Sea Log of Belith J’Korul, Master of the Wind of Kasira
Launta, 15 Metisto
I was reluctant to take up this captaincy, despite my father’s insistence that the family could not pass up the chance of gaining control of such an amazing vessel. I am very fond of Korwin, indeed I owe him my life… but I also know my cousin. I have not had to deal much with an owner-aboard since my early years as a captain, and the idea of six owners-aboard, one of them Korwin, promises to be… a challenge, to say no more. But as Father has always said, a challenge is no reason to avoid an opportunity… and I have learned for myself that great opportunities seldom come without great obstacles. I have met all of Korwin’s companions, and on the whole my impression is favorable. They seem to understand the nature of life at sea, for all that they have little practical experience of it… I think that I can work with them.
Above all else, the fact remains that the Wind of Kasira is a truly impressive ship. Larger than most merchant ships, her rigging is unique in my experience, and yet so obvious and efficient once you study it. Her hull is stronger than any ship I’ve captained, and I believe it might well rival even the Ships-of-the-Line of the Imperial Navy; it is certainly the tightest ship I have ever been aboard, especially one so fresh from the shipyard. I thought Korwin exaggerated when he claimed her bilges were almost dry after her maiden voyage, until I saw them for myself. I have come to fully agree with Father – if there is any chance we can acquire this vessel, even if only by leasing it, than almost any hardship will be worth it!
The last seven days have proved well-spent. My cousin’s assessment of Yonas Grünby, the Mate he took on as the first of his crew for this magnificent ship, was well founded. The man is every bit as capable as he claimed, and after the first day at the Seaman’s Guildhall, were we sought to fill out our roster, I was entirely comfortable leaving him at the hiring table alone. Korwin or I did drop in each day to review the men signed on, but neither of us found cause to reject a single one of Yonas’ choices. Now we prepare to sail on this afternoon’s tide with a full complement of seasoned sailors.
One of the best hires made, in my opinion, was the ship’s surgeon – Lurin Ar’Hanol [loo-REEN are han-ALL] is a countrywoman of mine, which will be a personal pleasure for me amongst all these Imperials and Ukali nobles. She comes well-recommended as a physician, which is more to the point I suppose. She is tall for a woman, in her early 30’s I would guess, with dark hair, olive skin and deep green eyes. Her nose is a bit too aquiline, perhaps, for her to be considered a classic beauty in Kunya-Kesh, but I find her quite a handsome woman, withal.
Already a skilled physician and surgeon, she wishes to learn more (always an admirable goal in my book), and is traveling to the great joint Telnori-Umantari city of Lairial, in Serviar to study with the famed healers there. She is poised, confident, and not easily flustered… I witnessed her quite deft handling of a lewd and suggestive comment from one of the deck crew yesterday. Her verbal evisceration of the fool left me with little to do in the way of discipline… delightful!
I’m a bit less sanguine about the man we’ve taken on as pilot. There were four solid candidates, with much debate over the choice – it was the only hire in which most of the owners involved themselves, thankfully. I gather that the Cantor Ser Vulk and Lady Mariala both possess some arcane talents for truth-sensing, and there’s no denying the position is the most vital aboard ship… the captain aside, of course.
They did agree with my demurral at Kardeth M’Yud, another fellow countryman. I have not sailed with him, but I know his reputation – a skilled enough pilot, but more trouble than he’s worth. I was strongly in favor of Akel Quangar, of Ormen in the Three Kingdoms, who seemed to me the strongest of the candidates. But in the end the owners chose Arus Salasin of Aldetha on the island of Thorkin. My main reservation is his relative youth – I know, perhaps a bit hypocritical, as I’m hardly a graybeard myself. He had the least experience amongst the four, but he made the best impression, and so he is my pilot. I admit, I like the fellow on a personal level, so I hope my professional reservations will prove unfounded.
It is on Pilot Salasin’s advice that the owners-aboard have determined our first port of call, once we sail from Tishton, will be Akel’s home island of Thorkin and the port of Thermexold. I look forward to that city’s famed hot springs and baths, amenities I always take advantage of when I visit. It is the existence of a nearby Nitarin Portal, however, that interests my employers. The arcane gate in question is apparently the nearest one not controlled by powerful governmental or religious factions, and the Hand of Fortune apparently have some need of it.
