Just as he knew that this was his last voyage.
Berne’s eyes were closed- they always were when he was in Ghost Form- yet he heard the crewman coming from the moment the man first set foot on the deck, twenty yards away. Less than a minute later, he heard the man’s voice.
“Captain?”
“Yes?” he answered, letting his Ghost Form fall away as he turned to face the sailor. It was a young ‘un, probably no older than Gribly, with tousled brown hair and an uncertain glance. Funny, how young most youth looked to Berne. He supposed it was because of Gribly… and Lauro. They were both so serious, so gaunt… and then there was Gramling.
“King Gram’s flagship passed a message along the formation, just now. They’ve sighted the Grymclaw, maybe four hours ahead. There’s a light that might be fire.”
“Fire.” Berne considered the word, calculating and cool. “It’d be a bloody big one, to be visible from so far away… and past the ringing cliffs.” He shook his head, but not in regret. The time for meditation was over. Regret had no place with him, now.
“Captain?” The young sailor looked more than a little nervous. Sick, almost. Perhaps this would be his first battle.
“Fetch my anchorblade and cutlass,” Berne told him. “Then rouse those of the crew as still aren’t awake.”
“Yes, Captain.” The youth bobbed his head, eager to have something to take his mind off the fear. Berne felt a stab of pity.
“And Boy?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“We’re going to win this, Boy.” He wasn’t a master of words. Hopefully that would do the trick.
“H… how do you know, Captain?”
The boy stopped, looking worried. Berne thought for a moment, then grinned slyly.
“Because we’ve got the Halanyad, Boy. The Chosen One. We can’t fail.”
~
Elia could feel the approaching shoreline, bathed in the flames of destruction and the red light of the coming day. It was like a titanic black void in the midst of the world of water that replaced her sight. A sense of foreboding filled her with dismay. She felt as if she was falling through deep water, slowly but inevitably, dragged down by the weight of a boulder tied around her neck. Sometimes the sensation grew so intense she had trouble breathing.
Will I see him again? Will I see Gribly? Will he live? Will I? And then there was Gramling. Just thinking about him made her confused, and made the hurt worse.
The few nymphs in the four-ship fleet regarded her with a kind of awe. It was extremely uncomfortable, especially since they were almost all Striders of no small power. She feared that when she returned to the nymphs of the Inkwell, it would only be worse. Was it so bad to be relied upon? She had faced much in her short life… and she had always won, if only by a hair. Why, then, did she feel so downhearted? The chances lay with her more than they did Lauro, and certainly more than Gribly.
Perhaps that was the problem. She was taking the easiest route.
Stop it! she told herself. You’ll have plenty more to worry about in no time… and no path is easy. Especially not yours. In a way, it helped to recognize it. There was nothing she could do to help her friends, not now, and probably not until the Last War had come to a close, one way or another.
Suddenly, a gust of hot wind ruffled her warm winter garb, blasting her in the face with surprising force. She had not felt it coming against the backdrop of similar heat-waves near the Grymclaw. Wait… that’s it. She could do nothing to control her fate. There was no such thing as fate. She was not fated to die. Neither was Gribly, or Gramling, or Lauro, or anyone.
So there was but one thing to do.
Elia knew now… there was no more she could do for her friends. But there was an infinite amount of good she could do for her people. She would have to be content, concentrating on the salvation of the Inkwell and its nymphs. It would be challenge enough until Gribly had defeated Sheolus. And she knew he could. She knew he would.
There was no other possible outcome.
Elia sighed… she was at peace. A harsh peace, but one she could bear.
A hubbub broke out on deck, behind her place at the prow. Cries of “Battle stations!” could be heard, along with the guttural commands of Slere Math, the Rogue Lord in charge of her ship. She had been placed on the third, in front of Captain Berne’s vessel, and behind Karmidigan’s, which was in turn behind King Gram’s. It seemed the conflict was closer than she had thought.
At least now I am ready… as ready as I can be.
And she was.
~
The Golden Nation had sent another raid. They’d met Vastic forces at the Lost Walls, which more or less meant that Gribly, Gramling, and the other Stone Striders murdered them without a fight. There weren’t even any Pit Striders along to make the job interesting.
Gribly gingerly picked his way around a pile of blood-pulped Coalskin bodies. These had been some of the last ones… they’d refused to surrender, even when hopelessly outnumbered. Gramling had made a giant fist out of the nearby stone wall and pounded them down in his anger.
Why did all the Coalskins die like that? Without a plea? They couldn’t really believe so strongly in their own cause. Elia had told him what life in the Golden Nation was like for Pit Striders, and Gramling had supplied the rest of the information. Common soldiers had more reason to hate their own country than any of the other Coalskins. Kinn, I mean. Elia insisted they be called their true name, though Gribly couldn’t see why it mattered.
