Shadowrun - Earthdawn - Longing Ring

by kubasik

  "Grim," Captain Patrochian said, suddenly behind them. Her voice was brisk, as always when J'role was "on duty." "Need more coals for the paddle wheel."

  He nodded and rushed off, with barely a glance to Voponis.

  The coals were kept in small boxlike containers of a golden metal called orichalcum. The orichalcum could contain magical elements, such as the coals of elemental fire used to power the paddle wheel and fire the snip's guns.

  The ship had forty such containers, and Releana told J'role that they were as valuable as the magical fire elements within. She explained that there were magical elements for fire, earth, wood, water, and air. Orichalcum, an enchanted earth alloy, made transportation of the elements safe. She had never seen the boxes before, but had been told about them. All magicians, she said, knew about them, and most sought out containers made from the metal.

  The boxes were stored in neat stacks of two layers, four deep and five across. They were cold to the touch, but J'role knew some contained fiery coals that perpetually burned until released from their boxes for use in conjunction with magic.

  Boxes that were empty remained on their side, with the small square door on one side left open. Bending down to pick up one of the filled boxes, he suddenly heard voices coming through the wall in a neighboring hold. One he recognized as Nikronallia’s. The other was familiar, but he couldn't place it immediately. Curious, J'role leaned closer to the wall, finding a crack that let him peer between two boards.

  "Have you spoken to the crew, as I told you?" asked Garlthik One-Eye. He sat on a pile of stained tarps, his thick, gray-green body reclining on the cloth like some decadent king holding court. J'role nearly gasped out loud.

  "Those I trust," answered Nikronallia.

  "And how many is that?" Garlthik seemed bored with the question, as if Nikronallia was certain to disappoint him.

  J’role watched with fascination as Nikronallia twitched with concern and tried to please the one-eyed ork. "Most. All but seven. Most can't stand her flaunting of the customs."

  "And the Breeton meets with the dwarven envoys tomorrow?"

  "Aye. We must—"

  "We will. Tonight. We can't risk word of the mutiny traveling downriver ahead of us. But tonight ... in the darkness. There will be no time for warning to reach the other ship."

  "The dwarfs will be the ruin of us all ...," the t'skrang said bitterly, looking down at the ground.

  Garlthik shrugged and stood up. "Not my concern," he said. Nikronallia opened his mouth to speak, and Garlthik raised his hand. "I told you I'd help you," he said. "I needed passage across the river, and this is my fare. But I don't care who rules. I just want their money. Now, of course, I want the boy." "And you shall nave him."

  Garlthik blinked at him. "Do you think I need your permission?”

  "No."

  "Then grant me no favors. And once the dwarfs are dead, you'll sail us to Throal."

  "But . . ."

  "We'll all go That's where I'm headed. But kill the father and the other one during the mutiny. I just want them gone."

  Nikronallia nodded.

  Garlthik paced absently, and then smiled. "To think I should stumble across the boy this way. When you came down to tell me he was on board ..."

  "And you will kill the captain? Tonight?" The fear in the t’skrang’s voice revealed why Garlthik was necessary for this mutiny. Apparently no one on the ship felt capable of taking Captain Patrochian’s life. "Tell me when."

  Nikronallia hesitated, as if he had one more question to ask but could not bring himself to do it.

  "I'm as good as you've heard," Garlthik said impatiently. "Your captain shall sleep in her own blood this night. Have no fear."

  "She is ..."

  "She is dead by my hands. Consider it already done."

  Nikronallia hesitated again, his departure imminent, but delayed. "How did the boy escape you then?"

  A terrible ire crossed Garlthik's face, but then his expression softened to something pitiable. "That magician you told me about. He has an affinity with the Horrors. There are some things even I am afraid of."

  Nikronallia’s wide eyes widened more, then he nodded and left.

  Fearful of being caught, J'role quickly pulled away from the crack, searching for some excuse to look busy.

  He remembered the request for the fire coals, and reached down and picked up one of the golden boxes. His breathing felt tight in his chest as he walked toward the door and turned the thick metal ring to open it. Everything done plainly, easily. See. Not doing anything. Just an errand. Captain told me to.

  He stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind him.

  He turned. Down the corridor stood Nikronallia, staring at him.

  23

  One nightmare comes back to him regularly. When he wakes, it is vivid in his memory.

  Sometimes it is the only thing he can think about for the rest of the day.

  In the nightmare Charneale arrives at J'role's home in the kaer. The door slams abruptly open. The magician is laughing maniacally. J'role's mother is at Charneale's feet, weeping and screaming for mercy. But her words are not words. They are the same strange sounds J'role makes when he opens his mouth.

  "It is time," the magician intones, and from his chest pours countless rocks. They rush out onto the floor, like water poured into a cup.

  Just before he is smothered by the rocks, J'role is suddenly transported to the Atrium. His mother now stands in the fountain. The statue of Garlen hovers behind her, but the statue is covered with a thick tarp. The spirit of Garlen should never witness what is about to happen.

