Trestan and Cat nodded, moving across the deck to see how they could be of assistance. It occurred to Cat she still had the coded parchment tucked in her belt, but she decided to let that news wait until she had more of a chance to decode it. Others had to be saved from the more impending danger first.
* * * * *
It wasn’t hard for Lindon to ascertain why the young acolyte of Ganden had a foggy look to her eyes as she kneeled on the damaged deck. Sondra repeated her mantra at the spot where Jentan and his party had made their escape. Lindon brought the bamboo flute to his lips. A shrill, discordant note shook the cleric from her illusion.
Sondra glanced around to Lindon, the vessel, and the area where Jentan had been standing. Memory replaced illusion so fast it took a moment for her to adjust, as if waking from a vivid dream that seemed persuasively real. The young woman didn’t fight Lindon as he took her by the arm and urged her to stand. She was only dimly aware of the mace hanging from her hand.
Her dark red lips turned to Lindon, bent in confused anger. “Where is Jentan Mollamos? Where is the traitor?”
“Beyond our grasp for now,” Lindon motioned towards the edge of the deck. “He made his exit beyond the clouds below. Look not to those scoundrels young lady but to the rest of the people on board your divine vessel. We must be away soon after the injured receive care.”
Sondra walked with Lindon, exchanging the mace in her hands with her rust-colored leather healing satchel. Their steps carried them past the hold, where Lindon glanced down to see a familiar red-haired youth stirring. Her face was bloody yet she was alive. The torn flesh of one hip had been exposed by a halfling blade. The youth was writhing in pain, grasping for things only she could see.
“There is someone who needs our help now,” Lindon paused to examine some loose rigging that hung near. “If we secure a rope somewhere, I can help get her up here.”
Sondra barely glanced at the figure in the hold, not recognizing the battered form. The acolyte of Ganden and the minstrel from Orlaun set about anchoring a length of rope. Frustrated by the rotting wood, Lindon finally suggested they find a few extra hands to manage the rope.
Lindon wrapped the end of the rope around one arm and then took up his flute. Using music to tap into magic, he floated easily down into the hold. He kneeled beside Montanya as soon as his feet touched down gently on the crates. Lindon recognized the youth that had fought without an inner rhythm: the chiaso that lacked the harmony of soul. He felt the disharmonious qualities of her soul even more keenly as the woman reacted to hallucinations spurred on by her injuries. She whispered incomplete sentences, incomprehensible due to injury, even as she grasped at something intangible in the space above her. One bloody hand reached for something unseen.
It was impossible for Lindon to arrange the rope around her during those struggling movements. Montanya’s raw anger was displayed as she pushed away the hands assisting her. Lindon turned to music to clear her mind. A few notes tinged with magic lulled the youth. Her muscles relaxed, allowing him to wrap the rope around both of them.
Montanya was brought back to the present, although her surroundings were still hazy. The one feeling that dominated her senses was the pain that raged against her skull. Normally she would find comfort in anger, but the minstrel’s musical notes had settled about her like a soothing remedy. Montanya watched the world but did not intervene even as she felt the arms around her. Her conscious mind watched events as if from afar.
She felt the rough rope encircle her torso. Her ears dimly recognized voices from above calling out their readiness to pull up the rope. Strong arms encircled her even as a red-rimmed hat blocked out much of the night sky. Mixed in among those scattered images Montanya noticed loose supplies down lower in the hold. The wreckage of crates mixed with scraps of spilled food. Lying in the middle of it all, glinting at the edges of the moonlight streaming into the hold, were a pair of strange green eggs lying at the mouth of a sack. Montanya had never seen eggs like them. They were marked by white lines scratched across their surface, larger than most eggs she had ever seen.
Lindon gestured to haul up the rope. As the people above pulled with their strength, Lindon played a tune on the flute. With one arm wrapped protectively around Montanya, the other provided the notes that gave them levitation. The two were lifted up to the deck with little effort.