He shook the thoughts from his mind as he rounded the bend, to where the burnings were happening. The stench almost overpowered him, but he picked his way through the scattered array of soldiers dragging body after body to the pyres, until he found his brother. As usual, Gramling was arguing with someone. This time it was a tall ranger in a dark brown coat and hood, who smelled like charcoal and had a bandolier of throwing knives across his shoulder.
When he finally managed to pull Gramling away from the argument, Gribly tried his best to keep his reprimand from sounding condescending. It didn’t work very well.
“You can’t keep fighting people, Gramling. There are other ways of solving things. I know it’s hard to adapt- I had the same problem- but you have to learn.”
The rogue Pit Strider snorted. “That fool was going to have the rest of the bodies burned with their armor and gear on, and everything! He won’t let me task some of the men with looting the bodies and gathering what we can. Heavens know we need the scavenging… but you know what he says? He says it’s unholy. Not the looting, either… the gear! He thinks it’s tainted! ‘Just like you,’ he said! I was going to…”
“Stop it!” Gribly snapped. “They’re all baiting you, and you know it! This isn’t the first time someone in the Remnant has tried to prove you’re evil. Don’t forget what happens every day, Gramling.”
“First time? More like hundredth,” his brother grumbled. He had a sullen look to his eye, and Gribly could only hope that ranger didn’t insult him again. He wouldn’t put it past Gramling to knife the man behind his back, or boil the blood in his veins-
Stop thinking that way. You’re no better than the rest of them, when you do. He’s trying… he really is. Aloud, he changed his tone to be as mild as he could bear.
“I know it’s hard. I also can’t know, can’t know what it feels like, to be… disliked… as you are. I did feel it a little, though, when I first came here. And I… well, it’s a problem of a different kind, and maybe a worse kind, when you’re expected to do great things. Especially when you’ve no idea what it is you’re supposed to do… even after all this time.” Gribly shook his head, but stopped when he noticed Gramling looking at him intently. “What?” he asked.
Gramling didn’t answer, at least not immediately. The brothers passed another immolation team as they walked between two ruined portions of wall. The men were scavenging armor and supplies, just as they should. Gribly sighed internally… like he had suspected, the ranger had just be
en trying to make trouble for Gramling.
“You held on,” Gramling said without warning. They stopped past the ruins, looking out over the stretch of hills-land that separated the Fellmere from the White Marshes. Behind was smoke, and the aftermath of battle; ahead was the emptiness of a gradually downward-sloping land. Below was gray grass, above were gray skies. There seemed to be little meaning to anything here.
“What do you mean, I held on?” Gribly asked, glancing at his brother. Gramling looked unusually thoughtful, and even more unusually, devoid of anger.
“You stayed who you were. You held on.” Gramling met his eye past a curtain of unruly hair. “You were your own master. Don’t look at me that way. I know the rest of your story by now. You did what you wanted. You won.”
“I… suppose,” Gribly said, confused, “but it didn’t always feel that way. In fact, most of the time, it felt like I was getting pushed around by… well, everything. The world, my enemies… even…” he lowered his voice a little, “…even the Aura.”
Gramling laughed coarsely. “Then you have the tiniest taste of my world, Brother. We aren’t so different as people assume… even you.”
Gribly was taken aback. Gramling’s words struck at the heart of how he felt. Truth was, he didn’t want to be like Gramling, and he didn’t want Gramling to be like him.
“When I was very small,” Gramling continued, “the caretakers Sheolus assigned me didn’t call me by my name.” He paused, wiping some dried blood onto his heavy black trousers, then straightened up again. “They just called me ‘man boy,’ since they didn’t know the word ‘human.’ I hated it. I asked one of them what my name was, and she just looked sad, and told me I didn’t have one. That didn’t sit with me. Since the other children had been given their names when they were born, I knew I had one, too. I was different. I came from a different place. I had to have a name.”
Gribly nodded slowly. He was unsure of why Gramling was explaining it all, but he dared not interrupt.
“So one day, in my… perhaps eighth… year, I stole into the office of the Argentor who owned the caretaking facility.”
“Argentor… what is that, again?” Gribly felt embarrassed to break the narrative, but the question was out before he could stop it. Gramling’s brief lessons in Golden Nation structure hadn’t helped much for his memory.
“A Lord. Very powerful, very influential.”
“Blast.”
“Indeed. Anyway, I got in. This Argentor was sadistic. That’s why he ran the caretaking. I knew he would be the one to know my name… I hadn’t met the Golden One yet, at least not in his true form. I found his office, like I said, and he was in it. Sleeping. I looked through his records…”
“…at eight?”
“…I could read, Gribly. But you’re right. There was no way I could find them.”
“Then… what did you do?” Gribly’s voice was low, and he didn’t realize he’d spoken the thought aloud until Gramling laughed coldly again.
