scattered on the surface of Kalibar's table. “Reading up on Orja I see.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “Hardly pleasure reading,” he added ruefully. She walked up to the chair opposite him.
“This seat taken?” she inquired. He shook his head, and she sat down, leaning her skinny, wrinkled elbows on the tabletop. He stared at her desiccated flesh with dismay. When he'd first met Erasmus as a young man, Lee had been quite the beautiful woman. Time had been cruel to her, draining her of that beauty. And yet, Kalibar knew that beneath her aged flesh was the same mind as that gorgeous woman he'd once marveled to look at, no doubt horrified by what it had become. That was the fate of everyone who had the misfortune of growing old; Kalibar had started to feel the same dismay about his own reflection years ago.
“You're depressed,” Lee observed, giving Kalibar a wrinkly smirk. Kalibar sighed; Lee had always been frighteningly observant. Erasmus hadn't gotten away with much when he was younger.
“Indeed,” he murmured. When she just sat there staring at him, he gave her a rueful smile. “You're trying to get me to talk,” he observed. Lee grinned.
“Now if only my son were so observant,” she said, giving a dry, rasping chuckle. “You can tell me your darkest secrets, you know,” she added. “I'll be dead before I can sp
ill my guts to anyone.”
“Only because you'd never tell anyone else,” Kalibar countered. And it was true; Lee was, like Erasmus, utterly trustworthy. He paused, glancing down at the books he'd been perusing, then wove magic in his mind's eye, creating a sound-dampening field around them. Lee's eyebrows rose slightly, but she said nothing. “Kyle and Ariana are missing,” he admitted.
“Taken?” Lee asked instantly. Kalibar shook his head.
“They left Stridon for Orja,” he corrected. “We have reason to believe Xanos is located there.”
“Why'd they leave?” she asked. Kalibar hesitated, then lowered his gaze to the tabletop.
“Ampir is dead.”
Lee stared at Kalibar for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed, leaning back in her chair.
“I see,” she murmured. “So why Orja?” Kalibar glanced at the shimmering blue surface of the sound-dampening field surrounding them, then shook his head.
“We're not secure here,” he warned. And it was true; as good as the field was, it was still possible to eavesdrop through. Lee smirked.
“We are now,” she countered, retrieving a small crystal from thin air, as was her way. She activated it, and a half-dozen faint blue spheres surrounded them in layers instantly. Kalibar couldn't help but smile. Lee would never admit to it, and few realized it, but she was very likely the most skilled Runic in the Empire...even better than Erasmus and the late Jax. “Tell me,” she prompted.
Kalibar sighed, then relayed his last conversation with Kyle and Ariana, about their plan to travel to Orja. And of Ariana’s...reaction. Lee listened silently throughout, saying not a word until he was finished...and for a long moment afterward. Finally, she sighed.
“Kalibar,” she stated, breaking the silence. “I love you like my own son. Sometimes more.”
“Thank...” Kalibar began.
“You're an idiot,” she interrupted. Kalibar's mouth snapped shut, and he stared at her incredulously.
“Okay...”
“You told your daughter to let everyone she loves die or be enslaved while she hides from Sabin for eternity.”