Shadowrun - Earthdawn - Longing Ring

by kubasik

  J 'role looked forward and saw the Chakara turning about, realizing he'd been wrong about the intent of the Breeton. The ship wasn't trying to run him and the others down. It was tong to intercept the Chakara. The long, sharp prongs that extended from the bow of the Breeton loomed near now.

  As the Chakara turned, the ship's sailors dropped rope ladders down to the longboat.

  Shouts of encouragement and cheers of enthusiasm filled the air as the sailors waved the crew of the long boat and J'role's companions up the ladders. They had only begun working their way up the ladders when a fireball crashed into the stern of the longboat, shattering it and igniting the remains. Spurred on by the heat, they all rushed up the ropes and again Releana and J'role were aided by the t'skrang.

  J'role had just put his feet on the deck of the Chakara when the ship shook violently. He looked to his right and saw the Breeton towering above; its prongs had pierced the hull of the Chakara.

  Immediately dozens of t'skrang sailors swung overhead, slashing with their swords as they passed one another. With the t'skrang in their bright, gaudy clothes, the scene looked like a produce cart had overturned sending fruits and vegetables flying wildly through the air. Cries and shouts and curses rang out. The sailors landed with elaborate flips and dives and rolls on each other's ships. It was terrifying and glorious; deadly serious and absurd. A gurgle of giddy excitement rushed up J'role's throat, and he thought for a moment he might both cry and laugh.

  A mutineer dropped down beside them, and the captain cut him through the abdomen without a thought. "I'll never have enough of this river," she said under her breath.

  Suddenly the ship lurched again, this time to starboard. "The Breeton!" she cried. "It will drag us down as it sinks!" J’role looked over the side and saw that the Breeton's two prongs deeply embedded in the Chakara. When the prongs and the Chakara's breach reached water level water would pour into the Chakara's lower decks, plunging the ship down to the bottom of the river along with the Breeton.

  'What can we do?" asked Releana.

  The captain looked back at the Breeton—wistfully, J'role thought—and then said, "We've got to back her up. Get to the wheelhouse and turn the paddle the other way." With that she ran for the edge of the riverboat and threw herself over, grabbing a rope at the last moment and flinging herself over to the Breeton. J'role could think of nothing he would rather do than try to keep up with the captain's headlong, reckless energy. He rushed forward and imitated her, swinging back over to the Breeton. Releana followed immediately behind, shouting, “I just hope I live so I can tell someone about all this!"

  When they reached the deck of the Breeton, J'role grabbed a sword from off the deck, prying it out of the hands of a dead sailor. He waved it once through the air, the swishing sound making him suddenly giddy. The captain looked down at him, winked, and then the three were on their way, running along the deck to the rear of the riverboat. The wheelhouse was located on the top deck at the stern, and they had a long way to go.

  They fought their way through the mutineers, engaging them in groups of up to six at a time. The captain fought with her skillful swordplay. Releana with her magic. And J'role, slipping his thief magic around him, sneaked up around their opponents, striking from behind. Skirmish after skirmish they fought, each of them taking nicks and cuts. By the time they were halfway there, each was trailing drops of blood in his or her wake.

  The captain, who had taken the worst of the damage, finally fell to her knees. "Go on, go on," she said. "Pull the lever all the way back . . ."

  "But ...," Releana said.

  "GO!"

  They went. They fought on. They made their way along decks and up ropes. They were wary now, avoiding fights when they could, fighting quickly when they couldn't. Around them a choppy sea of conflict—swords, shouts, the clinks of rapier against rapier ...

  They reached the wheelhouses a square room sitting atop a platform and surrounded by windows on all sides. They came up low, under the windows, intending to catch the mutineers inside off guard. With a signal to Releana to wait a moment, J'role walked up the stairs to the wheelhouse door, and tried it. Locked. Inside he saw two mutineers. They seemed content to wait safely inside as the battle raged around them. Nikronallia was not among them.

  It occurred to J'role that, being a thief, he should be able to unlock a door. He didn't k now how to do it exactly, but like so many other things about being a thief, he trusted it would come to him if he lost himself in the magic. He quieted his thoughts. Let the loneliness soak into his muscles and bones ... Yes. It came to him now. He placed his fingertips against the lock ... Yes ...

  No. He felt his magic falter. He was positive he should be able to manipulate the lock by using magic; he sensed the magic within, wanting him to do it. But he knew the task was simply too difficult to accomplish without some practice and thought. That was for a later time.

  He signaled Releana to come up the stairs, then stood and smashed the glass of the door with the pommel of his sword. Quickly he reached in and undid the lock. As he pulled his hand out, one of the mutineers jabbed his rapier into J'role's arm. He fell back just as Releana cast a spell. She dropped to the ground and breathed onto the floor. A thick layer of ice rushed across the room, suddenly sliding under the feet of the startled mutineers, who slipped and tumbled to the floor.

  J'role jumped into the room, driving his rapier into the chest of one of the t'skrang.

  Releana killed the other one with an ice spear she produced from her hands.

