29 Sarnia – 3 Metisto 3020

On their return to the surface the Hand of Fortune found a dazed and bewildered populace stumbling out of their homes into the dawn light. The previous day’s overcast had disappeared during the night, and the new day promised to be clear and hot, Korwin sensed. It seemed that, with the severing of the connection between Novendo and the alien dimension, the mind-altering effects of the aliens had entirely vanished – as had the mysterious obelisk in Fisherman’s Square.

Unfortunately, the townsfolk who had been taken “down underneath” to have their brains stored were not restored, nor were those whose bodies had been worn by the foul invaders. The initial joy in town at their sudden deliverance was quickly tempered by grief when it became clear that some 150 souls had been lost during the terrible episode. Everyone seemed to remember the last several tendays both clearly, and yet with a certain glassy detachment… as if it had all happened to someone else.

“I r’member t’all right clear,” Vidalo Karvek tried to explain to Mariala. She had seen him and his son stumbling, dazed and bewildered, out of a house as the Hand made their way – slowly, for the sake of the man Erol and Devrik carried in their make-shift litter – in search of the residence of the town physician’s. She had realized almost at once who they must be, for the boy bore a strong resemblance to both his sister and his father. “Clear… but more like t’were a story I once heard… not like a real t’ing what ‘appened to me, if’n you take my meaning, Lady.”

She’d been pleased to tell him that his wife and daughter were safe, and where they could be found – a relief to her soul in the face of the night’s horrors. He in turn was able to both identify the injured man as Danir Alvador, the local mercantyler who ran the town’s only chandlery, and to lead them to the sought-after physician. As soon as he’d seen them properly arrived, Vidalo and his son had departed to reunite with their family. From Enab’s Steading the news of the visitor’s work overnight would spread quickly, and by afternoon the entire island would come to know of the town’s rescue.

Once they had delivered their burden safely, Devrik insisted on returning to the caverns to make sure that none of the Mi-Go (as several of the formerly enthralled natives insisted the aliens were named) had survived his sterilization efforts. Erol, Korwin and Toran accompanied him, leaving Vulk and Mariala to address the growing crowd of bewildered and frightened townsfolk, who had begun to gather outside the physician’s house.

Vulk used every trick in the herald’s playbook, as well as all the teachings of the Eldaran Church, to calm, reassure and console the people. By the time the others returned with the welcome news that not a trace of the alien infestation remained, the crowd was ready to begin the process of reclaiming their lives. The grieving could begin, now that the survivors were assured of their safety; but Mariala suspected the nightmares would go on for the rest of their fractured lives.

By noon the Hand were able get away from town and return to the Legate’s manor to report on the nights events. They had discovered two of his men still amongst the living, but had found no trace of his guard captain. The confused memories of the two surviving men indicated that the captain had been heavily involved in planning the ship’s route, but what that route supposed to have been they had no idea… they themselves been mostly used as strong backs for building the vessel.

“A pity,” Legate Charkress sighed on learning of the probable fate of his man. “Frongar was a good man, conscientious and capable. No doubt why those… creatures… found him useful. He also knew a great deal about the geography of the Archipelago and the capabilities of the Imperial military, naval history being a particular hobby of his.

“I wonder if his brain ended up in one of those hideous jars you described…” He looked pale and shaken at the thought. He had listened in horrified fascination as the Hand related the terrifying underground events of the previous night, and he now passed around a crystal decanter of very potent rum. His hands were too unsteady to pour for his guests. “I cannot express my gratitude for what you have done sers , m’lady. I fear the debt which the Empire, indeed the world, owes you can never be wholly repaid in this matter, but what ever I can do, rest assured I shall!”

“Well, we just did what any group of highly trained and personally powerful professional adventurers would have done, my lord,” Korwin said modestly. “But it’s nice to be appreciate, ser. As for reward… what are your plans for that ship in your harbor?”

As it turned out, neither the Legate nor any of the townsmen wanted anything to do with the “accursed nightmare ship” and were more than happy to let the Hand of Fortune take it off their quay and their thoughts. Korwin immediately took on the job of getting the vessel fully seaworthy. Thankfully, most of the final outfitting work had already been completed — the ship would have been ready to sail in a day or two. Less good was the fact that none of the townsfolk seemed now to remember anything of the shipwright’s arts… nor wished to set foot on the vessel again, even if they did.

