by Jena Rey
It was not difficult to find the Half-Full Tankard. The building itself was nearly as wide as the temple, though not as tall with only two large floors. The crowd of people flocking to the Tankard rivaled one of the festival crowds at Aserian. The building itself was rather plain, with only a large barrel of ale half-spilled emblazoned on a large sign over the doorway to give indication as to the purpose of the business; the patrons stumbling out, well in their cups, left little doubt as to the goings-on inside.
Darian caught the nervous look on Ephema’s face as they approached the crowd. She kept her head held high, but he could tell she was uncomfortable and offered his hand. “Here. Take my hand, I’ll steer you through the crush. We’ll follow along behind Tabor. He’ll be able to plow us a path. No one will stay in his way for long, right?”
Ephema smiled at that and took his hand. It was hard to remember that she’d shied from his touch not so long ago. He’d removed his gloves and her fingers were cool despite the warmth of the day. Here by the sea the memories of the winter storms just a few day’s travel north were almost forgotten. Not that it was balmy weather, but the breeze off the sea kept the coast temperate until much later in the season.
“I hope we will not stay here long. I do not like the feel of this city.” She watched the people stumbling from the tavern as Tabor pushed his way through. “I do not think Tabor likes it here either.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Darian guided them after the large Knight, keeping half an eye on the crowd and making sure he didn’t lose his coin purse, not that there was much inside to take. “Ianel grew up here after his parents passed and fits in naturally, but this isn’t Tabor’s and my kind of town. I’ve visited here before, but all I remember was not liking it much then, either. My father would come here to sell his fish sometimes depending on how far north he’d been fishing. I’d come with him to help.”
He squeezed her hand, his grip strong and firm, but he was careful not to hurt her. Her touch brought a stirring to his heart, but he didn’t say anything about it. “I came to prefer the fish over the people here, but the dockhands were friendly enough. Once Father died, there was never a real reason for my mother to return, at least not one where she would bring her children. It’s been a few years since I saw this place as anything more than a quick stop on the road north.”
Ephema nodded, falling into place as the Knights broke a path to the inn. She gripped Darian’s hand more tightly as a rotund man brushed past them, stinking of alcohol and knocking into her shoulder. Finally, they made it to the bar and attracted the attention of the innkeeper long enough to rent out the remaining room which held a pair of bunks in it. The good news that came with the room was that a steamer was in port and leaving in two days.
Ephema lay back on the hard, wooden bunk, trying not to shift around and wake anyone else. For all that the beds sported what the innkeeper had assured them were new rushes and hand crafted, well-sewn quilts, she struggled to get comfortable. Ianel had found his own lodging with a degree of laughter and teasing between the three men that Ephema didn’t fully understand.
Tabor and Darian shared the room with her, though, given their weights, it was decided it would be wise if they took the bottom bunks. Their sleeping sounds had become familiar over the last several days; Tabor always on the verge of a heavy snore, while Darian’s breath came slow and even.
She rubbed her hand over her forehead, trying to ignore the sounds of merrymaking which still rose from the taproom below. She wondered if it would go on all night, or if at some point the noise would die and the doors close. Perhaps when there was no more drink to be had. Darian had mentioned these types of places typically had massive storerooms though, so she doubted it would end before dawn.
Searching for distraction, she stared out the small round window. The moon was very nearly full, tomorrow it would rise in complete fullness, but the difference in brightness wouldn’t be too different. Ephema loved high moon nights. They were times when her mountain home took on a new light, and she felt most alive with the silvery light wrapped around her.
The moonbeams touched her bed, and the globe resting at her neck flared. Ephema threw up her hand to shield her eyes as the light filled the room. She sat up, blinking against the brightness. Tentatively, she whispered, “Darian?”
She knew she’d spoken. She heard the echo of her voice, but there was no answer save for the continued slow breaths of her companions. A pearlescent ball hung before her bed as though a small piece of the moon had drifted into the room. Unable to help herself, Ephema leaned forward to get a better look, seeing an echo of her own face reflected in the pearly surface. She stretched her hand toward the globe, but it drifted just out of reach.
She glanced at Tabor’s maul, where it lay within reach of his slumbering form. The heavy weapon emitted a slim blue light, the blessing of Osephetin given to his Knights; but when the light of the floating globe flickered, the weapon echoed the glow, intensifying and bathing the corner where the Knight slumbered with a bluish tint.
