Soul Forge

by Richard Stephens

  Long days stretched into a dreary week. The relationship between Silurian and Rook deteriorated to an occasional passing hello as they went their separate ways. Rook with Thetis constantly at his ear. Silurian in the company of whomever happened to be around at the time.

  Concerned about their relationship, but even more mindful of Seafarer’s insistence that they needed to act together if they wished to complete their quest, Alhena took Rook aside in an empty hallway, near the galley.

  “Can you not see how your apparent lack of interest affects him?”

  Rook shrugged.

  “Really? Silurian means that little to you? I find that hard to believe.”

  Rook sighed. “Look. I don’t know what he told you, but I suspect, knowing him, it’s very little.”

  “About what?”

  “Aye, I didn’t think so. You don’t know the whole story. Silurian and I have our differences.”

  Alhena leaned on his staff. “That much is obvious, but it does not make sense. You have already touched on the troubles you two had, but that was twenty years ago. What could possibly be so bad that time has not been able to mend it?”

  Rook raised his eyebrows. He blew out a long breath and offered Alhena a fake smile. “I don’t wish to discuss it. Let’s just say we had a fundamental disagreement of irreconcilable proportions.”

  “A fundamental disagreement of—what?” Alhena shook his head. “Whatever happened, you need to realize that to confront Helleden and survive, you must be united. If you two are not operating like you did while part of the Group of Five, I fear our journey to whatever this Soul Forge is will be for naught.”

  Rook lowered his gaze. “You don’t understand.”

  “Oh, I understand alright. I understand that if you cannot see past whatever bad feelings you harbour for each other, this quest is meaningless. You, of all people, should appreciate what you are up against.”

  Rook looked Alhena in the eyes, his own red and watery. “Don’t you think I know that? The firestorm Helleden unleashed on the Innerworld is the last thing I see before I go to sleep at night.” He looked away. “It’s the last thing I see before I wake up again.”

  A galley cook entered the passageway and made his way past them. An awkward silence settled in.

  When the cook disappeared through the door at the end of the hall, Alhena placed a hand on Rook’s shoulder. “You do not need to explain it to me, or to anyone else for that matter. Whatever the cause of this disparity, it is between you two. No one has a right to demand an explanation. But, if we are to have any hope of saving the realm, it is time to put these differences aside. I also lived through a firestorm. I know the damage Helleden is capable of. I beseech you, Rook Bowman, see past your personal conflict. If you don’t, Zephyr is lost.”

  Rook remained quiet. Another cook entered the passageway. When she had gone, Rook wiped his eyes on his sleeve and offered Alhena a weak smile. “Okay. You’re right, my wise friend. I will do what I can.” He swallowed and his voice turned bitter, “I only hope he doesn’t kill us all before we get the chance to make a difference.” He pushed past Alhena and left the passageway.

  Alhena frowned at his receding back. Kill us all?

  The next few days aboard the Gerrymander found Rook spending most of his waking hours in Silurian’s company, whether rowing together or simply standing about the helm, discussing what little they knew to expect if they ever reached the Under Realm.

  The effect on Silurian wasn’t lost on Alhena. He saw it in Silurian’s facial mannerism—melancholy no longer Silurian’s primary look.

  Unfortunately, it became apparent that Rook also wanted to spend time with Thetis. The blonde-haired woman confronted him more than once, pulling him aside and engaging him in heated discussions.

  Rook’s first step back to Thetis was his last toward Silurian.

  The following morning, Silurian waited patiently in the galley for Rook. When noon hour came, he ate his midday meal alone. He spent the afternoon below decks in the sweeps galley, sweating alongside the other quest members. All except Rook and Thetis. By the time the late day meal sat untouched before him, Silurian was halfway into a bottle of spirits.

  When not manning the oars, those aboard Gerrymander attempted to keep busy fishing and sparring. Many of the fiercer sailors took particular joy locking swords with Pollard, trying to defend his massive, two-bladed weapon. They teamed up in groups of two or three just to see how long they could last against the behemoth. They also looked forward to seeing a fellow crewman, or quest member, get pummeled by the big man. The only ones to hold their own against Pollard were Avarick, Silurian, and Olmar with his mighty warhammer, but most on board whispered that Pollard probably took it easy on Silurian.