It still feels a bit odd to write “the Hand of Fortune.” I’ve known my share of mercenary groups, but those have all been the usual military bands. I’ve heard tales of similar companies of adventurers, of course – everyone knows the legends of the Emperor Gil-Garon and his companions, before he re-took the Coral Throne, for example – but this is the first time I’ve actually encountered such a group. Still, if even half the tales I’ve heard around the dinner table the last several days are true, Korwin and his friends are a formidable force. Truth be told, I get the distinct impression that I’m not getting half the tales that they could tell, if they chose to. I’ve come to suspect that the coming months may be quite interesting indeed…
One sign of that could be the rather odd duck who showed up on the quayside yesterday. Lord Tomas Biswyk [toe-MAHS BEEZ-wick] claims to be a minor Imperial nobleman of independent means, and an amateur naturalist (whatever that may be!). He says he is 24 years old, but looks younger to my eye. Tall and slender, he seems to have rather weak eyes, and is very intense about his avocation – something about developing a theory of how species originate and change over time. He apparently wishes to explore the Archipelago in furtherance of these studies… I got the impression that he would prefer to hire a ship outright, but that his “independent means” would not stretch to such an extravagance. Thus, he must needs settle for a ship that looks to be traversing much of the Empire already, and we fit the bill.
I will say, the owners-aboard gave me hope for the future of our working relationship when they consulted with me on the man’s request to book passage. While the decision was ultimately theirs, naturally, it is a comfort to know that they don’t intend to ride roughshod over the traditional prerogatives of a ship’s captain. In the event, I had no objection to Ser Tomas, and his offer of 5 silver per day, for a cabin with no more than one other occupant, I duly accepted. He paid his first month in advance, and moved his gear – several crates of “scientific equipment” and rather a lot of books – aboard this morning.
Time to go on deck now, the tide is turning and it’s time for the Wind of Kasira to depart Tishton. The day has been warm, with a light rain just beginning to taper off; the wind is moderate and steady from the NE.
Addendum: There has been no keeping the tale of what happened on Arapet, and the origin of this ship, from the crew, particularly given what happened in Tishton itself recently, most specifically the battle on the quay. Yonas was quite blunt and straightforward when hiring on the men, but the rumors and wild tales were beginning to grow, and sailors are a superstitious lot. I think it was wise of Cantor Ser Vulk to address the crew directly once we dropped our sea anchor this evening. He gave a brief but clear, matter-of-fact version of events, addressed with some humor the dark mutterings that were beginning to circulate, and on the whole I think succeeded in soothing such uneasiness as might have been brewing.
The winds have been favorable for our departure, and we made good time down the River Korin to the Sea of Lorkus… but we need to turn north and east tomorrow, and I’m hoping for a change in the winds overnight as we lay at anchor.
Kita, 16 Metisto
The day dawned clear and the weather grew quite hot by midday. No change in the wind when we weighed anchor at dawn, holding moderate and steady from the NE. Unfortunately, this made the run between the Demon’s Horn and Scortha reefs more challenging than usual – and the reason I wouldn’t risk it at night. But the intense hauling and beating required proved a good shakeout for the crew, who acquitted themselves as well as I could have wished.
Thankfully, it became cooler as sundown approached, and the winds finally shifted – we are now running before a light but steady wind from the SE as we slip between Eari and Arapet islands. There were a few nervous jokes about stopping off for shore leave at the latter, which I took as a good sign that the effect of Cantor Ser Vulk’s talk to the crew had been a salutary one. I offered to stand the watch for Mate Grünby while Arapet was visible to the south, if he wished to go below, but Yonas stoically refused… although I will note that he also studiously avoided looking toward his old home. A solid man, withal, and I’m glad to have him aboard.
Since both moons are waxing towards full I plan to sail through the night at half-rig, and expect we will make up some of the lost time as we skirt the northern edge of the Fuming Sea, and head into the Prince Ulthorn Channel.
Seluta, 17 Metisto
Another hot, clear day and the winds have freshened nicely, remaining steady from the south. We made good time on the passage of the Prince Ulthorn Channel, passing the beacon at Kar Kolveth before noon and rounding South Lerach Point in the late afternoon. Just before sunset we dropped anchor off the volcanic island of Moruh, north of Lerach, at Korwin’s insistence.