  J 'role spotted the lever. Though it was labeled in t'skrang, it was pushed all the way forward, and it seemed obvious that pulling it all the way back would reverse the Breeton's direction. J'role scrambled for the device, slipping on the blood and ice that covered the floor. He reached it, and pulled it all the way, then he and Releana breathed a sigh of relief as they heard the paddle grind to a halt and start up again. He looked out the rear window and saw the wheel in full reverse. Slowly the ship began to back up.

  J'role turned toward Releana His smile quickly vanished, for right behind her stood Nikronallia, blood stained and grim.

  Even as Releana turned in response to J'role's visible fear, Nikronallia was pulling back on his sword, getting ready to run Releana through. Releana just had time to cry out in surprise and terror when a knife flashed in the door frame and caught Nikronallia full in the neck. The mutiny leader gurgled blood for a moment, then fell backward over the stairway railing.

  "Lad!" Garlthik One-Eye exclaimed, his bulky ork body filling the doorway. "Are you all right?" He paused for a moment, taking in J'role's reaction. When J'role only stood there impassively, he said, "Thank the gods and goddesses you found help. I've been a prisoner to these—"

  J'role rushed forward and slammed into Garlthik, sending the ork over the railing. The ork bounced on the deck below, then plunged into the Serpent.

  "We've got to get off!" shouted Releana. As if confirming the urgency of the danger, the ship listed sharply and threw them to the deck.

  26

  Her dreamed of her putting the thing in him. His mother stood beside his bed, her fingertips pressed against his chest, gently massaging his skin. "Like this?" she asked.

  The white shadow in the corner replied, "Yes."

  As the ship rocked and listed sharply, J'role and Releana fell to the deck. Dazed, he lost the impulse to get up and move, but Releana was quickly at his side and tugging on his armn. The Chakara isn't holding the Breeton up any more," she said. "We've got to go!"

  J'role came out of his strange disorientation, and the two of them fled across the upper deck, trying to get to the Chakara before the Breeton capsized. Balancing carefully on the deck's steep angle, they worked their way through the corpses and the blood. The fighting had stopped, and both the Chakara's crew and the Breeton mutineers who wanted to surrender had begun a retreat. Ahead dozens of t'skrang swung from the sinking ship over to the Chakara.

  J'role and Releana were h
alfway down the length of the ship when J'role suddenly thought of his father.

  Where was he? Was he still alive?

  Releana ran on a few steps more, then turned to look when she realized J'role had fallen behind. He waved her on toward the Chakara, then turned toward a passage leading to the lower decks. Releana must have read his mind. Running back toward him, she said,

  "They might have found him already, Grim ... J'role. Some of the Chakara's sailors might have gotten him off the ship."

  J'role hesitated. She might be right. But he couldn't wait. He started down the stairs.

  A moment later he heard Releana following. He felt much better.

  With the ship now tilted at a forty-five degree angle, J'role and Releana had to walk with one foot on the floor and one foot at the base of the wall. They ran through the ship, Releana calling, ”Hello? Hello?" over and over again. They found corpses, but no Bevarden. Eventually they reached the lower decks and as they headed toward the starboard side they saw passages filling with water; further on some cabins were completely submerged.

  J'role wondered if the ship would soon begin to sink faster, with he and Releana trapped aboard, unable to find an exit before the decks they now wandered flooded with water.

  J role tapped Releana on the arm, then pointed one way for her, and another for himself.

  "Good. We'll cover more rooms that way. We'll meet in five minutes. I think that's all we have ... J'role. I'm sorry. But I think we must leave soon.”

  They broke apart. Alone now, J'role felt the thief magic come warm and strong upon him.

  It gave him a valuable sense of balance, allowing him to move quickly through the tilted corridors without falling into the water that now lapped at his thighs. The magic focused him, made him need no one and nothing but himself. He would survive. He knew that. He would endure.

  "Why don't you let your father die?" the creature asked. "You know that's what you want."

  J'role did not answer, because, in some way he could not understand, he knew that the creature was right.

  He checked cabin after cabin, pushing aside bits of wood that floated in the flooding, blood stained waters. Time was running out, but he could not give up.

  Passing another corridor that tilted up steeply, he heard the sound of crying. The corridor tilted up, and a voice so like his father's seemed to emanate from somewhere along it.

  J'role began to climb quickly up the inclined floor. After climbing another fifteen feet of corridor, J'role found that the water had risen enough to cut off the passage he had traveled. The ship was sinking faster.

  Finally he came to the room where his father wept. He looked inside and saw Bevarden resting at the bottom of the room, where the floor met the ceiling. A thick cord was tied around his hands and feet, and he stared down. "What is the world? What is the world?"

  he kept asking over and over through his tears.

  J'role slid down the floor, and his father looked up, shocked as J'role appeared beside him. Then the fear turned to joy. "My son. My son." But even this emotion evaporated, replaced by deep-lined sadness across Bevarden's thin, tired face.