Fortunately, Korwin and the local fishing fleet had enough expertise, between them, to suffice for what remained to be done… even if would take them a bit longer without the efficiency alien mind control and implanted knowledge. The water mage had been worried that finding a crew might prove impossible, but once it was learned that the heroes of the hour would be sailing away in the ominous vessel, a trickle of islanders desperately wishing to get off of Arapet became, if not a flood, at least a solid stream.

One exception to the general feeling of loathing evoked by the ship was Yonas Grünbay. A retired merchant sailor of 60, he had returned to his native island after a full career at sea — almost 40 years before the mast. Childless, and a widower now in the wake of the recent tragedy, there was nothing holding him to Arapet, and too many memories driving him away.

“And whatever her origins, she’s a right beauty,” he’d told Korwin when he approached the mage the next day, as he was beginning to assess the task he faced. “Tightest ship I’ve seen in two score years at sea, Ser, and I’d be more’n happy to be yer mate for the chance to sail her… as long as ’tis far from this acursed island.”

The man was certainly right about the tightness of the vessel. Korwin had just come up from the bilges himself, and been shocked at the almost total absence of water there. All ships leaked to some extent, and new ships were notorious for the amount of water they took on until everything settled into place, with time and usage. But not this ship – and he rather expected that she’d remain tight under sail.

With a few minutes of questioning Korwin quickly realized what a gem he’d lucked across. Although he had studied under a master shipwright, and knew his way around the basics of building and maintaining a vessel, the water mage knew his own limitations. Growing up in a fishing village, in a fishing family, he was certainly a passable sailor; he was even a member of the Pilot’s Guild (although he suspected his dues were probably somewhat in arrears by now). Nonetheless, having a man who had spent his life aboard ship, serving as everything from deck boy to mate, would be a godsend. Or maybe a goddessend…

He accepted Yonas’ offer with alacrity, and immediately turned over the task of interviewing the growing line of people, mostly young men, who wished to sign on. “It’s a relief,” he assured his compatriots over supper that night with the Legate. “He’ll do a much better job than I would’ve, sorting out the utterly hopeless from the merely clueless. I just hope we can find enough likely candidates to properly man the — hey, what are we going to name her, anyway? She has to have a name!”

“Well, The Norn seems like an obvious choice,” Toran offered. “If it wasn’t for his direction we never would have come here in time. So if we’re really taking possession of the thing, maybe we should name it after her.”

“A ship is always a “she,” my non-sea-faring Khundari lout, never an “it”!”” Korwin corrected his friend, laughing. “But that’s actually not a bad name.”

“Yes,” agreed Devrik, reluctantly. “But I feel it’s really Kasira we should be thanking for this victory… and so many of our others, too. Besides, no one else in the world has ever heard of the Norn, nor are they ever likely to. Maybe a better name would be something like… Kasira’s Wind?”

“I think you’re on the right track,” Vulk said, smiling. “But frankly, that sounds like the Lady is passing gas. How about… Wind of Kasira, instead?”

There was a brisk discussion about which sounded more pleasing to the ear, but by the time the dessert wine was being poured a consensus had been reached – Wind of Karsira it would be.

The next day was the first of Metisto and the Shalaran holy day of the Fête of Wisdom. Her friends, with the enthusiastic help of the townsfolks, used the occasion to throw Mariala a belated birthday party. Control of the event quickly slipped out of Vulk’s hands, however, under the relentless enthusiasm of Erala Karvek and her cronies. It quickly grew to encompass a day of thanksgiving and remembrance for the town, a bon voyage for those leaving, and a christening ceremony for the ship, on top of the birthday.

After a bottle of wine was broken across her prow, formally naming the Wind of Kasira, Legate Charkress opened his manor to the town, and the party grew so large that it spilled out onto the Residence’s grounds, with tables set up on the lawns and under the trees. It was a beautiful summer night , and the combined birthday celebration and wake went on until well past midnight. Speeches were made, toasts were offered – to the birthday girl, to the town’s saviors, and in memory of the towns dead.

After accepting universal congratulations for having achieved 26 years, and once the tone of the event turned somber as the evening (and the wine) went on, Mariala slipped away to the small Eldaran temple at the edge of the town. As with all such rural places, it was made to do duty for all 16 of the Immortals venerated by the Church. She knelt before the small alcove dedicate to Shala and, for a turn of the glass, offered up her usual holy day offering of deep meditation.

In the end she didn’t feel it had been her best offering, however… she was still too shaken by the horrors she’s witnessed, and the disturbing implications that such things could exist anywhere in a rational cosmos. With one last fervent prayer to Shala that such things might never again find their way into her world, at least, she rose and stepped outside.