  The crew enjoyed competing with Avarick and Sadyra as the two attempted to outshoot each other. Avarick’s deadly aim with his crossbow was a sight to behold, while Sadyra, who notably shot left-handed, was equally proficient with her bow. On the days she bested the Enervator, Pollard was sure to let him know about it. Only once had Rook joined in the competition. Avarick and Sadyra, as skilful as they were, were no match for the former leader of the Group of Five once he got his aim back.

  Silurian, for his part, spent the rest of his free time above deck, learning from grizzled tars how to man the rigging—should a breeze ever decide to grace them again. He spent hours crossing swords with Olmar, Avarick and Pollard, appreciating the challenge these seasoned fighters gave him, going to bed every night with sore muscles and fresh bruises. He was finally beginning to feel like his old self again.

  A beefy female sailor, Tara, enjoyed watching the sword play, and locked blades with the best of them. She was no match for Silurian, or Avarick, or indeed the mighty Pollard, but her skills proved far superior to most of the warriors Silurian had engaged with over the years.

  Tara and Silurian started to spend a lot of time together. He taught her some of the finer ways to defend herself with dagger and sword, while she instructed him in the nuances of scrambling about the shrouds, adjusting the block and tackle in such a way that Gerrymander, when under full sail, achieved her best speed.

  Alhena stood off to the side, grimly watching Silurian and Rook drift further apart. The success of their mission, and their very lives, depended on the two men working together. Whatever enchantment Saros’ disciple had on Rook, Alhena was powerless to break its hold. A sense of foreboding filled him.

  When the day came that the sheets filled with wind, instead of being a joyful event, it instilled the quest with the dread of being pushed inexorably toward an unknown fate.

  Captain Thorr topped the steps to the afterdeck after overseeing the raising of Gerrymander’s great sails. The warship leapt gazelle-like over the increasing swells, taking everyone onboard closer to wherever this mysterious portal awaited.

  Approaching the weathered leather map pinned to the chart table, the captain nodded to Olmar at the wheel, and Alhena who spent most of his time hanging out with the helmsman.

  Off to the right side of the featureless section of map sat a polished, triangular, white marble marker showing Gerrymander’s position. They sailed through unchartered waters, somewhere in the middle of the vast Niad Ocean. According to their incomplete map, there wasn’t a sign of land anywhere.

  “I’ve never sailed this far west before,” the captain commented out of hand. “In fact, I don’t know anyone who has sailed this far and been heard from again. According to the charts, there’s nothing to sail to.”

  Alhena adjusted his grip on his staff. “Are we on the right course?”

  “Aye, according to Thetis we are. Ask me not where she takes us, but she’s confident we sail true. She claims the portal is near.”

  “Are Sire Mintaka and Sire Bowman aware of this?”

  The captain shrugged. “I would imagine Rook is, surely. Silurian? Who knows?”

  “We must gather the quest. Thetis needs to explain what we are about to face,” Alhena s
tated. “Do either of you know where I can find Sire Mintaka?”

  “Aye.” All eyes followed Olmar’s sausage-sized finger. “‘e spends his free time aloft in the foremast crow’s nest, if’n he ain’t bein’ dragged about the riggin’ by Tara. Me thinks ‘e’s lookin’ for the end of the world.”

  Be Wary

  Silurian stepped from the last rung of the rigging, swinging onto the deck like a seasoned hand. He wore a heavy woollen, grey sweater given to him by Tara. It was cool upon the open deck, but it was considerably colder in the ship’s forward aerie. He walked aft, acknowledging and mock saluting every sailor he passed, wondering why the captain had sent for him. He hadn’t spotted anything on the horizon.

  Climbing to the helm’s deck, more people than just the captain and Olmar awaited his arrival. The prevailing winds played havoc with Alhena’s grey hair and tossed Thetis’ blonde mane all about. Pollard’s great bulk towered over Rook and Sadyra. Beside them, an impatient Enervator and several of Gerrymander’s officers watched his arrival.

