The Vitalis Chronicles: White Shores

by Jay Swanson

  Ardin didn't respond, he just squeezed her arm lightly as he scanned the docks. Not much farther on he saw a load of crates resting on a net, ready to be lifted onto a ship. It was as good an opportunity as any.

  He pulled Alisia after him and began weaving through the piles of cable, chains, and empty boxes that lined the dockside. He stayed low, trying to avert any attention with the protective covering of their surroundings. They were able to get within feet of the net without leaving cover. Ardin turned to Alisia to check on her. She had pulled herself together again. He squeezed her arm reassuringly and then checked the open space around the net again. No one seemed to be nearby or paying attention.

  He snuck over to the thick ropes that made up the mesh around the boxes, and pulled himself up and into their midst. It was awkward at first, but he managed to pull himself around to where he could see Alisia. He waved for her to join him. She hesitated, looking back and forth before taking a deep breath and scurrying over to him.

  She climbed up with ease, quietly vaulting the top of the net and landing next to him in perfect form. He would have felt embarrassed at how easily she had managed it had the ropes not been pulled taut in that moment.

  He looked up as a crane sitting on the nearest ship lifted them slowly off the ground. It twisted, rotating at its base as it folded in on itself again to lower them to the deck. They lowered themselves into the boxes as best they could, trying not to get crushed as the tension on the net let out and its contents shifted in response.

  A deck hand wandered over and unhooked the net, not paying any attention to the cargo as he swung the hook free of it. He hollered at someone over the stern and walked away, leaving them on the surprisingly quiet deck of an unknown ship.

  THE SHADOW KING stood on the cliffs to the north, overlooking the Delta as the sun made its way towards its zenith. His long black cloak whipped in the wind hard enough that he had to compensate for it in his stance. It almost looked as though he was fighting to keep from being cast over the edge. He stood there, motionless in contrast to his struggling cloak, staring. Focused on the city below, he found it difficult to discern what the pockets of unrest along the streets meant.

  He could see small packs of men hunting through the streets as if on the trail of a hidden treasure. Others had grouped together and begun to shout at each other, small conflicts breaking out almost everywhere that the Shade could see. His eyes and ears were sharp enough to see and hear most of the disturbances, but not enough so that he could actually make out what was being said. The wind at his back wasn't helping any.

  He could see groups of police making their way through town, on their own search but often held up by the need to disband various mobs and stop fights before they broke into a full scale riot. It looked as though Elandir had offered a healthy reward for the Magess and it was having its effect on the city. That was unfortunate for the Shadow King, who would have liked to undertake his hunt in secret. This would at least produce signs of where to look, and hopefully the fools below would unknowingly trap the girl for him. If anything they would try to sail out of the city, which meant they were most likely on the South Docks.

  He would have to get there as quickly as he could. The only problem would be if he wasn't close enough when they were discovered. Getting through town in this mess would prove challenging enough for someone who stood out less than he did. When a large scale brawl started on the South Docks, his temper flared for a moment.

  Getting to them there would be nearly impossible if time was an issue, which it always was. He stepped to the edge of the cliff and peered as hard as he could towards the Docks. Whatever was going on down there warranted investigation. He wouldn't get a better sign from where he was.

  He tested the hilt of his sword, ensuring it was securely sheathed in its scabbard, and then launched himself out as far as he could. Soon he was stretched out parallel to the ground, cape whipping behind him as he fell towards the earth hundreds of yards below. He picked up speed as his knees bent and his eyes started to tear up.

  Jagged black rocks started to make themselves apparent at the base of the cliff, reaching for him greedily. Moments before impact he disappeared, reappearing seconds later among the rocks that so hungered for his demise. They were left disappointed as he walked out of them and started running through the rows of low buildings that lined the North Shore.

  Most of the streets here were empty, the crowds having moved further into the city; first to search for the fugitives and now to investigate the commotion. He didn't have to go far before he caught up with the stragglers, and soon was in the midst of dozens of people walking through the streets. Trucks and carts alike found themselves stalled indefinitely as they waited for the crowds to disperse. There was a lot of money on the line for anyone who found the girl and her friend, enough that a man wouldn't have to work a day for the rest of his life.

  The Shadow King pushed his way through the crowds, ducking down alleys and, in particularly crowded areas, passing through in his immaterial form. He didn't like passing through things, for the most part his form was forced around them instead, and though he felt nothing, it disturbed him in a foundational way to do so.

  It took him the better part of an hour to make it to the South Docks, but when he had he could tell he was too late. Sliding into the shadows he waited and listened to the nearby maritime police officers and their squawking wireless.

  “Can you believe the fight that old man put up?” said one to his comrade.

  “No.” The other seemed preoccupied with some paperwork. “Impressive though.”

  “I'll say,” the other continued unfazed by his comrade's lack of interest. “I've never seen a guy pound so many cops before getting taken down.”

  “Mmm,” the other continued to ignore him.

  “I guess fishing is a good workout if ever there was one.”

  It didn't take long to put together what had happened, and who was responsible. The Shadow King would have ignored the whole story had it not been for the description of the old fisherman. It piqued his curiosity, as if brushing uncertainly against an old, hazy memory. And then it came to him: the Old Guard.