Reaching into the scrip at her waist she pulled forth a small ceramic vial, and broke the wax seal covering the stopper. A sharp, astringent scent wafted up and sent a thrill down her spine. She lifted the vial to her lips, then paused… this was the last dose of Lyrin oil she had, and she’d been putting off using it, despite the increasing cravings. But she very much feared that it was her semi-withdrawal that had caused the terrible misfiring of her Fire Nerves spell two nights ago in the caverns… and she couldn’t afford such a mistake again.

But they would be home in a few days, no more than half a tenday, surely… and then she would be able to renew her supply. She might even be able to acquire more in this larger town, Tishton, they were sailing for tomorrow… the Legate had said it was actually a city of some size, a minor provincial capital. Of course it was a minor provincial capital of the Ocean Empire, and Lyrin was most certainly illegal under Imperial law. Not as frowned upon as more dangerous substances, perhaps, but in a land unfamiliar to her it would be foolish to try and procure any illegal drug. Probably. Not unless the need became dire…

But surely it wouldn’t! The Legate assured them there was a Nirtaran Portal on Chakal, and once they located it Vulk or Devrik would have them home in a trice! With a firm nod, she tossed back the vial and let the cool liquid pour down her throat, its blue electricity lighting up her mind…

• • •

The Hand had expected to sail the next day on the morning tide, but circumstances quickly dashed that hope. Mate Grünbay had chosen the 22 most likely candidates from the fifty or so who had applied. But all save four were landsmen, and two days had not been enough to prepare them to crew a vessel the size of Wind of Kasira.

As this morning’s fiasco with the rigging, the sails, and the crows nest had proved, Korwin thought sourly. Nothing was damaged beyond repair, and there were no actual deaths, so perhaps the fiasco had had a salutary effect on his would-be crew. Yonas assured him he’d seen worse… although when pressed he couldn’t say where, exactly.

But the near disaster had made it impossible for them to make the morning tide, and there was not a chance in all of Korön’s eight hells that Korwin or the Mate were going to risk the evening tide and a night sailing. Not with this mob of eager but mostly inept “sailors.” Under Yonas’ withering gaze the four experienced seamen spent the remainder of the day leading the ‘lubbers in several more runs through the various most vital shipboard tasks. Which left Korwin more time than was probably good for him to go over his plotted course again… on the other hand, it also allowed him time for a project he’d had to set aside earlier, under the press of events…

That evening at dinner, once again at the Legate’s table, more bad news was waiting. Mariala, looking paler than usual and with a certain unusual tension in her face, announced that she had heard back from Master Vetaris via her entangled parchment. Given the limited writing area, and the need to conserve the limited sheets each possessed, he had been forced to brevity and bluntness.

“In short, his mother is still at large, and the Star Council has yet to determined how she was able to hijack us as she did when we gated last winter. They believe it has to do with our auras – each person’s is utterly unique – but with no way to counter it, they advise that we would be foolish to travel via Nitaran Gate just now. I gather he is avoiding such travel himself, and the rest of the Council is using it only in urgent cases. No one is certain whose auras she may have… captured.”

This news upset everyone, to some degree, but it hit Devrik particularly hard. He and Raven had been in communication via the entangled paper Mariala had given them, and both had been eagerly anticipating a heated reunion in the near future. He very much feared his wife would take this news even worse than he was… and by the Void, at this rate would his son even recognize him when he did make it home?

“How long will it take to sail us home?” he demanded of Korwin once the news had sunk in.

“That’s… hard to say,” his friend replied, calculating madly in his head. He was no more pleased than Devrik at the looming prospect of having to sail the entire length of the Empire, if for other reasons. “No less than two months, and that’s assuming we can hire a competent crew and pilot. I wouldn’t even try it with the lot we have now, frankly.

“We might shave some time if we make for the Gulf of Kildora, then travel overland through the Republic and the Savage Mountains. But that could also end up taking longer, perhaps much longer, depending on… well, a lot of things we can’t control.”

It was a peeved and disgruntled Hand of Fortune that retired that night, and only Erol slept completely soundly. Toran, while not feeling any urgent need to get home quickly, was nonetheless more than a little apprehensive about an extended sea voyage. A few hours from Arapet to Tishton had seemed relatively bearable; but two or more months on the ocean?! Umantari folk legends notwithstanding, the Khundari were not made of stone, and some few of them could actually swim. But you’d never prove it by him, Toran reflected glumly as he lay awake that night – he would sink like a stone, straight to the bottom!