Trestan and Katressa were among those providing muscles to haul the rope. They recognized the youth they had saved from the cell. Trestan was ready to heal Montanya, but a young cleric elbowed past him on her way to fulfill her duties to Ganden.
Sondra fished an item out of her healing satchel as she approached the rescued youth. When the acolyte looked up and finally recognized her patient, she shook her head in disbelief. Although the face was a bloody mess, Sondra recognized the leather pads strapped around the loose-fitting clothes, as well as the torn pink fabric at the end of the long braid of reddish hair.
Sondra Oskires muttered as she squirted a drop of some healing liquid into Montanya’s shattered mouth. “This is my third time trying to help this ungrateful whelp. Am I going to get any thanks for this, or more water splashed in my face?”
The acolyte of Ganden put her hands on both sides of Montanya’s injured face and channeled a prayer. The initial shock of pain from the touch diminished as the warmth of the healing miracle spread through the injured youth. Bones popped as they snapped back into place, muscles knit back together where they had been torn, and blood flowed normally. The wet blood on the side of her head began to dry up and fall off in flecks. The swelling around her bad eye went down, yet still left a discolored bruise in its place. The wound on the hip also began to close over and shed its dried blood. Ganden’s follower did the best she could do before her own strength drained. Sondra leaned back on her heels when she was done. The look on her face mirrored the look of personal satisfaction mixed with mental drain that Trestan felt when he healed wounds.
Montanya still displayed bruises as if she had been in a fistfight, but the broken bones and all of the major damage had been repaired. The young chiaso sat upright. Her thoughts surfaced as if from a deep slumber. She tenderly touched at her face, wincing when she still felt a few sore areas. Memories returned with clarity in her mind. Her hands went to her neck, then patted down closer to her chest, searching in vain for the locket she realized she wouldn’t find.
“They took it.” Montanya said it as barely a whisper, though clearly enough for the people around her to hear the words. The youth jumped to her feet. She looked over the deck as angry, restless energy was apparent in her movements. “Where are they? They took my locket.”
The chiaso missed the disappointed sigh that escaped Sondra’s lips. The wheat-blonde acolyte resigned herself to the notion that Montanya did not know how to express thanks. Montanya continued to rage at the departed band as Lindon, Trestan and Cat watched.
Lindon, his head cocked to one side, sought to voice through the woman’s tirade. “Whatever they were after, they are long gone. What is this locket of which you speak?”
The woman’s foul curses raised eyebrows on everyone near. She finally paused to answer Lindon. “They are thieves and bandits. They took the last reminder I had of my departed parents, who were also killed by thieves. They took a precious locket I held dear. That elf mage came down into the hold just to rip it from my neck.”
“Don’t mind her,” Sondra interrupted with more than a little venom in her own tone. “This is Montanya su Tralala bara Something-or-other. She tends to see thieves everywhere she looks. A short while ago she was locked up in the brig…a fitting place I’d say.”
Montanya glared at Sondra. “Where I would still be stuck, on a dying ship, nay thanks to you!”
“I couldn’t aid you, but I sent help!” Sondra waved an arm towards Trestan and Cat, both of whom quietly observed the exchange. “It seems they were of some assistance. Did you remember to at least thank them for their services?”
; Montanya had no answer and no intention to back down from Sondra. Her anger flared from her loss, and Montanya never had an easy time holding back her rage. Rage was comfort. The youth simply huffed and turned away.
“Be easy on that one,” Lindon whispered to Sondra. “Her life lacks balance. When someone lacks a direction in life, it isn’t helpful for someone to berate them for it. Montanya’s emotions could hurry her to choose a path that is destructive for herself and others around her.”
Cat decided to intervene in a way that would take the conversation in a different direction. “She is correct in calling them thieves. Trestan and I originally met them years ago when they stole some important relics for reasons unknown. The relics were recovered and were on this ship, but however they managed it, that band sabotaged the ship and made off with the relics again.”
As she spoke, Cat absently put a hand on the rolled piece of leather still tucked into her belt. At least she had been able to retrieve something that might be of value.