  His father's sudden shifts of emotion filled J'role with a kind of anguished frustration, but he set about untying his father's bonds. His fingers moved nimbly and quickly. Though the sailors had created an extraordinary puzzle, J'role's thoughts cut quickly through the maze of cord. As soon as Bevarden's hands were freed, he grabbed J'role and held him close.

  J'role flailed his arms and forced his father away. The man's touch sickened him. His father looked at him, stunned and hurt. "J'role ... My J'role ..." –Then, as if perceiving some deep knowledge from the look in J'role's eyes, he said, "I'm sorry." He looked away. "I'm sorry. I didn't ... Your mother and I ..." He gasped for air.

  J'role stood, grabbed his father, and helped him up. He handed one end of the rope to his father and then climbed with the other end up to the door. After looping the rope around the doorknob, he slammed the door against the wall, trying to get his father's attention.

  But Bevarden simply stared at the rope, his jaw moving without words.

  Down the passageway the water was rising faster and faster. J'role slammed the door against the wall again and again. Finally Bevarden looked up at him. "You ...," Bevarden began. "The elves are wrong, J'role. All wrong. When we emerged, the world was supposed to be wonderful. Perfect. I had heard ... things.'

  Confusion swirled in J’role’s thoughts. He knew now what had happened. His mother had betrayed him to the creature, the white shadow in their home in the kaer. Why had his father always been so upset? It was his mother! Why did his father turn to drinking?

  Why had his father become so weak?

  Energized with furious impatience, he slid back down to the bottom of the room and tied the rope around his father's waist. Then he scrambled back up, and began dragging Bevarden toward the door.

  "I loved ... I loved ... your mother very ... You see, J'role. I loved ... And she wanted ...

  She thought ... She had to ... You see ..."

  J'role only half heard the words, for he was putting all his effort into dragging his father up the tilted floor. The memory the creature in his thoughts had given him came to him now, and he felt his mother's fingers on his chest, casting the ritual that allowed the Horror into his head.

  "I'm sorry…”

  The apology! Always the apology! Over and over again the apology! All these years he'd heard his father apologizing. J'role never really knowing what for.

  That, J'role realized as he tugged on the rope, was the true legacy his father had given him. Always apologizing. J’role had spent his whole life up until he met Garlthik thinking he had to apologize to everybody. Only now did he realize he was not whole, but he did not have to spend his life apologizing for it.

  "Please ...," his father begged, but for what J'role did not now.

  J'role wanted to scream, but held his tongue. Instead the anger inside him seized his muscles, and he slammed his foot into his father's face. Bevarden cried out with terrible pain, the blood smearing his features. The ship creaked and tipped backward.

  "Now, didn't that feel good?” asked the creature.

  It did not. J’role felt a terrible shame. He wanted to cry. But he choked back the impulse.

  Why had he hurt his father like that? Bevarden began to cry once more. With two more heaves he had his father up to the door frame. He stared at his father, and saw empty and pathetic eyes.

  Why had everything been like this?

  Fearful of what he might do next, J'role began to climb up the floor, knowing he would have to keep moving to higher ground until they finally made it out the other side of the ship.

  "Let him die," the creature suggested.

  "Quiet!" J'role thought fiercely.

  The thief magic tugged at his muscles. The ship was sinking faster now. With his father slowing him down, he might not make it out. Should he...?

  He looked down toward the door. His father looked up at him, longing deep in his eyes, longing for love from his son.

  "I just ... So much wanted to make you happy ..."

  Then why weren't you stronger! J’role thought fiercely.

  Bevarden reached his hand up toward J'role. "I'm sorry.”

  J'role ignored his father, tried to beat down his fury. He tied his end of the rope around his waist and began climbing up the passage. Soon the rope went taut, and he looked back and saw his father had not yet begun to climb up after him. He simply sat in the door frame, staring at the opposite wall. J'role snapped the rope. His father turned languidly and looked at J'role. He smiled. The rising water lapped at Bevarden's feet.

  With the fear of drowning growing in him, J'role braced himself in a doorway and began to drag his father up the passage. Bevarden offered no help. When J'role had dragged his father a dozen or so feet, the rope, now wet from the rising water, slid through his hands.

  The rope burned deep into his palms, and Bev
arden splashed into the water below. The pull of the rope tugged at J'role's waist and he slid down into the water after his father.

  But his father grabbed him from behind and the two of them went deep into the water once more.

  The two of them splashed wildly in the water for a moment, Bevarden's cries for help filling J'role's ears like a nightmare. Finally He found the floor and began to climb out.

  Again they twisted and turned, splashing with panic in the water, the cord that bound them wrapping so tightly around them that soon both had lost the free motion of their arms and legs. J'role could not keep afloat, and he found himself dragged under the water, his throat choking with water. He came up for air, and his father grabbed him, apologizing and begging for help.

  His father's weight carried J'role under the water once more, and this time J'role became dizzy from the lack of air. His feet found the floor of the corridor, and he pushed up, forcing his father back and beaching the surface of the water.