Advent of the Roar

by Benjamin M. Piety

  At this, Bernard stands and wipes his face. “I’ve heard enough of this nonsense; I’m getting some air.” He leaves the room.

  “Sensitive fellow, he is.” Ponce smiles, taking another boorish bite of food.

  “How does war save the Land? Did you all forget the Last War? The one that destroyed everybody?” Ethan continues.

  “That was eons ago,” Ponce says dismissively. He then points his lyn bone at Ethan. “Do you garden?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Well, if you never prune your veggies, then all the dead leaves and excessive limbs extract all the nutrients from the younger, healthier parts, and it kills the entire plant. We’ve spent eons in this perpetual state of peace, allowing a festering of priced and classism. Do you know that the Yikshir councils regularly purge the lower classes? Just a few weeks ago, they nearly destroyed everyone in Balton. For what? Because they have a large lower class? They sent thousands left without much more discussion than how they’ll do it. The tenfooters bind and toss those they find too small and ineffective in some dark pit where they either drown or are eaten by who-knows-what below. In Organsia, the Victors are so entrenched in the debts of its citizens that the entire state is practically priced. It all needs to be cleaned. To be pruned. We all need to refocus the nutrients of our own humanity. War gives us this perspective so that no longer are we caught up in small personal gains, in our own needs, but instead we fight for the whole. For what’s important.”

  “Why set homes on fire? Send innocent people?” Sanet asks.

  “To wake the states up. To rile them to war. Isn’t your old cog riled? Isn’t he ready to fight? You see, we don’t care which side you’re on, as long as you’re fighting.” Ponce smirks. “But, please, convince me to come to your side.”

  Ethan grabs his empty round and walks to the sink. “What I don’t understand is this Roar. How is a child a call for war?”

  “It’s been foretold that seven from the advent is the start of war.”

  “Seven weeks?” Ethan asks.

  “Is there not a war begun?”

  “So, which is it? The brass or the Roar?”

  “The Roar was the call. The brass is the answer,” Ponce states.

  Ethan looks to Sanet and returns to the table, drinking from his mug.

  “Even if what you’re saying is right, which in truth, I can’t believe, what happens when the war leads to our complete destruction?”

  “Is that not what the Land demands? Have we not overstayed our welcome here? The Quemon and Yikshir populations are far beyond what was allowed by the Laws. What good are we doing here? What purpose do our lives have and how do they matter to the Land?”

  “Why not kill yourself then, if you find the Land so burdened?”

  “I will,” Ponce grins, “but I plan on taking as many bodies with me as I can when I do.”

  Sanet takes a deep breath. “It’s unsettling to witness your lack of sympathy for the sent. Especially for something that’s at best a thought experiment.”

  Ponce shrugs. “Who could care what you think?”

  He stands and walks over to drop his round into the sink, and as he walks back, he pushes Sanet into the table. Despite the shock, she recovers herself, but not before Ponce is able to take hold of her pistol. He points it at them.

  “Stand back!” he shouts.

  Ethan and Sanet stand, hands on head.

  “There’s no reason to do anything rash here. Bernard will surely come in and send you left. We can’t stop him if you shoot us,” Sanet states.

  “He can’t send me before I take one of you out. My finger is on the trigger, Bernard!” Ponce shouts this louder just as a rifle appears at the door, with Bernard stepping through behind it.

  “Lower the gun, Ponce. My lack of sailing skills is far less convincing a decision than my desire to pull this trigger. Don’t let me make the choice.” Bernard crosses completely into the cabin and presses the rifle against Ponce’s head.

  “Bernard, friend, no need to worry. I have no intentions of shooting your friends here.”

  Ponce lowers the gun to his side. Bernard eyes Sanet and motions for her to take the gun. She steps forward, but Ponce shoots three times into the floor before Bernard blasts his head clear apart, spraying blood and mind across the cabin walls.

  Sanet lowers her arms from shielding herself and watches as Ponce’s sent body slumps across the floor, blood pouring from his neck and blown head. But what’s most alarming is not the puddle of blood but the water deluging in from three holes in the cabin floor.