Ser Devrik, having been examining our charts obsessively since we sailed, wanted to know why we couldn’t sail on through the night again, and was prepared to argue the point… until Mount Quarna sent a blast of smoke and fire into the darkling sky and molten rock began rolling down its slopes toward the sea. The sight of the eruption against a spectacular sunset of oranges, reds, pinks and deep purples was breathtaking… when the lava reached the sea, the sound was tremendous and the clouds of steam, lit from below in an orange glow, were mesmerizing.
We watched the awesome show for several hours, and Ser Devrik was not the only one entranced by the spectacle. When both moons had risen high enough to make sailing safe again, the general consensus amongst the owners-aboard, including the gruff knight (and fire mage, I’m led to understand – hence his interest in the volcano) was that we could spare a little more time. Unfortunately, by the time everyone was ready to sail on, the winds had died to almost nothing, and we were forced to remain at anchor for the night. Even Ser Devrik didn’t seem to mind the delay, however, and spoke about visiting the island… I convinced him that was not a good idea, at least in the dark.
When we gathered for supper in the ward room Ser Erol commented on the coincidence of the volcano erupting just as we happened to be nearby, and I explained that Mount Quarna had been erupting fairly regularly for close to a hundred years… the island of Moruh has grown by a third again in that time, they say. My cousin had heard in Tishton that it was in an active phase currently, and had been certain that his friends would want to see it, especially Ser Devrik. And indeed he was correct, for the fire mage expressed a desire that his young son should see it. This drew a momentarily awkward silence from his companions before the Khundari deftly changed the subject. A story there, I suspect… perhaps I can get it out of Korwin later.
Nyrata, 18 Metisto
Hot and clear again, but we remain becalmed. I expected Ser Devrik to be impatient, but he took it as an opportunity to visit Moruh Island. I weighed the sea anchor long enough for the currents to move the ship south and west, dropping it again at a spot I deemed removed enough from the lava flows to be safe, barring a catastrophic eruption, and Ser Devrik, Adept Toran and cousin Korwin were rowed ashore in a longboat. Lord Biswyk was delighted to accompany the party, and indeed seemed likely to take it over, directing everyone in the stowing and care of his equipment and plotting out the best sights to visit for his studies…
While the owner’s party was ashore I had the crew launch the second longboat to fish and to dive for crab and lobster, both of which grow to quite extraordinary size in these magma-heated waters. By the time the main party had returned in the late afternoon the cook had prepared quite the feast of shellfish, grilled tuna, and fresh vegetables, and I opened several bottles of Kadaran white from my personal stores. Domus Tomas regaled the table with his discoveries and his theories – he turns out to be something of a raconteur, and his ideas are actually quite interesting.
Ser Devrik waxed almost lyrical about the mystical energy potential of the island as well, if somewhat less engagingly. I will say, he spoke more this evening than I’ve heard him speak in the tenday that I’ve known him – also, I find I’ve grown accustomed to his rather ominous-sounding voice. Korwin seemed slightly out of sorts, which Lady Mariala assured me, in an aside, was likely due to spending a day in a place were the native magical energies were so diametrically opposed to his own preferred aqueous energies.
The evening has remained quite warm, but as I write this the winds have begun to pick up, gusting lightly from the south. Mate Yonas agrees with my assessment that they’re likely to pick up and steady by dawn, at which time we can get under way again.
Ionta, 19 Metisto
This has been a disturbingly eventful day, for one spent mostly in the middle of the Coral Sea. It was even hotter today, still clear and with the winds holding moderate from the south. Not long after sunrise, somewhere south of The Witches, a Kraken and a giant squid were sighted on the surface, engaged in a fierce battle. It was only a little more than a kilometer off our port bow, but thankfully the two titans of the sea were too engaged with one another to notice us. I ordered the crew to as much silence as possible and, as the owners-aboard (and myself, I must confess, for I have never seen the like in my score of years at sea) stood at the rail passing the looking glasses back and forth, we slipped by unnoticed and unscathed.
But it was ship which the lookout sighted two hours later that really set the tone for the day. It was a small avarune, barely half the size of the Wind. A carved and painted owl, wings spread and beak open as if in mid-shriek, was her figurehead, and her mixed-rigging sails were furled, sloppily. No anchor was deployed, and there was no sign of life aboard…
Once I’d ordered our own sails struck, I went up the rigging to the crow’s nest to get a better look at the situation. With my glass I could still make out no sign of crew, save for a lone figure on the main deck. He was either dead or unconscious, and he lay within what appeared to be a circle of letters or symbols carved into the wood of the deck. That chilled my blood, for no captain would allow such a desecration of his vessel, certainly not casually or lightly.