  Must be important, if she is here, he mused and came to a stop in front of the chart table. He glanced at Alhena, then Avarick, Pollard, Sadyra, Olmar, and finally Thorr. He purposely avoided Rook and Saros’ disciple.

  When nobody spoke, he raised his eyebrows at the captain, but it was Alhena’s voice that rose above the wind and creaking rigging.

  “I summoned the quest together so Thetis can explain what to expect when we reach the portal.”

  Without preamble, she said, “According to Thorr’s charts, the portal approaches nigh.”

  Silurian cast a furtive glance at the useless charts. They were blank.

  “Though these eyes have never witnessed the event, Saros’s words were explicit. The portal’s mystical properties will attempt to numb your mind. If it gets into your head, it will steal your soul.”

  Everyone around the chart table fidgeted.

  “According to Saros, if you are not strong enough, you will be sucked into its vortex and be forever lost. Your soul will fuel the eye of its power, so, be wary.”

  Be wary? Silurian almost choked on the absurdity of the statement. He also felt a pang of emotion for his long-deceased friend and Group of Five member, Alcyonne. Be wary used to be his catch phrase, although in his native tongue, it was, ‘yaw bre.’

  “I cannot stress this enough. Whatever you do, do not gaze into the mist that will invade the ship when the portal takes hold. Do not give into the insatiable desire that will try to wrest control of your thoughts. It will seduce you into gazing into its fury. No matter what voices you believe you hear, do not be deceived. Should you ignore this warning, you will be lost to us.”

  “What of my ship?” Captain Thorr asked.

  “Of that, I cannot say. Be assured, however, there is a reason I chose Gerrymander. Pray it’s strong enough to withstand the portal’s fury, else we’re all lost.”

  Captain Thorr cast his eyes over the bow, to the great expanse of rolling sea. Swallowing, he turned to Olmar. “When we reach the portal, I want you at the helm. You must keep us safe.”

  “Aye, sir,” Olmar responded without hesitation.

  “Once in the portal’s grip,” Thetis interjected, “you’ll have no need of tiller, nor sail. The sheets must be lowered the moment we feel the first sign of transition.”

  The captain looked indignant. “Gerrymander will not be left unguided.”

  Alhena interrupted, “This transition. What are we to expect?”

  Thetis turned her indigo eyes on Alhena. “Saros didn’t elaborate any more than I have said, except, perhaps, that the seductiveness of the transition maelstrom is more intense at night.”

  Thorr bristled. “What does that mean?”

  “The colours of the vortex are more definitive during darkness?” Thetis shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Vortex? We be ‘avin’ a choice when t’ enter the blasted thing?” Olmar asked.

  Thetis shrugged again.

  An uneasy silence settled over the helm’s deck.

  Finally, Thorr said, “Unless there is anything else to add?” He glanced at Thetis who said nothing. “Then we are done here.”

  The captain pulled Ithnan and Ithaman aside. “Make sure the entire crew knows what to expect. I’d rather frighten them now than lose them later.”

  As the sun dropped low in the western sky, a violent spasm shook the Gerrymander.

  The Portal

  By the time Alhena returned to the helm’s deck after supper, the captain, Silurian, and Olmar were already standing against the aft railing, scanning the darkening horizon.

  At first, he didn’t detect the change in the atmosphere, but the unmanned wheel, the sails furled upon their shroud arms, and the fact that the ship leapt across the waves at a fair clip, informed him something strange was afoot. Gerrymander sped along, caught in the grip of the portal.

  The ship veered slightly south of its own volition, the sudden change in direction causing everyone to brace themselves.

  An ethereal bank of mist had materialized upon the horizon ahead of them, shrouding the setting sun.

  Captain Thorr ordered the decks clear of all but essential personnel while Olmar approached the great wheel, ready to wrest control should Gerrymander get herself into trouble. The helmsman’s warhammer was strapped across his back

  When Ithnan, Ithaman, Avarick and Pollard appeared on the afterdeck to report the ship was secure, Thorr said, “Excellent. And what of Thetis?”