  “We need to get them covered immediately!” she yells.

  Bernard pushes Ponce’s body aside to find the three springs. Ethan quickly takes off his jacket and shirt, rolls the latter, and shoves it into one of the holes.

  “We should grab a towel or something. And see if Johan has some wood plugs around.”

  Bernard nods at Ethan’s quick suggestion and runs from the cabin. Sanet steps over Ponce’s body and into the growing puddle. She pulls a towel from the shelf above and tosses it to Ethan, who quickly rolls it and begins plugging the second hole. Ethan then rips the shirt from Ponce’s body to fill the third.

  “This won’t last long. We’ll need some plugs fast,” he states.

  Sanet nods and runs from the cabin. Across the deck, Bernard is looking through a small room under the wheel deck. He’s tossing tools and bars over his shoulder, a hanging neonlight swinging frantically above him.

  She runs over. “Anything?”

  “Nothing. I assume it looks like some cone or something?” Bernard keeps looking.

  Sanet steps up to the wheel deck and sees that the compass has been smashed. That beast knew he was going to drown us. The wheel is also spinning out of control. She takes hold of it.

  Bernard stands back from the room and looks to Sanet as she yells, “He’s smashed the compass! We won’t know which direction we’re headed until morn.”

  Bernard shakes his head. “Should have sent that man left back at the stonetin.” He hurries back to the cabin.

  She locks the wheel in place and follows. “Anything?”

  Bernard shakes his head again. “What was he thinking? If we die out here in the sea, the brass goes down with us.”

  “I don’t think men like that think.”

  “There’s no time to assume we know the intentions of the sent, we need to find something on this kleep to plug those holes. Maybe we can chop down some of the cabin?” Ethan suggests.

  “I saw some black oilment. If we can get a large enough cover, we could seal the edges?” Bernard suggests.

  “That could work, let’s make it happen. Glass may work better.” Ethan points.

  At this, the three work together, using a crowbar and ax to remove a pane from the cabin’s window that is large enough to cover all three holes. Bernard holds it in place while Ethan seals the edges. Sanet begins removing the flooding seawater with a mug and a pot, throwing it over the kleep rails. As she does, she feels the first droplets of rain. After twenty minutes, the holes are sealed. The three then all take efforts to remove the inches of water from the cabin floor. Without ceremony, they toss Ponce’s body overboard as the rainstorm picks up.

  Bernard takes a position at the wheel, deciding that the best course of action is to keep it steady. Sanet and Ethan, meanwhile, take the sails down to mitigate the kleep’s toss and thrust in heightened winds. The sea’s whitecaps begin to bob the entire kleep up and down, sending Ethan to his knees, vomiting over the edge.

  Sanet starts to feel her stomach toss as well but attempts to ride the kleep, holding onto the cabin’s doorway. “How’s it going, Bernard?”

  “I’m hoping this isn’t that big a storm coming,” Bernard yells across the deck. But the rain picks up in intensity.

  Ethan falls backward and hits his head on the floor when the kleep tosses to the east, a massive wave crashing over them. Sanet steps forward, reaching her hand out.

  B
ernard calls to them, “You friends should go inside. It’s not safe out here.”

  Sanet nods and grabs Ethan’s hand. His face is pale and his steps reel.

  Inside the cabin, walls still covered in Ponce’s blood, Ethan holds on to the table, his eyes closed, his face in concentration. Sanet holds on to him and the table, watching the neonlight above them swing wildly from side to side before it smashes into the ceiling and goes out. The cabin falls to darkness, the kleep and storm outside the only things visible. Rain pours in from the missing glass pane, and Brute huddles below them, hiding. Lightning and thunder roar across the deck. Out in the distance, the moon is temporarily blocked by . . . Lincoln, that’s a massive wave. The wave towers over the kleep, rushing toward them. The cabin tilts away as it rallies closer. And behind the dark wall of water, for only the smallest of glimpses, a pair of large glowing red eyes.

