The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith

by Douglas Van Dyke

  “I don’t know specifically, but look at the rust forming on the cauldron itself.” Mother Evine gasped at the brown splotches visible on the most holy of receptacles. Sondra continued, “All the metal on the ship is rusting, and the wood is rotting away at a fast rate. I’m afraid something is decaying the vessel.”

  The elder cleric put her hands against the wall of the chamber and murmured a prayer. In her hands, she rolled a holy symbol of Ganden between her fingers. Her hand recoiled from the wall as her prayer ended. “I sense the weakness within the vessel spreading. Even if the divine chariot could make it to the ground soon, it would collapse under its own weight.”

  Korrelothar’s pale elvish skin lost a shade of color. “What about the life boats?”

  “They are separate entities. They were made as such in case anything happened to the vessel they could still serve in their capacity as escape skiffs. They don’t even require a cleric of Ganden. Even without one of faith at the controls, the levitation boats will simply float easily to the ground below.”

  The elf wizard looked to the dying pilots. “How much time do we have?”

  Even as he spoke the words, the most grievously wounded Chosen lost the rhythm of the mantra in a bout of coughing. Mother Evine watched as the other cleric and his acolyte assistant tried to stem the flow from the man’s wounds with cloth. All the power behind their miracles had been exhausted. The caregivers proved too weary to channel more miracles. “I can’t tell. We fly only by the faith of two. We will not stay aloft long. After over a millennium of service, Doranil Star is likely seeing her last hour, before she meets her final fate on the ground below.”

  Those words ripped at Sondra’s heart. She knew her church shouldn’t be so prideful about this holiest of creations, yet how could she look upon it with anything other than pride. This vessel had been a sacred source of accomplishment and achievement within her church. The mages may have taken care of it, but the vessel belonged to their god. She had dared to dream of being one of the Chosen directing the ship across the skies. Instead, she would face the shame of being powerless to rescue this glorious creation before it met its end.

  Korrelothar turned to the elder cleric. “Such a precious artifact this ship has been. Long had I marveled at it, and it’s unbearable to think of losing it. My endless thanks for the sacrifice of your brethren in the service of this vessel, though those feelings seem paltry as they continue to sacrifice themselves to save us. I must get Orlaun’s nobility to abandon the ship before the time runs out.”

  “We will buy you what time we can to save the others,” Mother Evine replied with a resigned look upon her face.

  To Sondra, Mother Evine’s tone sounded like the acceptance of a death sentence. Korrelothar departed with a low, very respectful, bow. The other high ranking officers of the ship left alongside the elf mage. The whole time, Sondra could not take her eyes off those of Mother Evine. The acolyte could read the bleak future reflected in those eyes. Evine’s fate loomed before her with the pull of a raging river.

  The door on the other side of the room fell shut as the last of the officers left, slamming with a clarity that made Sondra’s mentor flinch.

  The weakest of the remaining three Chosen died. The cleric and acolyte working over the man covered his face with a bloody cloth and moved to assist the other whose health remained perilous. Two voices retained the power of the mantra, and one was weak. Sweat soaked the vestments of the upright Chosen. His mind, fixated on the importance of the mantra, left him unaware of anything else happening in the room. Sondra could only be in awe that his faith had kept them stable for so long.

  Mother Evine resolutely walked over to one of the stained cushions and began to kneel on top of it, facing the churning cauldron. “Acolytes please leave. Get to the life boats and continue to serve Ganden well in the years to come.”

  Sondra froze with denial as she stared at her mentor’s sacrifice. The other acolyte also hesitated. The ordained priest in the gray-lined vestments beside her spoke a few comforting words, before gently pushing her away. Younger than Sondra by a few years, she tearfully stumbled out of the chamber by way of the door Korrelothar had used. The older priest resumed tending the stricken Chosen hovering on death’s door.

  “I don’t want to go,” Sondra nearly whispered to the floor. “I can help by taking my place by your side. I know the words of the mantra as well.”