I returned to the deck as quickly as possible, sliding down the mainstays (to the appreciative looks of both Lady Mariala and Doctor Ar’hanol), to confer with my cousin and his allies. I knew the uncanny when I saw it, and realized immediately that this was likely not in my wheelhouse, so to speak. The law of the sea required us to lend aid, to be sure – it was a merchantman of the Empire, by its flags, out of the Syklian Islands – but like any sensible seaman I was wary of anything with the whiff of the uncanny about it. Thankfully, I had aboard a group for whom this sort of thing was meat and bread. I gladly turned the matter over to the Hand of Fortune.
Most of the Hand went over in the longboat I had lowered and manned with volunteers. Only Ser Devrik remained aboard with me, keeping the beautiful spyglass Korwin had handed off to him trained on his friends. When they called across that the lone man was alive, and indeed the only soul left aboard the ship, the nearby crew grew murmurous and agitated. This struck too close to the old sea legend of the Lost Sailor, doomed to sail forever and be the sole survivor of every ship he boarded. I was grateful when Ser Devrik took the lead and refused to allow his companions to bring the man aboard the Wind. The crew also murmured their approval, though I don’t think he even noticed… the man becomes quite focused sometimes…
In the end Korwin and Ser Erol remained aboard the Owl of Shalara with the survivor while the others returned to the Wind to discuss our options. There was no doubt that the markings I’d seen were in fact arcane symbols, used to create a warding circle… presumably to keep something out, I was told. Cantor Ser Vulk had revived the man, who was near death from dehydration, hunger and exposure, at least enough to get his name, the name of the ship, and a garbled, half-delirious accounting of his circumstances.
He claims to be one Verin Kalworn, a merchant from Genoston, and says that some evil presence in the sea had, three nights before, compelled the entire ship’s company to jump overboard – presumably to drown and/or be devoured. His own survival, he claims, was due to childhood memories of his nanny and youthful studies inspired by her stories of the sea. He was able to carve out the protective runes, pulled from these memories, into the deck around him and so stave off whatever maleficent force compelled the rest of the ship’s company to their doom.
I was not the only one who found all this a bit hard to believe, when the tale was related to myself, Ser Devrik, Dr. Ar’Hanol and Mate Grünby in the wardroom. Lady Mariala confirmed that while there was actually truth in his tale, there was also deception and evasion “stinking it up,” as she so bluntly put it. But while she sensed guilt and desperation in the man, it didn’t strike her as the emotions of a murderer; and in any case the man is not particularly large nor strong, and it stretches credulity to think he could have done away with the entire crew while leaving no sign of struggle or violence. Adept Toran did find the man’s possessions in one of the cabins, including a mysterious rod of metal and crystal and a journal of some kind. The latter is in a cypher, but Lady Mariala says she should be able to untangle its meaning… eventually. Apparently she has some skill in that art.
It was agreed that the man Kalworn, now resting in his own bunk, should remain aboard the Owl of Shalara, and I agreed to ask for volunteers to man the vessel as a prize crew. In the event (and as I had feared), this proved a difficult sell to the men. Only when Mate Grünby made it clear that he would be leading the enterprise, under Ser Korwin, did some of the men step up. Already they have come to respect Yonas, and half a dozen men volunteered to follow him – in the morning. No need to spend the night aboard the cursed ship, after all, or indeed any more time than strictly necessary.
The doctor, however, insisted that she should go aboard today, to tend to the man’s hurts… a decision that disturbed me, but one I could hardly gainsay in front of the men. Lady Mariala, after a quick trip to her cabin for something, decided to accompany her, and they promised to return before sunset. Indeed, it was only a little more than an hour before the longboat returned them, with the Lady Mariala looking introspective and grim and the doctor concerned.
The evening is warm, and I do not think it will cool off much overnight. The winds have dropped to merely light, but remain steady from the south. I had hoped to make Sheth Bay and our destination in time for this evening’s tide, but thanks to the delay caused by the encounter with the Owl of Shala, even if I could convince the prize crew to board and sail her tonight, I would not risk a night-time skirting of Durn’s Reef. Not with my own ship under-manned and a second ship operating under a skeleton crew. I have ordered all sail to remain struck and the dropping of the sea anchor.