  Sanet grips the table, bracing herself for what she’s sure will destroy the entire kleep. She tries to see across the deck toward Bernard. “Hold your breath, Ethan, this is going to—”

  The whole kleep crashes to its side. Sanet is lifted from her seat, Ethan and Brute rising up with her. Within minors, she smashes her head against the roof and feels the brunt of water and wood crash into her body. And then, the momentum hits her again, tossing her body in the other direction, water gushing into her nose and mouth. She closes her eyes, holds her breath, and braces herself for the second impact. She feels a crack in her shoulder.

  And then nothing.

  Chapter 31

  PRISONERS OF PAULO

  Sanet wakes up drifting in the sea, the full sun bearing down on her skin, roasting her red and hot as water strikes her cheek in rhythmic lapping. She’s slumped over a broken section of the kleep with the letters D E S E A written across it. Craning her neck and squinting, she peers around at other shattered portions of the kleep dipping up and down in the soft, rippling waters and sees Bernard across the way, hugging his own piece of driftwood. She calls out to him in a raspy voice, and he shifts his head toward her, lifting his mitted hand in a slight wave. Now, where’s Ethan?

  Scanning the sea, she finds only more drifting wood and debris. An attempt to look behind her sends a sting of pain through her shoulder. Looking down, she catches a glimpse of a long and oozing swath of blood on her shirt. She closes her eyes and takes a breath to bury the pain before paddling and kicking her way toward Bernard, slowly and painfully.

  He looks at her and smiles. “Apory for my poor sailing.”

  She reaches out to brush his hair. “My little madman. Have you seen Ethan?”

  He nods, pointing over his shoulder toward the far distance. There, Ethan floats gently on his back with Brute sitting on his chest peering around curiously. Her eyes widen and breath holds at the sight.

  “Is he—” she asks.

  “He’s wisnok. Broke a leg, so I put him on the biggest piece of wood I could find. Also,” he lifts his other hand from the water and shows Sanet her rucksack, “I managed to keep hold of this shnite brass.”

  She laughs. “You’re incredible.”

  “As I’ve been told.” Bernard smiles again before resting his head back, closing his eyes in the sun.

  Sanet paddles over to Ethan, dipping her head under the water every few strokes to relieve herself from the heat.

  Drawing closer, she calls out to him, and he turns his head slowly toward her, squinting. “Shnite this sea and everything in it,” he curses.

  Seeing Sanet, Brute jumps into the water and swims clumsily over, hopping onto her small section of wood. The frek’s weight shifts it and sends another throb of pain into her shoulder.

  “Careful, Brute. I’m hurt.”

  The creature tilts its head. The sea remains calm and clear, save for the three of them and the few dozen drifts of wood. Any optimism for continued safety, sudden Land, or passing kleeps would be downright flam.

  “We should stick together before we drift farther apart,” she tells Ethan.

  “Apory, but I can’t move much. I’m afraid to fall off this little piece, and I’m not a great swimmer even without a broken leg,” he laments.

  Sanet agrees and waves her hand, calling for Bernard to join them. Without pause, Bernard paddles himself and his driftwood toward them. Brute catches sight of Bernard and hops off Sanet, sending her wood into the water and further pains through her shoulder. That shnite little frek. He swims eagerly for Bernard, hopping up onto his habitual residence on his shoulder. Once the three are together, they bob along the water as Bernard holds on to Sanet and her rucksack and Sanet holds on to Ethan.

  Time passes.

  “What’s the next step in our grand travels?” Bernard asks.

  “Since we’re far from any land, not sure that’s an option. I think the best we can hope for is a passing kleep.” Saying it aloud makes Sanet’s heart flutter. As they float in the sun and in the wide sweeping sea, the likelihood of someone passing them feels a thousand to one.

  Time passes.

  “Don’t move too much, your arm is completely dislocated. I should probably try to pop it back in,” Bernard says. Sanet tries to adjust herself and splashes water on her burned face.

  “I’ll take my chances,” she says, her shoulder pulsing in pain with every heartbeat.

  Time passes.

