by Clayton Wood
“What do we do?”
“There's two holes in the hull,” Kyle explained, his teeth chattering. He hugged his arms to his chest. “We need to patch them up before I run out of magic.”
“Got it.” Slim frowned then. “How much time we got kid?” Kyle paused, mulling it over. Once he got all of the water out, he could drastically decrease the amount of magic he was streaming to each gravity field. He only needed to keep the ocean out, after all...and he didn't want to suck Slim and Guns through the holes.
“Ten minutes maybe,” Kyle estimated. He glanced down; the hull was nearly empty now. In fact, the water line was below the holes now; no more water was being sucked out. He cut back on the two magic streams carefully, until water started pouring back in. He increased the streams slightly, then waved at Slim and Guns.
“Move back,” he urged. Then he flew up through the hole, hovering above it. Both men stared at him, their jaws slack. “Drop the wood through the hole,” Kyle instructed. They both nodded, then ran out into the damp hallway, to two large heaps of wooden boards. They grabbed an armful at a time, lugging the wood to the hole and dropping it through. It wasn't long before all of the wood had been tossed down to the hull.
“How you gonna get us down there?” Slim asked. Kyle extended a hand.
“Grab your hammer and nails,” he replied. “Then grab on to me. I won't let you fall.”
“If you say so kid,” Slim muttered. He reached down for his hammer, tucking it in his pants, then grabbed a large bag of nails. He reached out to Kyle, and was immediately sucked in by the gravity boots' stabilization fields. Kyle dropped quickly through the hole in the floor, flying up to the leftmost breach. The water line was right below it...there was nothing for Slim to stand on.
“Set me down on that cross-beam,” Slim ordered, pointing to one of the thick, wide wooden support beams running horizontally across the hull. There was one right below the hole, immersed in a few inches of water. Kyle complied, setting Slim down there. Slim clung to the next highest cross-beam with one hand, handing Kyle his bag of nails. “Take these, and hand them out when I tell you.” He pointed down at one of the long planks of wood floating on the water. “Get me that, but get Guns here first.”
Kyle nodded, flying back up the hole to his bedroom. He carried Guns to the support beam, on the other side of the hull breach. Slim asked for a piece of wood, and Kyle retrieved one. Slim held it on one end, Guns on the other, crossing the very bottom of the hole. Kyle gave both a nail on request, and they made quick work of securing it to the hull. They repeated the process, nailing the next plank to the one below to force them as close together as possible, then securing it to the hull. And so it went, until the entire hole was covered.
“That'll do it,” Slim stated. “Feet are frozen,” he added ruefully, lifting one foot out of the water and shaking it. He turned to Guns. “Shimmy on to the next one.”
The two sailors did just that, patching the hole the same way they had the first time. By the time they were done, Kyle was nearly out of magic, only maintaining his streams with the greatest of effort.
“Drop the left one,” Slim told Kyle. “But be ready to put it back up.” Kyle nodded, slowly decreasing that magic stream. To his dismay, water wept around the top, but even when he cut his magic stream, the patch otherwise held. He repeated the process for the right one, and got a similar result. Slim grinned, punching Guns on the shoulder.
“Well ain't that the purdiest thing you ever saw!” Slim declared. He turned to Kyle. “Now get me on deck so they can amputate my feet.”
“Hold up,” Guns stated. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing down. Kyle followed his finger, spotting something lying at the bottom of the deck. He flew over to it, realizing that it was the backpack that had gone missing. He picked it up, slinging it over his shoulders, then brought Guns and Slim back up through the hole in the ceiling. They made their way to the stairs, both Slim and Guns limping – and complaining about their frozen feet – the whole time, but in a good-natured sort of way. They reached the end of the upper hallway, and opened the door to step out onto the deck of the Defiance. The Captain and Grotes were both standing at the right of the ship, directing sailors into the lifeboats.
“Hold up!” Slim shouted, limping toward the Captain. “Bring 'em back on deck!” The Captain and Grotes turned, staring at Slim.