He’d survived several short voyages on the Sea of Ukal without undue stress (however, not with no stress), but those had been, well, short. And on a sea he was assured was relatively calm and placid. And shallow. The Shattered Sea was quite another matter! Not, he supposed, that drowning in 10 meters of water, as opposed to 1000 meters, would really matter.

One bad storm, one rogue wave, and he could find himself sleeping with the fishes forever. If he could operate a Gate himself, he’d be inclined to take the risk, but he doubted the others would agree. And he now bitterly regretted the loss of the key to the Fane of Gheas! If that still worked, he’d take his chances with its random travel in a heartbeat, ship and ocean both be damned!

The next morning, in the pre-dawn light, the Hand stood on the quay, saying goodbye to Legate Chakress and many of the the locals who had risen to see them off. The Legate handed Vulk a satchel, sealed with the Imperial Seal.

“I was up quite late, polishing the draft we worked up yesterday recounting… recent events. I appreciate your taking on the duty to deliver my report to the Prince Palatine yourself. In the past I might have used the excuse of my gout to avoid traveling, but it hasn’t bothered me since your treatment, Brother Vulk. The truth is, I simply cannot leave my charge here at this time. I failed to protect these people once, but I am determined to do all that I can to get them through the aftermath.”

He leaned in close and spoke for Vulk’s ear only. “Thank you as well for your spiritual guidance these past few days, Brother. Your counsel has brought me back to my faith in my darkest hour, and I will not falter again.” The two men clasped forearms and Vulk made a simple benediction over the older man’s bowed head. Then the Legate stepped back and turned to address the group.

“I wish for you to have this, as remembrance of your work here and of me, as you voyage forth today.” He opened a second boiled leather case he carried, revealing the beautiful spyglass they’d all peered through that first day. “I have no heirs to leave it to in any case, and I can think of no fitter place to bestow it than upon the Hand of Fortune. I’m certain that old Degalith himself would be proud to know his handiwork was so well given.” Mariala accepted for the group, amid their grateful murmurs of surprise and gratification.

While this was going on, and the last of the supplies were being taken aboard, Vidalo Karvek and his family pushed through the crowd, seeking Korwin. The smith (with the death of his master, no longer an apprentice) handed him a small bundle wrapped in a blue cloth. They spoke quietly for a moment, and Korwin tried to give him some coins, but the man refused them, gesturing to his smiling family. Korwin shrugged, and bowed acknowledgment of the point.

When the family moved off to speak with Mariala the water mage looked around for Toran. He found him near the gangway, staring moodily down at the dark, shifting waters between the quay and the ship. The Khundari looked up at his friend’s approach and smiled wanly. “Looking forward to your first command, Korwin?” he asked diffidently.

“Oh, I suppose so, if I wasn’t so nervous,” Korwin replied in a burst of unusual frankness. “Oh, maybe I shouldn’t say that out loud – aren’t captains supposed to be inscrutable and never show any doubt or weakness?”

Toran gave a genuine laugh at that. “Yes, that’s what they tell you in any command training – never let your people see your doubts or fears. And for good reason, I now realize – you’re words do not inspire great confidence in me, I must confess.”

“Ah, well, maybe this will do a better job of easing your mind, then,” Korwin said. “I know you do not love the water, with some reason.” He had tried to teach the Shadow Warrior how to swim last summer, and it had not gone well. After the wet, angry Dwarf had finally stomped off a wet, frustrated Korwin had had to admit he had a point.

Now, with a flourish, he held out the small blue-wrapped bundle. With a quizzical glance at the taller man, Toran took it. Folding back the cloth he found two bronze armbands, simple but clearly well made. The traditional ancient Oceanian key design was chased in silver around the center of each band, and the hinges and clasps were made of black steel.

“They’re very nice, my friend, but the last thing I need to ease my… concerns… is more weight.”

“Ah, but these are not what they seem,” Korwin said with barely suppressed excitement. “I had our friend Vidalo make these, and in the forging I imbued them with Avikoran Principle, in the form of a spell of buoyancy. Wear these around your biceps while we’re at sea, and even if the ship and all the rest of us go under, you’ll still be bobbing around on the surface like a large, hairy cork.”