They were all startled by a crashing noise. One of the rear masts split apart, coming down to the deck in a shower of broken wood. Korrelothar was by them in moments. “Time is short and we are among the last on board. Get on that levitation boat and prepare to cast off.”
Trestan, Cat, Lindon, Sondra and Montanya walked towards a boat that was ready to be released. The deck had become quiet. The distant hum of the mantra was the most prevalent sound as they stepped aboard the smaller craft. Less than two dozen of the crew and mages were left, setting adrift the last remaining escape vessels. Korrelothar directed the launches, making sure every boat had a member of the mage guild in it to better ensure safety for whatever lay below.
The five of them sat in silence, the levitation boat resting on two planks, suspended over the edge of the deck. Trestan and Cat sat hand in hand. They used silent body language and glances to make known their love for each other, after the close call that had nearly taken Cat. On the opposite end of the emotions, Sondra and Montanya sat in a way that put Lindon between them. Neither woman even so much as glanced at the other.
One of the planks supporting the levitation boat gave way, weakened by the rotting of the vessel. The craft tipped precariously on the remaining plank. Trestan and Cat were close to the remaining support. The two of them pushed at it, dislodging the light craft from its uneven perch. The escape boat leveled out as it began its slow fall, soft light emitting from the globe of holy water at the bow. Korrelothar noticed the unintentional early release too late to do anything about it. The elf wizard apologetically offered up a wave of his hand as the boat descended past the level of the deck. Trestan and Cat shrugged at the situation and merely waved back. The elf wizard could only pause a moment to watch their descent before hurrying the last boats along.
The levitation boat dropped leisurely, slowing its forward flight as it lost the momentum that still carried the Doranil Star onward into the night. Sondra reached out a hand to the divine vessel, running her fingers along the old wood. She felt the hum of the mantra. Mother Evine’s voice weighed strongly in the tune of the meditation. The broken and torn masts resembled a skeleton, reaching up with broken joints in denial of its passing. The open area of the observation deck floated by, gloomy and foreboding. Once, archers and mages had fought the Godswars from this level, and in more recent times spectators had walked along it in enjoyment of a sky cruise. Now the deck was beginning to decay into ruin. Parts of the ceiling and floor were collapsing under the weight of the ship. Lamps were dark, some hanging crookedly from nails that no longer found solid purchase in the rot. Somewhere inside the ship, a room full of rare magical wonders was slowly being carried to an unknown resting place. Sondra’s fingers trailed across tainted lettering gilded on the side of the ship, proclaiming Ganden’s divinity. In the heart of the great vessel, a few chanting disciples of Ganden would see the mighty ship to the end of its last voyage, before joining it alongside their god in the next world. The two-hundred-and-sixty-foot long divine chariot passed by the small levitation boat bearing the companions. The old oak hull drifted out of reach, slipping away from Sondra’s reaching arm. The five of them on the boat watched silently as the hulking shape sailed into the starlit horizon. Their drifting refuge slowly descended among a sky trail of descending escape boats.
Squire Trestan Karok watched the magnificent vessel with heavy heart. He could not help but think of the shattered remains of Korrelothar’s Dovewing. The demise of that vessel had been sudden and chaotic by comparison. Doranil Star met its end quite differently. Watching this ship journeying so peacefully and slowly to its death conjured an image akin to an elderly, honorable knight; a veteran of many campaigns whom had served his lord faithfully for much longer than expected. Reminded of his own service, the young paladin glanced downward at the ring upon his finger. Faithful’s Companion had a shiny, reflective surface to it, yet symbols still remained on its surface. The quest he had sought after his Embarking was unfulfilled.