“Explain,” the Captain ordered.
“Guts here drained the water right outta the ship,” Slim declared, wrapping an arm around Kyle's shoulders. “Guns 'n me patched the hull. We're afloat!”
“You drained the entire ship?” Grotes exclaimed in disbelief. He glanced across the deck to the ocean, then turned to the Captain. “We are riding higher, Captain.” The Captain nodded, glancing toward the rear of the Defiance. The warship was a little farther away than before.
“Put a hold on lowering the lifeboats,” he shouted. He turned to Grotes. “Keep putting the crew in the lifeboats,” he told the First Mate. “Hold them there until we're sure we’re not taking on more water.”
“Yes Captain.”
The Captain turned to Kyle, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“You, my young friend,” he stated, “...just saved every soul on this ship.” He smiled then...an expression that looked out-of-place on the surly Captain’s face. “Thank you.”
Chapter 19
Kalibar yawned, sitting up in his bed. He glanced at his clock, discovering with dismay that it was only five o'clock in the morning. He'd gone to bed late the previous night...or more accurately, earlier this morning. He'd canceled most of his meetings yesterday, spending the majority of his day and night reading in the Runic Archives. Then he'd come here, to his bedroom, to continue reading.
About Orja. About Verhan.
Very little historical information survived regarding the enigmatic continent and its capitol city. Apparently even the Ancients had been mostly ignorant of the place. Only the coastline of the continent – rumored to be even larger than their own – had been explored. Verhan and its surrounding cities had been accepted as colonies of the Empire in the last decade of the Ancients’ reign. Renowned for its legendary diamond mines, Verhan had offered a lucrative boon to the Ancient Empire, in exchange for inclusion into the most powerful and influential government in the world. After the Ancients had been destroyed by Sabin's armies, Verhan – indeed, all of Orja – had been all but forgotten.
Kalibar sighed, stretching his neck from side to side. He considered going back to sleep, but decided against it. He'd spent hours lying in bed staring at the ceiling before finally sleeping, his mind continuing to race long after he'd stopping reading. Now he found himself doing the same, and he knew that there was no chance of him falling back to sleep. Luckily, he was more than accustomed to sleep deprivation. A good night's sleep was not a luxury Grand Weavers typically enjoyed.
He sat up again, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed, then standing up. He stretched his arms, then his back, feeling none of the stiffness and soreness he'd grown accustomed to for the past ten years. He hadn't felt it since that night, about two weeks ago, when he'd been given back his eyes. He suspected that Ampir had done much more than just give him his sight back – and the ability to see magic.
Kalibar yawned again, walking the short distance to his master bathroom. He stood before the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Brown eyes stared back, crow's feet sprouting from the corners, shallow horizontal lines crossing his forehead. His white hair, not yet washed or combed, sprung in wild tufts from his scalp. He raised his chin up, noting with dismay the wrinkles in his neck.
He looked old.
He sighed, turning away from the mirror. He seldom engaged in such foolishness, contemplating his appearance. Probably because he still felt as though he were in his thirties, young and full of life, an infinity of days ahead of him. His reflection told the depressing truth: time was ever marching forward, and his body was slowly betraying him. He
recalled the first time he'd spotted a bit of gray in his beard, the shock that had been. The first wrinkles. Of tugging on his skin, trying to flatten those wrinkles out, only to watch them spring back again when he let go. The realization that, though he felt no different than he always had, he was getting older.
Vain, that, to never expect it could happen to him.
Kalibar stepped forward into the shower stall, then heard a chime coming from his bedroom. He turned about, walking back to his bed, spotting the communication orb on his nightstand glowing faintly. He grabbed his bathrobe, putting it on hastily and walking quickly into his main suite, toward the front entrance. He saw High Weaver Urson standing behind the transparent front door, dressed in his usual black and silver uniform. Kalibar rushed to open the door.
“Grand Weaver,” Urson greeted tersely, saluting sharply.
“At ease,” Kalibar ordered. “What's going on?”