Toran looked at the armbands for a moment, too surprised to say anything. Despite Korwin’s penchant for being abrasive and irritating at times, he’d always rather liked the Oceanian. And he had certainly shown his courage and worth in battle in recent months. But such generosity and thoughtfulness was… unexpected, to say the least.

“Thank you, my friend,” he said at last, clasping forearms with the other man. “It’s the most thoughtful gift that, I pray to Gheas, I’ll never have to use!”

“Yes, I hope so too,” Korwin laughed, gratified his gift had gone over well. “I’m sorry there’s no time to test it out before we sail, but even so I hope that it will ease your mind. Vidalo tested it out on young Borin not an hour ago, in the quenching tank at the forge. Worked like a charm, no pun intended, kept the lad afloat and right-side-up – couldn’t even push him under by main strength, he reports.”

This allayed some of Toran’s unvoiced concerns, to be sure. But he was still determined to test it himself… as soon as he could find some suitably shallow water, of course… he certainly wasn’t going to just jump into the sea!

The last surprise of the morning, or so Korwin sincerely hoped, eyeing the frenetic motion of his crew as they prepared to depart, was the breathless arrival of Danir Alvador, the man Vulk and Devrik had saved from vivisection five nights ago. He had a duffel bag over his shoulder and seemed dressed for travel.

“Wait! Wait for me!” The man called out as two men were preparing to draw up the gangplank. At a nod from Korwin they allowed the man to board, and he paused to catch his breath, rubbing absently at his belly. Envisioning the terrible scar that must still be there, hidden by the man’s clothes, Korwin shuddered inwardly. Vulk, stepping down from the poop deck where he, Devrik and Mariala had been watching preparations, looked concerned.

“Master Alvador!” he called. “Are you alright? It’s good to see you up and about, but it’s probably too soon for much strenuous exercise. What brings you here so urgently?”

“To put it bluntly, Cantor Vulk, I wish to accompany you, and offer my services to you all as a guilded mercantyler.”

“What? But what about your business? Who will run the chandlery?” Vulk was taken aback by this sudden offer. He had been down each day to check on his patient, given that the local physician was completely out of his depth in such a case. Having mixed Alvador’s blood with one of the remaining undifferentiated Baylorium doses that first morning, he’d finally been able to administer the specific curative just yesterday. Still, he was surprised at how well the man was doing, the miraculous powers of Draik’s elixir not withstanding.

“Oh, my apprentice is well able to take over running the business… as he’s been telling me for several years now,” Alvador chuckled. “And in any case, I don’t think there will be much business on Arapet in the coming years. Even before this tragedy it was a dying place.

“But that aside, I owe you my life, you and your friends. And this is the way I can best begin to pay back that debt. I understand you have a load of strange goods aboard, left by… those things…” His face darkened momentarily at the memory of his torturers, but he quickly shook it off. “I don’t know how much you know of such things, but it will be difficult to sell them on your own… the Guild frowns on its members doing direct business with unguided persons, and the black market is chancey at best.”

Vulk considered the man’s words thoughtfully. His experience overseeing the Fortune’s Favor’s trading voyages meant he was well aware of the prickliness of the Merchant’s Guild – it’s why that ship’s captain was also a member of that organization. There was no denying it would be handy to have a mercantyler aboard to handle the trading, especially one familiar with the Empire… and truth to tell, he’d not been looking forward to handling the matter himself.

But he was concerned about this idea that Alvador had about owing any debt, to Vulk or the others. The man had told anyone who’d listen about his dramatic rescue from the horrific death he’d been in the middle of, and there were all too many eager ears ready to hear his (admittedly quite vivid and well-told) story. His enthusiasm for the Hand of Fortune, along with that of Erala Karvek’s, had gone a long way to fueling the accolades the town had heaped upon them at the big party, and since.

“Well, whatever you’re going to decide, Vulk, it needs to be now,” Korwin growled as he went up the steep stairs to the poop deck. “The tide is moving, and we need to be doing the same. Now!”

Vulk smiled at the mercantyler and gestured toward the rear cabins. “Let’s step into the captain’s cabin and discuss this further, Master Alvador,” he said. The merchant grinned back and hefted his duffel…

A moment later the last ropes were cast off and the ship began to pull away, warped out her berth by two rowed longboats. Despite a few tense moments, once they were far enough out the inexperienced crew of the Wind of Kasira managed to get her out of Arapet harbor without fouling her rigging or running her aground. With the morning sun on the starboard bow and a favorable wind at her back, the sails were hoisted and the ship glided into the future to the fading cheers of the townsfolk gathered on the quay…