  “We know not, captain.” Pollard said, eyeing the wall of mist. The last of the natural light had faded from the world, leaving the Gerrymander illuminated eerily by the faint, orange haze.

  The ship moved through the waves faster than it had ever sailed before. Thankfully, the swells had fallen away, leaving the ocean’s surface still.

  Alhena’s hair whipped about his head. Staring intently, he recalled Thetis’ warning not to look at the mist. The others were doing likewise, sheltering their eyes behind raised arms—the impinging mist approaching fast. He fought the urge to snatch a quick peek.

  Realizing that this was but the beginning of their worries, he shouted into the wind created by the ship’s passage, “Everyone, below deck. Our curiosity is our doom.” He stumbled toward the stairs, struggling not to glance at the coming maelstrom.

  No one followed his lead.

  He walked back a couple of steps, “Do you forget Thetis’ warning?” He pointed at the empty masts. “There is nothing you can do out here. The sails and tiller are useless.”

  Thorr raised his thick eyebrows. “As captain of this ship, I need to be ready the moment Gerrymander steals free of the portal.”

  “I’m t’ see our course true,” Olmar piped in. “I remain alongside cap’n ‘til the storm, or I, perish.”

  No one else spoke.

  Exasperated, Alhena’s gaze beseeched Pollard for assistance with Silurian.

  Pollard shook his massive head. “I have been entrusted by the Songsbirthian council with the welfare of Sire Mintaka and Sire Bowman. My duty is to stand before them in the face of peril. I will remain above deck if Silurian chooses to stay.”

  Avarick, standing beside the big man, crossed his arms.

  Alhena considered the stubborn men as the first tendrils of orange mist crept across the foredeck. He threw his hands in the air and descended the port staircase. Fools.

  By the time he reached the rear galley door, an orange fog washed across his face—the mist sweet on his lips. The eerie feeling wasn’t unpleasant. He closed his eyes as a blissful sensation crawled across his skin. Strange whispers called out to him—entreating him to open his eyes. He desired nothing more than to lie down and enjoy the seductive sensations infusing his body.

  Gerrymander’s prow sent twin geysers of spray aft as it altered its course, soaking him from overtop of the galley roof. It startled him back to reality.

  He sat against the outside wall of the galley, licking the sweet ichor from
his lips. He glanced around in horror. The invasive mist had enveloped the entire ship, most of it lost to sight. What was he doing? He closed his eyes again and stood up, fumbling to open the door. Voices whispered ever so softly, calling to him, pleading with him.

  He struggled with the latch. It shouldn’t be this hard to open the door. It seemed as if he watched himself through a dream, his movements sluggish and exaggerated. When the door gave way he almost didn’t have the capacity to step through. Concentrating as much as his faraway thoughts would permit, he closed the door behind him.

  He placed his back against the door and slid to the floor. If he could only shut out the voices echoing within his head.

  Silurian faced the stern as the feathery caress of the orange fog tickled his cheeks. He stood defiantly with the others who had opted to weather the portal’s fury. The mist crept over him, massaging the tenseness from his taut muscles. It beaded upon his lips, sickly sweet. Curiosity turned him to face the bow. Gerrymander was obscured by the strange haze.

  “Sire,” came Avarick’s muted voice. The man had been standing right beside him a moment ago.

  “Avarick?” Silurian slowly turned in circles, unable to see anyone through the fog.

  The sweet mist enticed him to lick his lips. He tried to stop himself, but as soon as the thought entered his mind, it was gone again. His tongue lapped at the sweet nectar.

  Dammit. He caught himself. He stopped turning in circles. Without appreciating the movement, he vaguely understood that he was sitting on the deck.

  Deep down he was aware that Gerrymander had lost speed. A soft, melodic humming permeated his flailing thoughts, distracting him further. Unbeknownst to him, he fell over sideways and sprawled onto his back. Eyes closed, the ethereal mist numbed his mind.

  He let forth a shout and sat bolt upright, his breath coming in spurts. This was wrong. He searched the mist, seeing nothing but the impenetrable orange blanket.

  Voices echoed along the fringes of his consciousness. Was that Pollard?