“I killed the Argentor in his sleep. I made the stone floor open and devour him. I’d never Stone Strode before, and that was when Sheolus really began to take notice of me. He appeared a few days later, when I was in bed… scared the Blazes out of me.”
Gribly cringed. It seemed as if the morning were colder, simply from the mention of Sheolus… and it did not escape him that for once, Gramling had dared use the true name of his former master. “And?”
“He told me my true name. It never occurred to me to doubt him. I thought he was a god. He… is, in a way. He asked me to join him. I didn’t want to, not at first… but I did. And I never looked back.”
Gribly whistled… almost. “Until the rebellion?”
“No.” Gramling smiled sadly. “Until Elia.”
Chapter Five: Halanyad Risene
Voices sounded around Elia like a swarm of distressed bees. She was once more standing in the prow of the ship, but behind her now stood Gram, Berne, and Karmidigan. They had gathered on the same vessel to discuss the most obvious problem: how to get past the burning countryside, and rescue those trapped just over a mile away, beyond the cliffs.
“There’s no way up, on any side. I’ve told you before, I’ll tell you again! I know what I’m talking about… I’ve sailed these waters my whole life!”
“I agree… but we can’t give up.”
“I didn’t suggest it!”
“Now, what I think we should do…”
“Hold it! Perhaps sailing farther East, to where the Grymslip lets out? It’d be rowing upstream, but with these new devices scavenged from the Golden Nation Deathfins, it won’t be a problem…”
“Yes it would. The current’s too bloody strong.”
“Wait, men, I think…”
“You don’t know that! Those engines are blasted powerful! More than I’ve ever…”
“STOP! There’s another way! It’s crazy, but just BLOODY LISTEN TO ME!” It was Gram. Elia didn’t care to concentrate enough to solve who the others were. She was trying to ignore them.
Wanderwillow was near. She could sense his power in the way she had sensed it before, on her first visit here. She had not known it then, but she was sensing his power in the Otherworld… the part of him attuned to the element of Spirit. Even then, the inklings of her latent ability had tried to manifest themselves.
More than that, she could feel him… see him, fuzzy and far off… in the same way she saw everything. Sea Striding energy radiated off his presence like an enormous globe of raw power. The problem was, it was so indistinct… It was almost as if his essence was distributed over a wide area of some miles, instead of being concentrated in one physical place… such as a body. Having an actual sea beneath her only helped so much… blast this cursed blindness!
“With enough Stone Striders… yes, we’ve got them! Enough, anyway… stop interrupting!” Gram again. She sighed, pushing sound and thought away.
Time for a leap in the dark.
Elia pressed her consciousness outward, melding Sea and Spirit with vivid precision. She was no expert on such things- not like Gribly or Gramling, anyway- but she knew enough to know such a move would probably give Wanderwillow notice of her presence… and possibly a painful mental shock, too. She hoped not… angering an Aura was the last thing she needed.
“If you’d just…” someone was saying angrily…
CHILD. Wanderwillow’s voice!
The world went silent. To her utter surprise and horror, her senses vanished. She was already blind in her eyes, but now she was blind to water, as well. Hearing died. Touch faded away. She was left hanging in a black void of nothingness, without a single physical sensation to latch onto.
It was as if she had ceased to be.
CHILD. The Brown Aura had spoken again… and suddenly warmth filled her. Her senses did not return, but she became aware of a freeness… she could converse, if not quite in words, with the light in the darkness that was Wanderwillow’s vast consciousness.
Master. Nympharch. I have returned to free my people.
I know. You have read the tapestry of Fate, torn though it be, and you have done what was right.
Are you in danger, O Aura?
I am not, but the mortals under my protection have begun to lose faith. It is all I can do to protect them… and I have not spoken with them in many months.
I am confused… but I will aid as I may, my Master.
I know you will. This is what you were called for… the reason you exist. You will give them hope.
How?
Let me fill you. Together, Aura and Nymph, we will be more powerful than alone. You are grounded in the World, I in the Otherworld. Accept my power, the power of the Creator, and become unique to all the beings of both our worlds.
I… I do not know if I am worthy, or ready. But if you command it…
I do.
…then I will. I accept. Fill me, Nympharch. Let us drive the enemy from this holy place.
With that, Elia felt t
he world turn inside out and upside down. Instead of darkness, there was every color of light. Instead of loss, she felt a hundred joyful sensations she had not dreamed existed. Shouts of surprise filled her ears, but she was beyond hearing, in the sense that she had understood it before. Obeying the will of the Aura… obeying the Creator… that was hearing. That was seeing. That was feeling, and smelling, and…
…and seeing. For the moments Wanderwillow lent her his power, she could see again.
Snatches of words broke through.
“…Rising up!”
“…what in Vast…?”
Storm Kings (Song of the Aura, Book Six) Page 4