Unkta, 20 Metisto
The day promises to be another hot one, with clear skies. The winds picked up at dawn, moderate and steady from the south, and the prize crew had the Owl under sail within an hour of boarding her. A pod of whales off the starboard bow was taken as a promising omen by the crew, and we made good time, running before the wind around Durn’s Reef and Danul Island before tacking to the NW into Sheth Bay.
We were warped into the King’s Quay in Thermexold at the slack tide, and the Owl of Shalara at Reaper’s Quay. By noon the gangplanks were down and the owner’s-aboard were seeking out the Harbor Master and the Imperial authorities, with Master Kalworn firmly in hand. The man is still too weak to give them any real trouble… although at his best any one of the Hand could keep him in line, I rather suspect.
Master Alvador and I consulted on the matter of the remaining cargo, and I accompanied him to the local Merchant’s Guildhall to learn the lay of the land. It has been almost two years since I was last in Thermexold, but I still have my contacts here. Once our business is done I’ve promised to treat the master merchant to an afternoon at the Turquoise Waters of Kaulra’s Delight… he tells me he’s never been, and it’s always such fun to see the reaction of a novice at the Thermexold baths…
•••••
From the journal of Verin Kalworn, as deciphered by Lady Mariala Teryne.
Unkta, 10 Metisto
Finally, the winds have shifted and we are able to sail from the damn harbor! Three days we have been held in port, and I am about jumping out of my skin with impatience! I was tempted to demand my money back from Captain Renner, but even if the old pirate would agree to it, it’s not like any other vessel (except Imperial Sunships) could get out either. And so I waited… and waited…
Now that we are under way, however, based on the usual prevailing winds this time of year and figuring in our stop at Kar Takios, I calculate we will pass over the deepest portion of the Coral Sea in four days time. And then I will prove my theories to be true, and finally wipe that arrogant smirk off Lorka Urufant’s face. Four days… it won’t hurt to go over everything again… it occurred to me yesterday, whilst frustrated by the contrary winds, that the third level [untranslated] factor could be improved with the addition of a [untranslated string].
Note from Mariala: Several pages of complex diagrams, equations and arcane symbols follow… many seem related to Avikoran magics, and I must have Korwin look at them. Perhaps he can shed some light on the matter.
Note from Korwin: Yes, many of these are indeed Avikoran symbols, and seem related to the summoning of water elementals. But there are several bits I don’t recognize… they seem almost archaic… perhaps older rituals the man discovered somewhere? I have a sense that the glyph following those equations has something to do with the Greater Demons… but what exactly I couldn’t say. And I may well be wrong…
Note from Mariala: After the last page of symbols and equations the journal picks up again as a narrative, but is mostly impatient, annoyed ramblings about the crew and captain, interspersed with nervous assertions of his own brilliance and future acclaim. I skip over these to the relevant material…
Garta, 14 Metisto
We have arrived at what I calculate will be the most advantageous spot for my work. I used the artifact at sunset to cause the winds to die down… that rod cost me almost the last of my inheritance, but was well worth it. There was no other way I could have gotten the Captain to anchor here otherwise. Plus, it used none of my own power, which I may now pour into the working of my great spell… at the stroke of midnight!
Yes, a bit melodramatic, I admit it… and not strictly necessary, either. But one does feel that the moment of one’s historic vindication should be marked with some ceremony and pomp, no? Besides, I can’t risk the interference from the crew I would face trying this in the daylight. I have been up and pacing the forecastle deck every night since we sailed, so the helmsman and watch are used to it, they should suspect nothing. Not until I have raised the greatest water elemental ever seen on Novendo, and then what they think won’t matter in the least! When I have my new servant carry this ship on a great wave straight into Thermexold Harbor in a matter of mere hours, I think even Captain Renner will forgive my little deception.
Then I shall return to the University and prove that I was right all along, that the deepest parts of the oceans of our world are thick with water elementals, the greatest, most powerful of their kind on the Material Plane. Proving their existence, and my ability to bind and harness them, will change the Empire forever. We will be able to harness the very power of the seas to move our ships, no longer at the mercy of winds, tides and currents… or even on Zira, as the Emperor’s famed new sunships are! My name will be celebrated along with Thalur and Talorin, I will – ah, but I get ahead of myself. The hour is upon me, and I have work to do!
Launta, 15 Metisto
I do not understand… I know the spell worked! I could FEEL the Principle flow into the Form, and the Form was perfect! I have summoned water elementals three score times or more, I know what it feels like… and I felt a presence… but then it was gone, and… nothing. It should have worked! It should have! And yet I knelt on that deck last night, exhausted and shaking, and there was… nothing. I don’t understand.