  They weren't all dead, he knew, though they had been dispersed early in the Purge. The Shade's mood waxed as a wireless squawked the station the prisoner was being taken to. He grinned; he would get his answers.

  TWENTY-ONE

  ARDIN AND ALISIA soon found themselves surrounded by endless amounts of shipping crates and boxes on the long flat deck. They were happy for the natural hiding place, but realized it wouldn't last when deck hands started rushing about tying it all down. The pair slid down from their spot as the ship's horn blared, signaling its departure from the dock.

  Ardin didn't know where to go until he spotted a grate on the deck. It's lock had long been broken and it lifted easily enough when he pulled, rotating haltingly on rusty hinges. They hesitated a moment, but he took a deep breath and dropped down into the darkness.

  “C'mon down!” he hissed from below as Alisia stared after him. “It's a cargo hold.”

  She followed, dropping half on top of him, eliciting a muffled grunt. The hold was hot; much hotter than anticipated. They were both sweating within minutes as they tried to navigate their way among the canvas-covered crates to the floor. Finally, they found a path among the containers and dropped to the deck.

  “Well,” Ardin said. “I guess this is our new home.”

  “I guess so,” her response came from the dark.

  “How long does it take to sail to Silverdale?”

  “Two weeks, I think.”

  “Two weeks?” he gawked. “No way.”

  “Believe it,” she said. “And get used to the heat.”

  “We're gonna stink so bad by the time we get there, it'll be a miracle if they don't find us first.”

  “We won't wait three weeks,” she said. “We can't make it down here for that long anyways, unless they've got water stored somewhere nearby. W
e'll need to give ourselves up.”

  “What?” he said. “I doubt they'll appreciate finding us all that much, whether or not we give ourselves up.”

  “We won't have a choice. And neither will they, really. It's not like they can just put in at the nearest port and kick us off.”

  “They could kick us off without a port. That's what I'm more worried about.”

  “We can defend ourselves, Ardin,” she yawned. “I would venture to guess that if I suggest burning a hole in their ship, they'll treat us well enough.”

  “You and burning stuff,” Ardin said as she found a nook between crates to curl up in. “You'd have made a great boy, you know.”

  “I'll take that as a compliment,” she said, sleep overwhelming her as the ship began to roll. They could feel it slow as it began to change directions and head out to sea.

  Ardin didn't bother saying anything else. He just found a spot where he could sit nearby to keep watch, listening to the deep creaking of the metal hull as the ship worked its way through the waves. Soon the combination of the warmth, darkness, and gentle rolling of the ship sent him dreaming as well.

  Ardin woke to the flickering hum of fluorescent lights turning on overhead. Shaking the cobwebs from his mind, he hurried over to Alisia and hid with her among the crates. She looked like she had been awake already for some time. They sat, waiting, wishing they could see through their shelter but glad no one else could. Soon they could hear voices calling out and laughing farther down in the hold. There was a lot of space down there, but the ship only seemed to have one deck above. Ardin didn't know much about ships, but this one felt immensely long.

  “What a mess,” a distinguishable voice came from what sounded like a few rows of crates away.

  “Aye,” came another. “Can't imagine we'll actually sell all this. Half the crates are empty!”

  “Captain's a fool,” said the first. “That's what I always says.”

  “Aye, just don't let him hear you say it.”

  The two of them laughed again, and continued talking as they wandered away and continued working with the cargo.

  Ardin was shaking, his heart racing. He hadn't thought that anyone would come into the cargo hold while they were sailing. The idea hadn't occurred to him in any case. Alisia began to edge out of the crates, wanting to work her way closer to overhear the conversation. Ardin grabbed her arm without thinking.

  “Hey,” she said as she turned. “Stop that.”

  “Don't go,” he said, eyes wide and unblinking.

  “I just want to hear what they're up to,” she said. “Try and figure out what all of these crates are for.”

  She lowered herself gently into the walkway and then worked her way along its winding path until she was within earshot of the men at work. She slowed until she could make out what they were saying, then hid herself among the crates again.

  Ardin was nowhere to be seen. She figured he had stayed put. His curiosity seemed on leave for this voyage, and she guessed she couldn't blame him. It would be easy to feel trapped in the bowels of a cargo ship like this. This would not be a good first experience sailing, that much was certain.

  “Well I'm not in charge of running ammo,” the first was saying. “I'm a gunner, so what do I care if the ammo's at th’other end of the ship? I don' have to run it.”

  “It'll take longer for your runner to get it, you clot. Which means you'll have less ammo to work with.”

  “Bah, Tommy's a good lad. He'll manage.”

  “I still think we'd be best to move the munitions closer to midships.”

  “I wager you should stop yer whinin'.”

  “Oi,” came a third, deeper voice. “I reckon you should both quit yer whinin' I does.”

  “What you want?”

  “Come to check on the two of you and make sure you weren't causin' no trouble, that's what.”

  “Bah,” the second one sounded annoyed. “You're just bored, you are.”