“Your children were not on the second ship that left port today, the Explorer,” Urson replied. “A group of Battle-Weavers flew on the Defiance’s route. We found the remains of a Verhanian military warship along that route.”
“Go on.”
“We found and questioned the few remaining survivors. They claim they had orders to intercept the Defiance, destroy its cargo, and apprehend its captain, who has been found guilty of smuggling illegal goods into Verhan and bribing customs officials.”
“So what happened?”
“The warship attacked, the Defiance was crippled,” Urson explained. “Then a girl and a boy attacked the warship and destroyed it using magic.” He hesitated. “They matched your children’s’ descriptions,” he added, “...accounting for their likely disguises.”
“What?” Kalibar exclaimed. “They destroyed an entire ship?”
“Yes sire,” Urson replied. “The Defiance managed to escape with only a mizzen-mast left standing, and multiple confirmed hits to its hull.”
“But your men haven't found it yet?”
“No,” Urson confirmed.
“Thank you Urson,” Kalibar said. He hesitated, then put a hand on Urson’s shoulder. “Don’t let word get out that my children destroyed that warship,” he instructed. “The last thing we need now is an international incident.”
“Yes Grand Weaver.”
Urson saluted, then left the suite as quickly as he had come. After the door had shut behind the High Weaver, Kalibar closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in and letting it out slowly. His heart was still pounding in his chest.
They're alive.
He turned away from the door, walking to one of his couches and sitting down. He put his face in his hands for a long moment, then leaned back in the couch, staring up at the crystalline ceiling above. Kyle and Ariana were alive. The Defiance had been crippled, and still had not been found, but it had escaped the warship. And even if it had taken too much damage and sunk, Kyle had brought his gravity boots. They were safe. They had to be safe.
Unless...
They were still in international waters, wanted criminals almost certainly being hunted by a fleet of Verhanian warships. In an all-but-incapacitated cargo ship.
Kalibar stood up from the couch, feeling suddenly restless. He turned about, looking at the suite all around him. The spotless granite floors, the marble columns extending all the way to the sloping transparent roof above. Riches everywhere he looked, the trappings of an emperor. Any man who first set eyes on this room would be struck with awe, but to Kalibar these luxuries were mere distractions. Functionless, useless. Priceless to others, but to him, worthless.
He closed his eyes, picturing his children out there in the ocean somewhere, standing on the deck of a crippled ship. Alone.
He opened his eyes, staring at the finery around him. He imagined the Void Behemoth's fiery gaze melting the stone, setting fire to the furniture. Melting flesh to the bone. Imagined Erasmus, Owens, Lee, the Council...everyone screaming in agony as they burned.
Kalibar sighed heavily, feeling the weight of millions of lives on his shoulders, all of them looking to him to save them.
And what could he do? What could he possibly do?
Defeat was inevitable. Either he sacrificed the ideals of the Empire – freedom, self-determination, cultivation of the inherent excellence of Man – and allowed Sabin to rule, or he upheld those ideals and watched helplessly as the Empire burned. As his friends, his people, and even his children were taken from him.
He was Kalibar, the greatest Battle-Weaver of his generation, perhaps the most celebrated Grand Weaver of the new Empire. The most powerful mortal Weaver in the known world. And yet, for all of his accomplishments – a lifetime of sacrifice for the Empire – he will die helpless. No matter what his decision, he will watch his world, and everything he has fought for, be destroyed.
He has already failed.
Kalibar lowered his gaze to his feet, thinking back to his mansion in Bellingham. How simple life had been then, until a young boy had appeared at his doorstep, mere inches from death. He remembered the wonder in Kyle's eyes as he'd seen magic for the first time. The same wonder when he'd walked into the Great Tower, mesmerized by the inverted lobby. Even now, Kalibar smiled at the memory.
Yes, his life had been simpler in Bellingham, but it had been empty as well. He'd filled his life with duties instead of people. He'd played it safe.