It was an hour or more before I could muster the strength to rise and make my way back to my cabin, the dolts on watch still oblivious. Despite my desire to try again, I simply had nothing left. I collapsed on my bunk, falling into a deep sleep at once. It was not a good sleep… I can remember nothing of my dreams, other than that they bordered on nightmares… nightmares of failure and despair and death… I awoke at noon today, unrefreshed and almost as exhausted as when I passed out.
We remain becalmed and Captain Renner is furious at the continued delay. Although he says nothing, I recognize the suspicious glances, the angry glare… I know he blames me for this, somehow, although he can have no proof or I would already be thrown overboard by his superstitious crew. I returned to my cabin after eating… I was ravenous… and attempted to restore the winds. But the rod seems utterly drained, and I could not. I slept again, fitfully, until almost sunset.
Finally feeling somewhat myself, I returned to the deck, and realized the winds had finally returned while I slept. We were once again under way. Despite the Lesser Moon being new, the Greater Moon is waxing, if only halfway to full, and with the wind at our back the Captain has decided to run through the night, hoping to make up for the time lost. He seemed in a much better mood, and invited me to dine with him… a first, despite the fact I’m the only passenger currently aboard… any suspicion seems to have been set to rest with the return of full sails. Or perhaps, in my despair and exhaustion, my earlier fears were only figments of my imagination.
After supper I returned to my cabin, but I cannot now sleep… I am restless and my mind cannot let go of my failure, gnawing it like an old bone. How, how did it go wrong? What did I miss, or do wrong, or fail to do? I have poured over my notes and equations, my diagrams and wards, and still it seems I should have succeeded… I’m sure I interpreted those old symbological texts correctly. Although the parchment was crumbling and the symbology deeply archaic, I know my spells of translation and understanding worked…
Ah, this is maddening, and getting me nowhere. I think I will go up on deck, let the wind and sea and night air revive me…. then perhaps I will be able to sleep and attack the problem anew in the morning.
Note from Mariala: the text breaks off here and does not resume.
•••••
Mariala sighed and set down her pen. It was late, and they were expected to arrive in Thermexold by late morning… she should really get some sleep. But the translation of Kalworn’s journal was too important to leave to some anonymous Imperial functionary, after what she had learned earlier in the day. She shuddered again in memory of the eerie stillness of the empty ship and the ravings of the lone survivor, once Vulk had revived him.
She had sensed guilt, evasion and deceit, even through his semi-delirium, although the gist of his story had rung true – that some force or presence had compelled the entire crew to leap overboard to their deaths. But the outright absurdity of his claims about the warding circle which had supposedly saved him… Mariala had decided she needed to know more, and quickly. Before she had returned to the derelict vessel with Dr. Ar’Hanol she had retrieved a small vial from her cabin. There were two doses of the telepathy enhancer in it, and she had decided it was finally time to use one.
Once the doctor had seen to the man’s hurts and dosed him with something to relax him (as he’d regained his wits he’d become more and more nervous and anxious, and much less less communicative), Mariala had swallowed a mouthful of the bitter blue liquid, which had tasted of copper and lime. And then she had begun questioning Verin Kalworn, leading his mind back to the events of recent days… and a connection had formed… and she was him, and yet not… feeling what he had felt, seeing through his eyes and perceptions…
For three days he has sat here on the deck, thirsty and starving. He can feel the sun bleaching his hair and drying his skin. The salt in the air has stolen all moisture from his body, his bones ache and seem to crack with every tiny movement. He wants to sleep. He wants to drift off more than anything. But if he falls over, if he leaves the circle, it would take him. For all the pain in his body, all the horrifying thoughts of gulls pecking him apart, devouring his eyes… they are nothing compared to the nightmare swimming beneath the ship…
Mariala pushed him… back, further back in time… how did this happen?
It had happened without warning or announcement, the day after his summoning spell had failed. The majority of the Owl of Shala crew have retired for the night, leaving only a handful on duty, and himself pondering his failure in the forecastle. The first mate is manning the wheel, and four men work the deck; enough to keep the ship on course until morning. The night is serene, beautiful even. Tyvos seems to watch over them, granting calm waves, clear skies, and good winds. Each crew member’s lantern shines, an orange spot of warmth in the darkness, shifting and rotating as they tend to their varied duties.
