“We have no guns Captain” Tyde pronounced, fear gripping her. “We shed the load to make certain this tub could fly.”
“Aye what an intelligent idea that was” he commented. “Men!” He barked. In an instant all had stopped what they were doing and gathered around nervously, some looking between himself and the approaching ships. Now more than dots on the horizon. “It appears we have company seen fit to join us upon this blessed sky.” As he said so another streak of lightning shot downward. Narrowly missing them again. He waited for the thunder to pass, close and unbearable. Like two titans above them battling to the death. “We have no guns, we can barely sail. We will attempt evasive manoeuvres but this is likely it” he spoke solemnly. Letting them know he was serious. “Now on the double!”
“Aye” they agreed before sprinting and running about their business. If they intended to make a go of living they were certainly serious about it.
“Raise the balloon, take the wind. Push the engines, full power upward” Orochi ordered. In that order they did things.
Above the mighty balloon raised itself. Inflating further and driving them skyward. “By the Three I hope that thing avoids lightning strike or we’ll all be doomed” the boy spoke, barely audible above the whir of the engines. A rush of displaced air pushed against them as they rose, quickly. She shut her eyes to shield herself from the stinging effects.
“Steady, steady” ordered the captain. “We're a poorly built raft and we'll encounter more resistance from the aerodynamics, better not go too quickly lest we get pushed off and all that's left of us is a mast and a balloon floating merrily into the sunset.”
Armatrine liked the idea, she was tied to the mast.
“Ship ahoy!” Screamed the man from the crow. It was upon them almost immediately. Above the makeshift craft it lay in wait. Huge, powerful. It was the greatest vessel she had ever seen. Curiously she stopped as they climbed. Then, without warning she opened. Swallowing whole the ship and crew.
~Skirmsh~
~ Sixth of the Crop, Song of Sorrow~
The time of prophecy arises.
The one will rise.
The darkness will surround
The end is nigh!
- Ancient prophecy, considered heresy
The bliss had come upon them again. Not unexpectedly, time had simply gotten away. He'd achieved everything possible within his power to see the plan to fruition and now he waited. Around him men buzzed in activity. Geared toward impending celebration of the end of another song, another cycle, another concerto in time. Placed by the Three for them, this one day to mark the end of all things and a cycle of renewal. He smiled at the irony, if only they could know how true it was, how real the cycle would become. Soon they would know, soon they would believe.
There could be no bonfire, no ancient blessed light to scare away demons, at least not upon the fortress proper. However, above they had rigged a captured vessel to ignite and light the evening. As a child he'd been so afraid of the demons. It had been why he'd joined the Order in the first instance. To keep Neta safe from the monsters, the dark ones, to save the bloodshed. In the Order he'd felt often like an unsung hero, working for the betterment of Neta and receiving no recognition for his efforts. Today he would ensure the song they sang would be his, tonight he would fill their world with so much bloodshed that they would never forget. There had been a demon in their midst all along yet none had noticed. None had questioned and none had suspected. He would stand victorious, in her name. It was a matter of time.
He looked at the skin of his hand, it had aged. The glamour had worn thinner but not disappeared. He appeared as a worn down, burned out version of the man they were used to seeing. He'd not taken the chance to feed and it was beginning to show. He'd need to feast soon upon the flesh of the innocent, to take their life force or he would become exposed. The bottle at his neck felt lighter, not empty but significantly drained. It hummed and thrummed against the skin of his chest. A cold, constant reminder of his need.
“Ah, Admiral! There you are” came a voice from behind. He turned to face the men approaching, a pair of his own soldiers. “Your guests are arriving sir by ship from all four islands as planned.”
“Excellent, see to it they are well provisioned and comforted until it is time to begin, and pray tell me is his royal highness ready?” Johan had taken permanent quarters upon the Skirmsh. It was only natural now that he would take his time in preparing himself. He operated on royal time in a military setting. Yet he was the crown prince, they would wait for him. They could hurry and cajole as they saw fit. He was the ruling monarch. They were to make no mistakes that he was the man in charge.
“Actually sir, they are most interested in speaking with you, after all you've attained here.”
“Oh really?” He asked trying not to sound irritated. He'd needed the moment to meet his own needs. Perhaps later then when they'd settled, when their crown prince was among them, perhaps then he could sneak away to taste the sweet succor of his sustenance. Until such a time, the bottle would continue to hum its silent reminder against his chest. He felt it deep within him.
“Yes sir!” Answered the soldier “It is indeed you they wish to speak to.”
“Then I had best not keep them waiting while our dear, sweet prince readies himself. I do not mind being the entree” he smiled. The soldier chuckled. It would be enough to satisfy him that all was well. That spirits were high. That the bliss would come to fruition without a hitch. “Lead the way good sir, for one among us must be announced and I hold a sneaking fear that it is I.” He gestured for the man to walk ahead. Taking the time for propriety, he'd learned, in royal circles, was more than half the battle for acceptance, while not caring particularly on a personal level. Like the glamour he wore to hide his true self this skin of proper order he wore had served his ends well and would continue to do so.