  J'role and Nikronallia stood facing each other in the corridor neither moving, both their faces expressionless. J'role was certain that Nikronallia somehow knew that he had overheard the conversation with Garlthik.

  But as the moment stretched on, J'role realized that Nikronallia stared at him not from knowledge, but from uncertainty. He didn't know if J'role had overheard him plotting with Garlthik. And so the two of them stood, the tall, thin boy and the reptilian sailor, each waiting for the other to make an accusation.

  When the suspense became unbearable, they nodded to one another, a terse greeting designed to force the issue. As they mirrored each other, they both relaxed, each believing they were after all, safe. Each added a stiff smile, and then both turned and walked casually away in different directions.

  J’role’s hands felt awkward and clumsy holding the golden box. He carried it toward the paddle wheel room, desperately sorting out what should be his next action. He knew he had to warn Captain Patrochian, but Nikronallia had said most of the crew would soon betray her. He couldn't reveal his knowledge of their plan by acting suspiciously. The captain had given him a task, and he had to carry through on it. Then he could return to her, as if for another assignment.

  How would he tell her?

  He slammed the thought shut. That wasn't the problem now. For now all he had to do was seem calm and unconcerned. Two sailors approached, laughing and chatting in the native t'skrang tongue. Their enjoyment ceased as they stared at him. He'd seen the same looks over the last several days, knew they reacted to him this way because he was mute and because of their superstition. And yet...

  Did they know something? Were these two part of the plot to kill the captain? Releana?

  His father?

  The sailors passed, talking once more, though it sounded to J'role as if they used softer tones now.

  Soon he reached the ship's engine room. It was located at the back of the riverboat, a large room with a massive metal container—the engine. The container was as thick and hot as the belly of a dragon. The engine, the t'skrang said, was a gift from Upandal, the passion of construction. No other race had been so blessed.

  From either side of the engine extended long, thick wooden poles that disappeared through holes in the back of the ship. J'role knew that the ends of the poles attached to the paddle wheel. Driven by the engine, the poles m
oved back and forth, sending the paddle wheel round and round, and thus moving the ship through the water.

  A t’skrang, dressed in a velvet robe covered with images of water and flames, smiled as J'role approached. Although he was part of the Breeton's crew, this was not a sailor but the ship's magician. "Good," the t'skrang said in dwarven. "Good." He took the box from I' role and carried it to the engine. There he opened the box. Heat bellowed out, the air above the opening shimmering. The magician spoke some words and waved his hand over the elemental fire.

  Then he grabbed a thick wooden handle on the engine and yanked it up. A door opened to reveal an interior full of blazing red light and scathing heat. For a moment J'role stood transfixed by the sight; the blaze seemed to beckon with the promise of enclosing safety, but at the same time the overpowering heat within the metal walls made him tremble with fear. To find safety in the engine was to be consumed.

  The magician threw the contents of the box into the engine and the flames roared, a blast of new heat rushing from the interior. J'role watched the magician staring into the flames, apparently very pleased, still holding the box that J'role was to return to the store room.

  He walked up to the magician and tugged on his elaborate sleeve.

  The magician whirled, glowering at J'role, then handed him the box without a word.

  J’role rushed out of the room and down the corridors toward the storeroom where the orichalcum boxes were stored. He would have preferred to go straight to the captain, but carrying the box around on the upper decks would have raised too many suspicions.

  Several sailors eyed him as he ran past, and J'role couldn't be certain if it was from suspicion or curiosity, but he no longer cared. Nightfall was only a few hours away, and that was when Garlthik said the mutiny was to begin.

  He returned the box to the storeroom, then ran to find Captain Patrochian.

  Passing throughout the twisting corridors and out along the ledges of the ship, J'role encountered many t'skrang sailors. He couldn't help but wonder if they were part of the mutiny. Finally he reached the captain's quarters and knocked on the door, hoping desperately to find her here. "Come in," Captain Patrochian said.

  He entered to find her sitting behind her desk, quill pen in hand, ledger set out before her.

  "Grim," she said, obviously surprised to see him. She studied the concern on his face.

  "What is it?"

  J'role closed the door behind him, wondering how was he going to do this. Some matters were too complicated for gestures ...

  Betrayal ...

  She stood up, anxious now. "What is it?"

  He raised his hands, as if an idea would come to him if he started gesturing. But his mind was as blank as before.

  She waited. She wanted to understand. He could see that in her eyes so clearly. All he had to do was try, and she would try as well.

  He looked around the room, searching for an object he might use to represent Nikronallia.

  Swords. Maps. The ledger. Her hat. The windows on either side of the ship; wooden frames with small panes of glass. The four-posted bed with the yellow and scarlet sheets.

  A panic rose up in him. He saw nothing that might help.