  “Right so,” came the deep voice. “Sailin's woman's work. I needs me a good fight.”

  “You'll get it,” said the first. “Soon enough as sure as waves is wet. You never visited the continent, eh?”

  “Nah,” the deep voice seemed put off by the question. “First time.”

  “Well you'll wish you weren't hired to do the fightin' by the time we get there, I promise you that.”

  “Can't be so bad,” the deep voice sounded uncertain despite the feigned confidence. “Fightin's fightin', Grandia or no.”

  Grandia? Alisia's eyes grew wide, her heart rate increasing at the mention of the name.

  “You keep sayin' that,” said the first. “Let us know what yer thinkin' when you see the place. Of course, that is, if you make it close enough to see it at all.”

  The two had a good laugh at that, something that didn't sound funny in any way to Alisia. She began to sweat even more than she had been in the heat.

  “Well,” the deep voice said contentiously. “I wager you two squats have no idea what all the empty boxes is for.”

  “Who gives a gull?” said the first. “Boxes is boxes. Empty or no, the captain's daft in the head. I wager he's bringin' back some rare trinkets er the like.”

  “Aye,” said the deep voice, unwilling to believe that the others weren't intrigued. “Somethin' real rare.”

  There was a long pause in the conversation, it seemed to Alisia like the other two had gone back to working.

  “Well ain't you gonna ask me?” the deep voice finally burst.

  “The hell is it then, Clive?”

  “People!”

  There was a silence as Clive awaited a response.

  “You're all excited about slavin' then, are you Clive?”

  “Slav... hell, you two act like this ain't no big deal!”

  “It ain't no big deal, Clive. We done it before, we'll do it again.”

  “But you make big money slavin’! We'll be rich men!”

  “Clive.” Something clanked as the first put down whatever he was working on. “Get back up topside with the other stiffnecked fighters, eh? Leave us be.”

  “But we'll be rich men, hey?”

  “Nah, Clive,” said the second. “We'll make near as much as we always do.”

  “How do you figure?” Clive sounded indignant.

  “’Cause, slaving trips cost more and there's always more damage done to the ship sailin' that far north. Why do you think we've been welding those huge plates to the hull? Get yer head out of yer arse before you go off gettin' all excited like that.”

  The men continued to heckle each other for some time, but Alisia didn't hear any more of it. She slunk back to Ardin with her stomach in knots and her mind spinning.

  “Well?” Ardin was waiting anxiously for her, sensing her tension as she crawled back up into their hiding place. “What's wrong? What did they say?”

  “They're slavers...”

  “What? What are slavers?”

  “They buy and sell people, Ardin. Slaves.”

  “That isn't legal!”

  “No kidding,” she said. “Nothing about this ship is legal.”

  He sank back to his seat. “I guess we won't be showing ourselves to them then.”

  “It's worse,” she gulped, uncertain if she could say it as her stomach churned.

  “What's worse? How does it get worse than that?”

  “We're going to Grandia.”

  “Grandia? Where's that? I thought we were headed to Silverdale. There aren't any other ports on the west coast!”

  “We aren't going down the coast,” she said. “We're headed west.”

  “I don't get it,” he said.

  “You've heard of the forbidden continent, right?”

  “Well yeah–”

  “Before the Magi forbade passage, they called it Grandia.”

  THE FISHERMAN LAY on the bench in his cell in the South Docks maritime police station. He'd counted the ceiling tiles three times now, and was fairly certain ther
e were eighty-seven. It was hard to keep track of where one was when reaching the center of the room, however. He frowned as he thought about where he was. This wasn't such a bad mess. He'd been in much worse.

  At least so he thought, until the fire alarm went off. There were no other prisoners in the jail cells around him. He was alone. He could hear people running, trying to pack various things with them as they left the building.

  The fisherman sat up, putting his big boots on the floor and resting his elbows on his knees as he peered through the thick bars of his cell. At least he'd get outside for a bit this way, he told himself. Finally he heard the big keys in the door to the cell block. The Chief of the City Police walked in, pistol drawn.

  This was an odd development.

  “What you doing there, lad? Come all the way down to Southy just to see me?”

  “It would seem you tried to escape during a false fire alarm,” the Chief said, checking his pistol's magazine to ensure it carried a payload. “You've embarrassed the Proconsul again, I'm afraid, Cid. As you have an unsavory history, it shouldn't be so hard to sell the story that you attempted an ill conceived escape.”

  “So that's it then, eh?” The fisherman didn't bother standing, much less seem to care.

  “Stand up.”

  “I always figured it'd be some coward that put a bullet in my back,” the fisherman said as he turned away from the captain. “Somehow I thought I'd finally escaped the possibility in my old age.”

  “Turn around! Stand and face me!”

  “So you can tell everyone I tried to kill you?” The large man sounded incredulous. “Have fun explaining why you shot an old man in the back, Chief.”

  He heard the chief load a round into the chamber. The unmistakable sliding and clicking sounds sending a thrill through his gut.

  “Turn around, damn you! I don't have time for this. I'll do it either way.”

  “I'm not moving, Chief. Do what you will, I'm not going to defend myself.”