The banqueting hall itself was a short walk from his quarters, a strategic decision should the need arise for him to make a sensible retreat in the face of any unanticipated problems. The night air chilled him. Another effect of the delayed feeding. He felt the physical effects of the world in which he should no longer walk more keenly than before. He took one crisp breath after another. Savouring the chilly sensation in his lungs. Even monsters, upon this night of glory, had their vices to fulfil.
The banqueting hall was ablaze with chatter upon the arrival of his ushers, a quiet excitement set upon them causing the atmosphere to become charged with anticipation. The usher walked just a stride or two ahead. Mitrick himself chose the shadows. Wanting to make a fine entrance. There were many things he'd cared for, yet grandstanding had never been one. Yet for the sake of indulgence why should he not. “His mightyness, Admiral to the crown!” Cheers ascended as Mitrick walked upon the balcony to make his address upon them.
“Friends, visitors, nobility and otherwise, welcome to Prince Johan's Skirmsh” he began. “Pray tell I am not one for speeches yet I am pleased for us to usher in one more Bliss. Once more the celebration of the triumph over evil and the eternal cycle that is so prominent yet so hidden in the fabric of one and all of us. Our dear crown prince is among us and shall be along later to the feast and I know he shall wish to address you, for now eat, drink and think on times passed and times coming. To one and to all I wish a perfect Bliss.”
“To one and to all!” The crowd roared. Jollity among them. The speech had gone well yet his charisma had wained somewhat as the hunger distracted. He would need to wait further. There was a scheme he must follow. He only wished he'd foreseen the inevitable. He descended the stairs to join the fray. He'd remain by the doors if he could and manage the problem strategically until Johan arrived.
“Wonderful night for it Admiral” came a voice from his left. It was Duchess Catolina of Lillut, a small nowhere province he'd not cared for when visiting during his time in the order, she was a rich widow and easy on the eye. Yet something about the way she attempted to ingratiate herself made hi
m disgusted, he was a walking corpse yet there beneath her outward sweetness resided the rot of social ambition. He'd cared less for it when he was still of mortal flesh, at least now he could appreciate the irony. He wondered if he would have noticed it before. “You must be very proud of all you have achieved here, an airborne fortress, nobody, not even the late duke, would have imagined such a marvel.” She complimented in a way befitting her station, yet one which made him uneasy. He was used to nobility. He spent much of his days seeing to the whims of a ruling monarch, she laid it on too thick, she wanted him to know that as a military serving man, she was above him and her affections were not given to the likes of him lightly. He smiled knowing who he really was, she would soon learn. They all would. It was the flesh of ones such as this that his goddess savoured the most.
“Duchess, your words touch the heart. Were it so that your late husband were here to receive a full tour, we aim to marvel and indeed enrapture” he grinned. Enough of a veiled sting in his words, a warning. A mention of her late husband, enough to set her role between them as the grieving widow. He'd no time for such distractions. Besides he knew taking a wife would be difficult. They may find themethods he used for sustenance somewhat disturbing. She pulled a distasteful face, as he walked among the crowd wishing her a fair Bliss.
“Admiral, when will the crown prince be here?” Came another voice, this time an advisor. Somebody left behind from the palace “I merely wish to bless him with a fair Bliss.”
“His majesty is due among us now, it is a small wonder he is not already, knowing how much he loves a celebration. Watch the balcony with a keen eye good sir, for he will be here soon.” The man raised a toast toward him. Mitrick took a glass. Sipping the finest port from the dainty crystal between his fingertips. He walked on.
How he hated them. These sniveling, small minded worms. Ones who vied and fought for position among the elite. No sooner than the backs of their master were turned they would betray him. No man could serve two masters and each man ultimately saw himself as a master. How he'd been. How broken. He lived not in such a way. He was no longer a man...
The commotion erupted at once. There was an eruption of cheers then he stood amongst them. Prince Johan, resplendent in his robes, looked every bit the ruler. His maroon dress suit perfectly accentuated his stout form and while it was true that the crown prince was not a tall man and in fact rather portly, in this particular instant, under the deep, mechanical lights of the reception hall here within the flying fortress, he looked to be a man of very deep beauty and perhaps intellect. He had proved recently, to be a popular ruler. Those about him now loved him for he'd managed a new taxation policy to increase their revenue. He'd also made the general population feel safer with his tougher stance on piracy. He'd succeeded where many of his predecessors had failed. Some innocent blood had been shed in the name of his rule. But he need not know. He also did not have a need to know the reasons Mitrick had suggested these things was not for the benefit of the crown but for the benefit of Beocantes.