  He looked back at her. "Grim," she said, "I have—“

  He slammed his hand on the desk, desperate to make her understand that what he had to communicate was exceedingly urgent. She pulled back, startled, then leaned in again. She swallowed. "Do you want me to get one of the others? Will they be able to understand you?"

  A knock came at the door The captain moved toward it quickly, then opened it to reveal Nikronallia framed in the doorway. As the captain stepped aside to let him enter, the t'skrang sailor's eyes locked with J'role's.

  "Nikronallia, Grim has something apparently urgent he wants to tell me," Patrochian said crisply. "Do you know of anything wrong on board?"

  Nikronallia looked hard at J'role, then said. "No.”

  "I'm going to get his companions. They might be able to help decipher his concerns. Keep an eye on him, and J'role, keep trying." Without further ado she rushed out of the cabin, shutting the door behind her.

  Nikronallia and J'role watched her energetic departure, then turned back to one another.

  "So you are concerned about something, are you?"

  J'role swallowed. Nodded.

  Nikronallia took a step closer, cocking his head to one side, "What is it?"

  J'role shrugged, not knowing what else to do.

  "Oh, now it seems less important than a moment ago?" Nikronallia leaned his head forward now, intent. "You little curse," he said softly. "Let's see. If you ... tried to steal the ledgers, I caught you, we fought a… Yes." Suddenly Nikronallia drew a dagger. "It's a shame your parents didn't drown you at birth and save me the trouble.” He lunged toward J'role.

  "He's killing me," his mother panted, trying to keep her grip on the knife and scramble back up.

  "He's just a boy. Our son."

  "A monster. He speaks with the voice of a monster. I can't listen to him anymore. Please.

  Please, let me kill him …"

  The images stunned J'role, and he froze in place as Nikronallia’s knife plunged deep into his chest, the warm metal splitting his flesh, fat, and muscle. J'role gave out a dry gasp, his arms flailing wide, and he saw blood gush from his body to spray Nikronallia and the objects around the room a deep red. Nikronallia grinned wide, and jerked the dagger out.

  A new pain, hot and jagged, cut across J'role's chest, spreading over his body like sunlight on a warm day.

  He turned and stumbled away. He felt his life leaving him, and was suddenly terrified. An incredible loss came over him, for he had seen the elves and met Captain Patrochian and was on his way to Throal and no longer lived among the villagers who despised him, and had made friends with Releana...

  For so much of his life he'd wanted to die, but now he wanted to live. He didn't know how things would turn out, if he would ever get his voice back, if he would ever truly be happy .. . But he wanted to find out.

  For the first time in his life he wanted to grow older and see what life held.

  He stumbled across the room and pulled his hands away from the wound in his chest.

  Alien and red, his hands caught the sun's light through the nearby window and turned bright and shiny.

  He glanced back. Nikronallia approached, stalking carefully, forcing J'role into the corner. "Make it easier for both of us. I can finish you quick."

  "He's right, boy," the creature in his thoughts said. "End it now. Surrender. Oh, did I ever tell you what happened when you were seven years old? I can't tell you unless you ask.

  Part of a bargain."

  J'role turned away from Nikronallia and shut his thoughts to the creature. Though it babbled and taunted him, he heard none of the words. The pain helped in this regard.

  To his left was a window, its dozens of glass panes separated by wooden frames. Outside, hanging from some unknown point, the end of a rope.

  He drew in a dry, raspy breath, then charged forward. As he smashed through the glass, J'role heard Nikronallia gasp from behind him. The sound of the shattering glass echoed terribly in his ears, and the shards cut across him like the elf queen's thorns.

  Even as he jumped J'role drew the magic around him, extending his hands, becoming alone once more. He caught the rope as he flew forward, the momentum carrying him away from the ship. Below the water roiled wildly, brown and bubbling. He swung around the rear of the boat saw, the paddle wheel churning. He wanted to swing just above the wheel, but felt his grip already slipping. The pain tired his arms.

  "Just let yourself die," the creature said.

  Ahead J'role saw another rope. He could reach it. Maybe. He didn't know.

  He tried to regulate his bathing, to calm himself. To focus only on the rope ... The thief magic spoke to him: Need no one. Depend on no one. Love no one, and let none love you.

  He drew in a breath, reached out a hand ...
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  His rope jerked back, taking him just out of reach.

  He stretched as far as he could.

  Got it!

  He looked up and saw Nikronallia slicing through the rope with his dagger.

  J'role's hopes drained out of him like his blood. The rope snapped.

  He floated for a moment, a thrilling sensation. Then drops lets of water splashed over him, and the air turned suddenly cool.

  He slammed into one of the paddles, and for a moment the world turned black as his knife wound tore open wider. Moving hurt so much; J'role was desperate for a grip on something.

  The paddle was wet and slick; eight feet across, too big to grip easily. His hands scrambled uselessly for a moment, then he put his trust in the magic. If he lived alone he could survive.