  In late hours, a school of earniks swim playfully around them, poking their heads out of the water and splashing their faces with their colorful nostrils, urging the three to dive and swim with them. The gang instead lies quiet and injured and without interaction. The earniks swim away, unimpressed.

  Time passes.

  Sanet checks her fingers, which are wrinkled and itching. She rubs them across her face and feels the bumps and ridges. Drops of hass water trickle into her mouth. She closes her eyes and lays her cheek to the wood, letting water splatter against her face and blip into her ear.

  Time passes.

  A soft breeze brushes over her cheek, a welcome relief from the sun. She splashes a bit of water onto her face again. Ethan is unconscious and brightly red. Sanet turns his head, spilling seawater over him, trying to keep him cool.

  Time passes.

  Every few minutes, Brute hops into the water and dives down, swimming around the three before hopping back onto one of their planks.

  “Well, this is boring, any new ideas?” Bernard asks.

  Sanet shakes her head in defeat. “Are you having fun seeing the Land with me?”

  “If we’re being honest here, I’d say this isn’t my favorite day of the journey,” Bernard says, closing his eyes and splashing his own face. “I can also say that I keep drinking a little bit of the water and it’s downright terrible.”

  “Now you stop that. It’ll only make you thirstier.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  They fall back into silence as time passes. The sea dips them up and down. Ethan turns his head and dry heaves. Sanet squeezes his arm.

  “You know, there was a major I thought Mercet would have liked sailing,” Ethan says to himself. He titters quietly before falling back asleep. The sun slinks across the sky.

  “It’s going to be cold tonight,” Sanet comments as the sun drops closer and closer to crest. No one answers. She watches through squinted eyes as the sun sinks and sinks and then—perhaps it’s not real—she spies a small dot in the distance. Her head pops up. “Is that—” She shakes Ethan. “Do you see that?”

  Ethan lifts his head slightly.

  “I don’t. Wait, I think . . . is it?”

  She squints. The sky is a candy-colored orange and quickly darkening, making it difficult to discern reality from hope.

  “Bernard, look.”

  Bernard peers over them. “Maybe. You think if it is, they’ll find us?”

  “We should swim toward them. Get as close as we can before dark,” Sanet suggests.

  Bernard nods in agreement, and they both start to kick and paddle. Ethan flips onto his stomach, wincing as he shifts h
is broken leg, and starts to paddle with them. The kleep, luckily, is headed toward them, and by the time the sun hits crest, it’s only three hundred strides away. As it draws closer, the three begin to scream out, calling for help and waving their arms, splashing in the water. The kleep continues its course toward them.

  “Does it see us?” Sanet says, hopeful.

  “They have to,” Bernard hammers his mitts into the water harder, “we’re so close.”

  Together, the three continue to scream and shout and splash to gain the attention of the incoming kleep. It draws closer in the darkening air, its size three times that of Johan’s, and Sanet catches the first glimpse of one of its crew members. Her heart sinks. Crimson men.

  They shine a neonlight on them. One of the men, dressed in their familiar red cape, points to them from the port bow. His cape is short, falling no farther than his upper shoulders.

  When Ethan catches a glimpse of them, he curses to himself, “Of all the bodies out at sea.”

  “Ponce must have known they were out here. Why, he knew he could sink us,” Sanet whispers. “But there’s nothing we can do now. It’s either them or drown out here.”

  “Not sure which is worse,” Bernard comments.

  The kleep sails next to them, the man who first spotted them directing the crew to slow before tossing down a ladder. “Come on, get yourselves up,” he shouts at them.

  “Two of us are injured. We’ll need help,” Bernard says.

  At this, another of the crimson men dives overboard, swims to them, and helps wrangle some rope and harnesses over Ethan and then Sanet. It takes a few majors, but once they’re out of the water, it comes as a welcome relief. The three are given blankets. Sanet looks around and sees the main deck populated by a dozen crimson men watching them intently.

  From the crowd, a notably larger man, with the longest cape, steps up and kneels in front of them. “How long were you in the water?” he asks.

  “Only the day,” Sanet answers.

  “You’re lucky we came looking for you then,” the man states. “What happened to my men who went to Trimod?”