As the sliver half-disc of the waxing Greater Moon reaches its apex, he hears the forecastle door open with a strained creak. From below him, Captain Renner steps out into the night air. Must be restless, Verin thinks, like me. Then a crewman appears. And another. Then groups of men. It seems suddenly as if the entire crew has woken and now stands on deck. Most do nothing, but a few swarm up the lines and begin to haul down the sail. As the ship glides to a rolling stop the men just stand, silently, in the lanterns’ glow.
“Come. Join.”
The heat drains from Verin’s blood. Those words. They are in his mind, but he has not thought them. His joints lock as sweat beads on his brow. Wresting his mind back, he catches sight of a… shifting… in the light below him. Only it isn’t something in the light, but the light itself. One of the men, lantern in hand, steps from the crowd and pulls himself onto the rail. Without a pause or a look back he takes a final step overboard. A splash, and then silence. No one moves.
And then another sailor follows him. Then one more. One by one, the crew step from the ship or leap from the spars and into the waiting waves. The lanterns are extinguished as they go under, leaving more and more of the ship in creeping shadows. But the dying lights illuminate the water briefly, and in their final moments they reveal a gliding, living darkness, a flowing shape, a suggestion of something monstrous…
“Come. JOIN.”
Verin finds his eyes drifting, his mind wandering… swimming in the stars and winds and waves… they have been his life, as they are every sailor’s… he knows them as they know him, and now they call to him. It would be easy, poetic, to join them. It would be right. But… No. NO. These thoughts are in his head, but they. Are. NOT. HIS! Yet they press at the corners of his mind, edging closer and closer to control… he feels himself slipping away. He doesn’t have long.
With a last surge of desperate sanity, he draws his knife and falls to the deck… he is on the main deck now… he has no memory of getting there… He drives the blade into the damp wood, scrawling the words and symbols he remembers in fury and fear. In circles around himself, he carves the ancient glyphs and prayers to every ocean god or spirit he knows. His hand is guided by memories ingrained so deep, by a lifetime of study that his mind is left free to fight… a losing fight… against the seductive siren call… and as he closes the final ring, the final prayer… just as his will breaks… he feels it. Like an unbearable weight suddenly lifted, the compulsion is gone. His mind is silent. He is alone.
Truly alone, for during his struggle the rest of the crew have gone overboard, to meet… whatever it is that lurks below. But he is safe, he is alive…
And so he sits. Tyvos, or whomever, has answered, and the warding words have protected him. And so he sits for days, waiting and withering, not daring to leave his warded circle… what if IT is still waiting for him, below… hoping beyond hope that someone might find him… and that they too would not be taken by… whatever has arisen from the deep…
Mariala had wrenched her mind away from Verin’s with a tremendous effort of will, and sunk down to the deck next to his bed almost in a swoon. Lurin had rushed to her, lifting her up into the cabin’s sole chair, and waved a small vial of camphor under her nose. The sharp, acrid smell had quickly revived her, and she glared over at Kalworn. He had jammed himself as far from her as he could get in his bunk, back pressed into the wall, and his eyes were wide.
“Stay out of my mind!” he rasped, his voice shaking. “It wasn’t my fault! It couldn’t have been my summoning, it was just a coincidence! It’s not my–“
“You’re a fool, Verin Kalworn,” Mariala snapped. “Playing with forces you – are you even a trained T’ara Kul at all?” The telepathy potion’s residual effect made the answer leap out at her like a shout. “No, merely a hedge wizard, illegally trained outside the Strictures. Where did you get the documents you used to cobble together this so-called summoning spell of yours?”
But the man had gone mulish, turning his face to the wall and refused to speak again. With a final flash of connection from the fading potion Mariala caught an image of a stone chamber, dimly lit by ancient glow-stones, the carvings of its vaulted arches blurred with time… shelf-lined walls, walls filled with dusty tomes… ancient scrolls in cracked leather tubes… a sense of cool, dry air… and it was gone.
Realizing she would get no more from their prisoner – and she now thought of him as a prisoner, not a victim – Mariala followed Dr. Ar’Hanol back up on deck. The doctor’s curiosity about what had just occurred, which she was too reserved and thoughtful to indulge, was answered when Mariala briefly explained what she had just learned to Erol and Korwin.