  “Go my child…my sister in faith,” Mother Evine spoke with firm compassion. “I have already been training as a future Chosen, and I know the concentration required. You can’t help me in this. It would only lead to your senseless death.”

  Sondra shook her head as tears spilled down her cheeks. Mother Evine spoke more forcefully. “Go, Sister Sondra. You are still young in the service of Ganden. Do not lament what is lost; always look forward to what you can save. You will someday find the beacon of strength that lies in your own heart. You will learn the uninhibited joy of being able to help others, as well as the self-respect that comes with honor. May Ganden serve you well.”

  “May Ganden serve you well,” Sondra replied in the customary fashion.

  The wheat-blonde acolyte took a few slow steps backwards, out into the hall. The two remaining Chosen of Ganden continued singing their prayer mantra for the lives of those on board, even though one tenaciously clung to life. The healing offered by the other ordained priest could not save him. Sondra took one last glimpse of Mother Evine sitting peacefully upon a blood-stained cushion before the cauldron.

  When the door had softly closed, she found it hard to turn away. Sondra listened as a female tone rose to join in with the fading mantra. She listened to the words of prayer being chanted by the strong voices from inside. She felt their power rumble through the length of the great vessel. Mother Evine’s voice would be a part of the divine chariot now, until the end came. Sondra idly wondered how often any of the pompous royalty on board ever stopped to simply lend an ear to the rhythm of Ganden. Such beauty rang in its notes that it could not be ignored.

  Sondra Oskires hesitated by the closed door for a long time, soaking in the perfect harmony of the mantra. She felt no hurry to go anywhere else.

  * * * * *

  The cabin door nearly broke off its hinges as those outside shouldered their way in. Ahead, on the floor, lay the perfect sigils Revwar had drawn to enable them to teleport off the vessel in safety. Originally, Revwar hadn’t planned on setting off the trap in the inner sanctum until they were in the process of teleporting away. Disaster nearly befell them all when Cat’s actions destroyed the staff and set things into motion prematurely.

  Revwar, Savannah, Jentan and Kemora had made their way past degrading corridors to get back to their means of escape. The rotting of the vessel proceeded fast, as planned, but that brought a scare considering they hadn’t planned on being stuck on board as the decay took place. The death of the ship would be a certainty. Ganden’s clerics would not be able to remove the taint caused by the consecrated grave dust and the scion of Mothrok falling into the holy water…at least not while riding the winds.

  Revwar made one final glance at the magical circle as they crossed the entryway. The design seemed intact, but he observed signs of rot in the floorboards. Jentan ushered the others to move quickly so they could be away. Kemora ran breathlessly to make up for her short strides, and Savannah moved as gracefully as her dark plate armor allowed. Floorboards creaked uncomfortably with every step the band made.

  As the foursome stood in place upon the circle, an audible snapping noise came from the floor. Worried eyes passed back and forth. They each felt a twinge of nervousness.

  Revwar wasted no more of their limited time. He spoke the words of the spell. At its completion, the group would appear at its twin marking back on the continent of Quoros, a couple hundred miles away. Once that happened, there would be no more concerns over the failing of the divine vessel. Their pursuers would likely be destroyed in the crash of the ship. Even if the pa
ladin and the Kashmer privateer survived the disaster, they would have no means to follow the band or even any clue as to their destination.

  The others heard Revwar complete the words of the spell. A few lights flickered near their feet, but made no sound.

  Their scenery had not changed; they remained on board the ship.

  Revwar made them all step back so he could examine the floor markings. To his disgust, a few cracks in the rotting floorboards had severed some of the connections. The teleport marker was spoiled.

  Arguments flew back and forth as panic started. Revwar argued he couldn’t complete another spell circle before the ship’s decomposition would be fatal. Carefully laid plans and years of work became jeopardized in an instant. For the second time, the band’s plans approached disastrous ruin just as they had acquired all three relic stones.

  Jentan smooth-talking voice suggested their only alternative. Their last and best means of escape would entail making their way to the sundeck and abandoning the vessel via one of the levitation lifeboats. In going to the top deck they ran the risk of an open fight with powerful members of the Brotherhood of the Circles. The alternative involved staying hidden beneath deck on the slim chance the vessel would make it to the ground in one piece. That choice seemed suicidal.