He thought back to Kyle's dreams, about Ampir, the greatest Battle-Runic of all time. Beloved of the Ancient Empire, yet even he did not stop it from being destroyed. He'd chosen his son over all else, and that son had survived. And two thousand years later, Ampir's grandson had returned to this, the new Empire. Kyle's was a life made possible only by the destruction of the Ancients, the end result of Ampir's impossible decision.
Now that boy, Ampir's legacy, was somewhere far away, making his way toward the very man who had destroyed the Ancients. Ampir's grandson, alive only at the expense of the old Empire, was risking his life to save the new one.
And here Kalibar stood, the man whose sole responsibility was to protect the Empire, doing nothing.
* * *
Kyle stabbed his fork into the steaming fish on his plate, eagerly bringing the well-seasoned meat to his mouth. He devoured it with the bare minimum of chewing, swallowing it nearly whole. Then he dipped into the fish again, desperate to sate his incredible hunger. He'd never been so hungry in his life; he knew that it was on account of the incredible amount of magic he'd used only an hour ago. He polished off his plate in minutes, and despite the fact that it’d been heaping with food, he was not nearly satisfied. He looked up, seeing the Captain, Grotes, and Ariana staring at him from across the table.
“I have never seen a man, nor a boy, so ravenous in my life,” the Captain declared. “Get our hero another plate,” he ordered a nearby servant. Within moments, a fresh plate appeared before Kyle, and he dove into it with unfettered delight.
“You aren't eating,” Grotes told Ariana, who had insisted on not being given a plate. Of course she'd been given one anyway, much to her obvious consternation.
“I don't eat,” she stated for the third time. This did not sit well with Grotes, who frowned at her.
“Everyone eats, girl,” he grumbled.
“How long until we get to Verhan?” she asked, changing the subject. Grotes glanced at the Captain, who cleared his throat.
“That has become a complicated question,” the Captain answered. Ariana frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“The warship that attacked us,” the Captain explained, “...was a Verhanian military vessel.” He paused, rapping his knuckles on the table. “It appears I am no longer welcome in Verhan.”
“Wait,” Kyle blurted out between gulps of food. “What do you mean?”
“Besides the fact that we've destroyed a Verhanian warship,” the Captain replied, “...and employed Weavers to do so, no less, I must assume that the warship attacked us on orders.”
“But why?”
&n
bsp; “Well,” the Captain replied, rubbing his chin for a moment. “We have, from time to time, engaged in practices that have been...less than lawful.”
“You're criminals?” Ariana exclaimed, her eyes widening. Grotes put both hands up defensively.
“Hold on,” he interjected. “We've shipped depleted runics to wealthy patrons back in Verhan from time to time, that's all.”
“So you let us attack the good guys?” Ariana exclaimed incredulously. She turned to Kyle. “I don't believe this!”
“The only reason you're still alive is because you did that,” Grotes retorted. “They would’ve killed you without a second thought. You're undocumented Weavers being illegally smuggled into the country.”
“Great,” Ariana muttered.
“And this won't be the last attack,” the Captain piped in. “One doesn't send a single warship to intercept another ship in the deep ocean. I guarantee there are other warships patrolling our route...and that the odds of meeting one will increase the closer we sail to Orja.”
“So unless you're willing to defend us again,” Grotes stated, “...we're all dead men.”
Ariana turned to Kyle, who stared at the tabletop, drumming his fingers on its polished surface. Then he snapped his fingers, looking up.
“We could make the ship invisible,” he declared. All three pairs of eyes stared at him blankly.
“Invisible,” Grotes stated slowly. “The entire ship.”
“Well why not?” Kyle asked. He turned to Ariana. “We could use the invisibility pattern to hide it from the other warships.”
“Kyle, there's no way we could make a field that large,” Ariana protested.
“Why not?” Kyle countered. “It's just a matter of how much magic we use...and I make a lot.” And that was an understatement; Kyle made even more magic than Kalibar now. It was one thing Kyle did better than anyone else.
“But I don't,” Ariana reminded him. “And you have to sleep sometime. We can't keep a field that large going all day and night.”