“I’m not sure what he was trying to summon, although I got the impression he thought it would be some sort of elemental… what he might have actually got, I have no idea. I plan to decipher that journal Toran found, and closely examine his possessions we took back to the Wind. Hopefully I’ll know more by the time we reach Thermexold tomorrow and we can turn it all over to the Imperial authorities.”
“Yes, whatever happened here might not have been the man’s intent,” Korwin frowned, “but there seems little doubt it was his doing. I will place wards around his cabin tonight… I’ll know if attempts so much as a cantrip.”
“Well, I have some experience with the effects of the practice of magic on humans,” Dr. Ar’Hanol interjected diffidently. “My patient is on the ragged edge of exhaustion and physical collapse. Given that, I doubt very much that he will be capable of any serious magical effort for several days at the very least… and perhaps as long as a tenday.”
On that ambiguous note the two women and Korwin were rowed back to the Wind of Kasira. After a brief meal, during which she filled in the rest of the Hand and Captain J’Korul on what she now knew and suspected of their mystery man, Mariala returned to her cabin to begin her work on decoding the journal. Korwin retired to his own cabin, although he planned to return to the Owl of Shalara before full dark.
Mariala had just settled down at her small desk when there came a knock at the door. Rising, she opened it to find Dr. Ar’Hanol with a diffident smile on her face. “If I might have a word, m’lady?”
“Please, doctor, call me Mariala. We may be cooped up on this ship for some time, and as the only two women currently aboard I should much prefer we be friends.” Indeed, Mariala was very impressed with the other woman already. They’d had several intellectually stimulating conversations in the last several days, and she suspected they could become good friends. While she was very fond of Raven, and was looking forward to having her aboard, Dr. Ar’Hanol had much more in common with her than her wetlands barbarian hunter friend did, if the truth be told. She gestured the other woman in and sat on her bed, leaving the chair for her guest.
“Thank you,” the doctor smiled, seating herself, “and certainly, Mariala… and I am Lurin, at least in private. I do think it’s best to retain some formality in front of the crew, however. As my father impressed upon me, keeping some distance is the only way to keep respect, and discipline, amongst men such as these.
“But what I wanted to speak to you about… well, if I’m overstepping please let me know. But I’m concerned for you… I saw you imbibe something before your encounter with Kalworn. I take it that telepathy is not one of your native gifts, so I assume this was something to aid in that?”
“Oh, yes, it’s a potion I acquired… well, it doesn’t matter where. It was reliably advertised to me as granting temporary telepathic skill, and I’ve been holding on to it for an important occasion – there were only two doses.”
“Ah, so this is the first time you’ve used such a potion? And you have one dose remaining?”
“Well, this was the first time since my chantry training, several years ago. And yes, one dose remains. Why?”
“I have some experience with such things… my father was house physician to the Chantry of the Crystal Eye for many years when I was growing up, and I served part of my apprenticeship there, and in other chantries. Potions can have… permanent effects, aside from being debilitating in the short term. Especially psionic-based ones. And…” the doctor paused, seemingly reluctant to go on, an uncharacteristic uncertainty for her.
“Go on Lurin,” Mariala said, with a sardonic quick to her lips. She suspected she knew what was coming, this woman was amazingly sharp. And observant.
“Well, psionic potions in particular can interact unexpectedly with… well, with Lyrin oil. And I suspect that you may be a user of the drug, yes? Given your extreme reaction during your connection to Kalworn, and your near fainting, …well, I would never have mentioned this at all if I wasn’t worried about your health.”
“You are a very astute woman, Lurin,” Mariala said with a sigh. “It’s a mild enough addiction, but it is an addiction. A few of my friends are aware of it, and it’s not generally a problem… but we’ve been away from home, and my usual sources, for so long that I have recently begun to suffer some withdrawal symptoms. I had assumed that is why I had such a strong reaction to the telepathy potion… certainly the times I experienced one in my school years left me in no such state…”
“Hmmmm… yes, it’s possible withdrawal could be at least partly to blame. But if you’ll take my medical advice, you should not take that second dose until you are either clear of the Lyrin completely, or at least properly dosed. But keep in mind those unexpected interactions – I’ve know more practitioners who’ve lost a psionic ability from such potions, than I’ve known ones who’ve had abilities increased, or had new ones awakened. Be very careful, m’lady!”
“Thank you doctor, I will take your words to heart,” Mariala nodded as her guest rose to go. “But now I really must try and decipher that damn journal… we need to know what that fool Kalworn thought he was about…”