  Despite their foul mood, they realized they had to take a chance with the lifeboats. Revwar assured them that once on the ground, and hidden, he would have the time necessary to draw out another teleport to bring them home easily. The four of them exited their room, leaving the damaged teleport circle behind, and crept towards the top deck.

  * * * * *

  Shouts for help led Trestan and Cat to the brig. They recalled Sondra mentioning a woman who needed rescuing, but the voice was male. Entering the brig, they found a man dressed in the armor of a guard in a plight. The floorboards he had been standing on had rotted to the point where his weight caused them to fall away. He was holding onto the edges of the hole rather than suffer a sizeable drop into a hold below.

  Trestan nervously laid on his belly and stretched out to the man the same way as someone would do for a person who had fallen through thin ice. The man thanked them repeatedly as Trestan and Cat pulled him out of the jagged hole. Mixed in were his comments about the ship falling apart.

  “I know, the ship is decomposing.” Trestan huffed as he pulled the man’s weight. “That’s why we’re down here, to get everyone out.”

  They succeeded in pulling him out of the hole. Trestan took a moment to brush himself off as Cat tip-toed past the hole to glance further into the brig. A female voice came from the hallway before them. “Who is out there? Someone help get me out of here!”

  Trestan and Cat both reflexively moved towards the jail cells. Behind them, they heard footsteps running away as the guard abandoned his post out of fear. Trestan whirled around and shouted after him, but the man didn’t even slow his pace.

  Also hearing the fading footsteps, the prisoner wailed, “Please don’t leave me here! I’m trapped!”

  Edging around the hole, Trestan started searching for a key amongst the meager table at the guard station. Cat went down the hall to check on the prisoner. The half-elf saw the teenage woman gripping the rusty bars of her cell, her cheeks wetted by tears. Cat also noticed an alcove near the cell but out of sight of its occupant. She assumed the youth’s belongings were there. She reached through the bars to take the woman by the hand. Cat offered a light squeeze in reassurance the youth wasn’t alone. That simple touch brought the hint of a smile to the distraught prisoner’s face. The half-elf surveyed the rest of the hallway, not seeing any obvious keys hanging on hooks or any levers to open the cell door.

  “Don’t worry,” Cat assured the prisoner, “We’ll get you out of here. Why did they lock you up?”

  Montanya shook her head sadly, “You may not believe my story. I have been pursuing a halfling planning some mischief.” It went unnoticed by the chiaso, but Cat’s eyebrows lifted a bit inquisitively. “I snuck aboard this vessel to pursue her, and they locked me up as a stowaway.”

  The young human’s face took on her customary scowl then, “They didn’t believe they were in danger, and now I’m trapped while something terrible is about to happen. Some stuck-up little priestly girl left me in here to face a grim fate.”

  “Short, blonde hair, human, disciple of Ganden?”

  At Montanya’s nod, Cat continued, “And you are Montanya right?”

  Montanya nodded again. The half-elf glanced to the guard’s station, noting the racket Trestan made going through the few supplies there looking for the key. She spoke to the scared prisoner. “She didn’t leave you alone. She sent us to help you.”

  A mix of confusion and relief became apparent on the young human. Cat began considering the type of lock on the cell, anticipating Trestan would not find a key. Cat pushed away any worries about the state of the ship, or thoughts as to what the enemy band might be doing. The two companions held this woman’s only lifeline to the world. Without them, she would be trapped in the dark, in a ship rotting apart high in the sky. Cat could imagine the loneliness and desperation of her predicament. Given the state of rust on the bars, and the collapsing floor, there might not be time for anyone else to help. As Cat examined the lock, she could feel the warm touch of Montanya’s hand on her own.

  Trestan walked down the hall, hands helpless out to the sides. “I can’t find a key. The guard must have it on him, and he’s long gone somewhere.”