Katressa Bilil leaned against Trestan for warmth. Something in her elf blood made her feel colder on a night that had seen such evil tidings. Her emerald eyes glistened with wetness at the passing of the great vessel. Her own mortality vexed her mind, a concept few of elf heritage ever paused much to consider. Despite the long centuries she expected to live past that of her beloved, her life had still come dangerously close to ending a few times that night. What had they gained for all their efforts? Cat felt the smooth leather of the rolled scroll at her belt and pondered its value. What would they learn from its secrets? She felt Trestan shift as he glanced at his ring, and she only hugged him tighter. She often worried about his mortality over her own: however, who can know the unforeseen future, the lives that adventure brings, or the plots of desperate wizards?
Sondra Oskires could only stare through tears as her beloved dream passed away from her. She worshipped Ganden, the God of Honor, Duty, and Service…and yet she was asked to leave the vessel. The young woman felt the pull of her calling, and felt that she was being asked to turn from it by not being there in the inner sanctum with Mother Evine. Sondra knew that to stay was to die; leaving the ship meant living to serve Ganden in selfless devotion another day. The concept didn’t balance out in her mind. How could escape have been the calling of Duty? Her honor and her service to her own god should have demanded she stay behind and die if needed. It was a confusing swirl of emotions that left her questioning her every action that night. She mourned the loss of her mentor, the divine chariot, and all her dreams that had centered on it. Sondra wept openly, not caring who was there to witness it.
Montanya su Troyeal bara Westonhout silently scoffed at the crying cleric. The youth always hid any feelings of helplessness or hurt, and despised such a show from others. She would choose her anger any day over showing signs of weakness to predators and thieves. Her hands absently felt at her chest, where she would normally feel the comfort of her locket. The hairs of her mother and father intertwined within, close to her heart, was now gone. She viewed the world from the horrors of her own childhood. She saw the ship as something that had now been stolen from the church. The unknown relics Trestan and Cat were guarding…stolen. The lives of the people lost that night…stolen. It was easier for Montanya to conform the world into a narrower, straightforward view. Someday she would be the hero. Someday she would make thieves pay for their crimes. Someday that deed would somehow relieve the pains of her personal losses.
Lindon of Orlaun was not one to let any details escape his notice in that emotional time. As a minstrel, it was important that he note the reactions and faces on his varied companions, even as he watched the great divine chariot sail away from the hands of mortals. He recalled his own thrills at flying high above the despondent streets of the Highwater district, while giving the best performance he had ever given while amongst those clouds. It had been a thrilling high point in his life and his career…only to meet a tragic ending. Yet, he was a man apart from the worst of the disaster.
>
To understand the true range of emotions, he had to look into the eyes of those with him. In Sondra’s eyes he saw the obedient cleric whose faith had been strained by the ordeal. Her emotional loss was on a par that Lindon could not truly grasp. In the angry youth, Montanya, he saw only resignation that crime was a part of how she normally saw the world. As long as she was lost in the past of whatever had slighted her view of the world, she would never reach the inner peace desired to bring balance to her spirit. Trestan and Cat had taken it upon themselves to guard something they felt was as important as the divine chariot itself. Their failure, and their concerns over the consequences of the theft, weighed heavily on their shoulders.
Lindon wondered what roles these people still had to play in the continuing struggles. Only Trestan and Cat seemed to have a bold purpose with which to give them direction, the rest were as helpless to plot their course as the drifting lifeboat. Lindon had no great scheme left other than the pursuit of a proper surname. He assumed whatever course these young people picked, his own path would intertwine in some way.
With the Doranil Star sailing away blindly, Lindon of Orlaun set his mandolin on his knee and began to play. The tune was the same as the one that had seen the divine vessel depart Orlaun, and which later had been played with a slower rhythm as the vessel was being abandoned. It was played again to honor the somber, tearful departure. Slowly and with great care, Lindon began to play the ballad of the great ship. His earlier notes became more refined now that he had found his ending. Even as the ship drifted far away, those who could hear Lindon play could hear the droning mantra in the background of his music. His tune carried far across the deepening gloom to those other lifeboats that marked the passage of the vessel. Nobles, crewmembers, and mages alike heard music that gave a fitting eulogy for the great warship of old. They watched as the divine chariot took its final curtain bow before leaving the world of mortals.
The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith Page 34