He wore a cap of the same maroon his coat had been hewn from, upon it a tall feather. It added stature and authority to an already well loved man. The prince reveled in his own glory momentarily before speaking. “May the grace be upon you” he began. The shrill tone of royalty replaced in this instant with a deep boom. The crowd echoed the prince's sentiments back upon himself. “It is another All Songs Bliss upon us all. A night of trial and tribulation. An eve upon which the precipice upon which we all stand in existence becomes threatened by the unseen darkness. A night when the Order would protect us.” He sounded saddened. The Order had indeed been the protectors of his realm and many a devout soul had been lost in the betrayal. “They are not here among us now. Their loss I'd felt deeply no matter the circumstance through which we are at a loss.” He took a breath and then a small sip of the crystal glass he held within his right hand. The port was good and Johan would drink more before the evening was finished. “Now we must rely on our military might to beat back the cursed among us, those who would see Neta fall. Our beloved isles no more. Where there was holy light there shall be the might of Neta. The Bliss is our own.”
Fool! Thought Mitrick. He could not see he was a puppet. He could not see, despite himself, that he was indeed under the complete control of those around him. In the darkness nobody saw the figure slinking her way through, surveying all that would be hers.
~Skirmsh~
~ Sixth of the Crop, Song of Sorrow~
Careful brave warriors,
For time is short and her patience shorter.
- Lost scripture, the book of Beocantes
Afton was in the dark. He was not alone, although his pride caused him to wish he was. Their attempt to ascend had been a valiant one and yet the vessel created from what remained of the Stormkite had in fact, succumbed to the same military force which had knocked her predecessor tumbling from the skies. Yet he'd united a crew of highly trained soldiers and rag tag pirates to one cause and in turn enabled their survival for just a moment longer. That was a comfort, if only for a moment. That retirement seemed further off than ever. A dread feeling crept over him that before the Bliss was done, the hangman upon this great flying fortress would earn many new pairs of boots.
From what he could feel beneath him, and what he'd seen by torchlight as they had been thrown unceremoniously into this hanging gaol, the box in which they were held was formed of wood. A smart move on the part of whoever was in charge of this operation. They would sit in darkness, unable to find a light by fire or magic lest the user burn the cell and cause them to all burn to death, or worse, fall to their demise, anticipating the impact the whole way down. It smelled of new, fresh oak veneered to a hardy exterior yet Orochi suspected this was part of the torture. To dangle hundreds of feet above the surface of the Netan underworld was a perilous game to say the least, one he did not relish playing. Yet here he was.
Those about had remained mostly silent. Too exhausted or defeated to complain. They looked to him for leadership and he'd let them down. Steered them against the winds of fate and now they would pay the price. He wished for mutiny, if it were all the same at least they would have a hope if they had overthrown him and simply chosen not to rise, or to sail another direction. He was lost.
Beside him Tyde wept, as if too sensing the end was upon them. She'd curled herself into a ball. Her knees pressed tightly against her chest in the darkness. A strange emotion filled him. One he'd no recollection of. As if something had awoken inside of him. He wanted to comfort her as she wept. To hold her close to him and reassure her everything would be ok. Lie if he must if only to grant her momentary reprieve from the terror inside that she must truly feel. He could not see her in the darkness yet he knew she was there. Perhaps if things had been different, perhaps if they had chosen different lives then she would have found him in a different way, it was a dream he'd hold until the end. Perhaps keep it to himself. There was no point tormenting her with dreams of what might have been. Then in the darkness, he felt her hand within the grip of his own.
A sudden crack emerged in the darkness and from it emanated absolute brightness. In contrast to the pitch black in which he found himself, it burned his eyes with the sting of a viper strike. Sharpened fangs boring their way into his sensitive eyes. He looked away, it was all he could do to manage the pain. Had they come for him? Had they come for all of them? He gripped the hand inside his own. A show of strength despite the fear. He could find his resolve later.
The uncertainty did not last long, unceremoniously a disheveled looking priest was tossed into the cells beside them. His beard straggled with lines of dirt which seemed more black than brown, his once bright robes now ruddy with the crust of his treatment. The light did not last for long and as he was pushed roughly through the opening Orochi could see he'd become injured, blood trickled from a break in the skin to the side of his head. He was exhausted and wheezed for breath as he babbled nonsensically. The man had been truly and ut
terly defeated. He stumbled as he came through, unable to right himself. “Somebody catch him,” he found himself ordering, “soften his fall.” It was a small mercy yet one he would freely give. Whatever enmity had existed between them surely now must be put aside in the face of a greater foe. Before the light left completely he witnessed shadows rushing to meet the elderly man and steady him before slowly allowing him gently to the ground. He continued to babble incomprehensible nonsense. Then it all happened at once. The girl who had been his prisoner and was now a prisoner of the crown, who had quietly been seeking comfort in the arms of the boy she could love yet never love let out a yelp. In the darkness he heard her scrambling toward the ancient man.
“Master!” She shrieked. “Master, are you alright? She moved toward him with ferocious speed. “When I could not sense you I feared the worst and yet here you are.” All around her, condemned men moved with interest to better witness the happenings around them.
“Leave him be” yelled a man he vaguely recognised from his voice. “The man is done for, the last thing he needs is some wailin’ woman sniveling over his corpse before he's even cold.” There were several jeers, she roundly ignored them and the comment both, instead remaining squarely focused on the man now lay upon the wooden floorboards.
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