  Montanya returned to a state of panic. “Don’t give up. Don’t just leave me here.”

  Cat had to forcefully extract her hand from the youth’s grip while calming her. “We won’t leave you. I can take care of this lock but I need my hand back.”

  The half-elf infiltrator kneeled by the iron door, staring into the keyhole as she reached into a pouch at her side. Montanya’s eyes narrowed as she noticed the half-elf retrieve several long wires and a few odd-looking metal rods. Cat set about inserting the probing wires into the keyhole, testing the lock. Trestan saw Montanya for the first time, noting her contempt of Cat’s actions with the lock. Montanya’s thin eyebrows lowered over a glare at Katressa’s dark leather outfit. The woman backed away from the bars as if they were made of fire.

  “You’re a thief?! She sent a thief to get me out!” Montanya’s eyes morphed into anger.

  Cat paused, returning an angry stare at the young woman. “I am nay thief. I lived in my homeland as a scout and for Kashmer as an infiltrator and privateer. Among other things I explore, sneak around, gather information and I get into places difficult for others to reach. My skills are here now for the sole beneficial purpose of freeing a stranger from a cell since the guard ran off with the keys. I would think a little compassion and respect is not too much to ask.”

  The response shocked Montanya, but she could not deny this half-elf risked a lot to assist her. She could not help but have an internal struggle over the whole idea. Feelings arising from a lifetime of hate against rogues clashed with the reality of one charitable person picking the lock to free her. She looked to the companion of the half-elf as he appeared at her side. The man appeared to be a warrior, but he displayed the symbols of a beneficial goddess. Montanya recognized the coraross symbol. This knightly figure clashed with her mental picture of the half-elf as a thief.

  Cat had returned her attention to the lock. The delicate instruments tried to force the tumblers to give way. The half-elf frowned at some difficulty with her progress. One of the probing wires snapped under the pressure. Letting out an exasperated breath, the adventuress tried to use a little more force with a different instrument.

  Her slender fingers pulled back on the lockpick, revealing a warped shaft.

  Trestan noticed the twisted piece of metal. As a skilled smith, he offered, “I can probably fix that, or make you a new one.”

  Shoulders slumped, Cat didn’t want to admit defeat. It came out as an apology. “This lock is full of rust. The tumblers are frozen i
n place. I’m sorry but we need to find another way.”

  Trestan noted how brown the bars and the lock had become. In places, the bars looked partially eaten away, and yet were strong enough to keep a hold on their prisoner. “I have a way.”

  Trestan began to walk past Cat, drawing the Sword of the Spirit from its scabbard as he did so. Cat looked up at the magical weapon. “You are going to try the blade on these bars?”

  The young paladin gestured beyond Montanya’s cell towards the next one down. “The next cell is open. I don’t know how well this edge will cut iron bars, even rusty ones.” Cat knew from experience his magical blade could cut through a number of things effortlessly. “But I don’t have to try it on the metal. There are only a few inches of rotted wood between her and this other open cell. Montanya, stay away from this wall.”

  Moments later, fragments of wood went flying as Trestan attacked the wooden wall from the adjacent cell. The Sword of the Spirit proved its might. Trestan reflected in wonder where his former mentor, the late Sir Wilhelm, had acquired such a magnificent treasure. The elvish sword sheared through the layers of wood once enchanted as part of the divine vessel. Now, rotted away, they were no match to slow the magical blade. The boards might as well have been twigs being split by a lumberjack’s axe. Before long, Montanya could squeeze through the hole in the wall.

  Trestan took Montanya by the hand and led her to freedom. The red-haired chiaso had trouble meeting Cat’s eyes, but she mumbled an apology. Nevertheless, Cat smiled and made introductions, then helped Montanya retrieve her items from the alcove.

  Montanya slipped on her leather armor. As she laced on the shin guards an urge came to her. “We must warn others about the halfling rogue!”

  Trestan shook his head, “I’m afraid the damage is done. We need to get to the top deck and see what is going on.”

  CHAPTER 18 “From Orderly Evacuation to Thwarted Escape”