The ball spun slowly, and Ephema caught a glimpse of another face. It was a familiar face, much like her own, but older, wiser. Her mother’s name hung on Ephema’s lips, but she didn’t speak. The visage clouded and drifted away, replaced by her father, but not as she had known him. This man’s face was twisted in agony and an orange glow seeping through his face, showing the stark outline of the bones within. He turned toward her and his skin split, brilliant streaks of red liquid pouring down his skin, peeling back the flesh from his bones.
Ephema choked on her breath, backing up until her back hit the wall. The globe drifted closer, trapping her. The images swirled faster, coming in glimpses so rapid they hardly made sense, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away. She saw men in twisted, bloody armor marching down from dark ships, though she didn’t recognize either the ships or the armor. Women and children lay slaughtered in the streets of Eoth, their corpses thrown haphazardly against the closed door of the temple or simply left where they fell, trampled underfoot.
The globe tilted the view to show the temple spire where the body of Bishop Lisse dangled, caught around the neck with a chain which glittered cold and silver in the icy light. As the globe whirled faster, more scenes filled Ephema’s mind, some of them familiar places razed to the ground with hardly a stone left standing. Other locations were completely foreign to her, but the results were the same; marching troops, no survivors, blood in the streets, Sisters crawling through broken lives and feeding on what remained, while the undead rose from the discarded corpses.
The deluge of vision was too much, and Ephema closed her eyes, scrambling to get away. She reached the head of the bunk and felt the lack of substance beneath her fingers only when it was too late to stop herself from falling. The hard landing on the wooden floor ripped out the scream she’d been holding in. The globe of light shattered, flooding the room with its light one final time before fading away.
Ephema curled into a ball between the bed and the wall, pressing her head to her knees as sobs wracked her frame. In the darkness the glow from the maul continued to throb, and the Knights slept on in enchanted slumber.
“By the Dark Lord!” Darian yawned widely and sat up, careful not to crack his head on the bed above him. He rolled his head from side to side, the muscles in his shoulders feeling loose and relaxed. “That innkeeper wasn’t kidding about the quality of these beds. I can’t remember a time I’ve slept so well.”
Tabor grumbled in response, stretching and making his bed squeak in protest. “Nor I. And that’s very unusual.” He sat up and casually inspected his maul, a little frown playing over his face. “I can’t remember a time I’ve slept an entire night. Still, I suppose I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” He stood and began to sort through his clothing. The inn had a washroom for their laundry and everyone intended to take advantage of it.
“Did you sleep well, Ephema?” Darian looked to the bed where Ephema had been, and raised an eyebro
w at finding it empty. He tried to convince himself that she’d just gone to relieve herself, but he couldn’t help the concern that filled him. “Ephema?”
A quick look around the room found the woman wedged between the wall and the bunk, asleep but with a strange, pained look on her face and dried tears on her skin. Her cheek sported a large bruise that he couldn’t explain any more than her position. He knelt and touched her on the shoulder. “Ephema?”
Ephema started at his touch, banging her head against the wall with a dull thud. There was simply no room for much movement. She blinked, looking as though she hadn’t slept at all, her green eyes sunken and red rimmed. “Huh? Darian!”
“What in the world are you doing down here?” He helped her to her feet, surprised at her awkwardness as she rose. She was always unconsciously graceful, but now she moved like he did after a hard sparring session. “Have you been down there all night?”
She rubbed her head, knocking the hair cover she wore hanging askew. Scattered white locks showed against the dark mass of her hair, an oddity he didn’t remember from the day before. “I don’t know. Something happened, but…” Her brows creased in confusion. “I can’t remember.”
“Something?” Darian frowned, worried for her and more worried that whatever had happened he’d slept through it. How could he protect her from something that kept him from waking? “Something like what?”
“There was a light…and the moon…and…” She shook her head, pressing her hands to her temples as though she was holding her head together. “I don’t remember. It hurts to try.”
“Then don’t try.” Darian gently took her hands off her head, squeezing them between his hands. “Maybe it was just a dream, though I don’t know how you ended up on the floor without waking us. Tabor and I were here the entire night. Let’s get you something to eat, and explore the town a little. Maybe that will help you truly wake up.”
Ephema nodded, though she shot an uncertain look around the room. “I… okay. A dream.”
As Darian guided her to the door, he saw the look on Tabor’s face. It was obvious the older Knight didn’t believe that it was nothing more than a dream. Darian didn’t believe it either.
Chapter Eleven
Darian took a deep breath, the salty brine in the air a familiar touch. He released his breath all at once and smiled at Ephema from where he stood at the edge of the docks. “It’s funny. You never quite realize how much you miss certain smells until you’ve been away for a long time. Even if it’s a smell you don’t always like.” He turned back toward the bay, where the smaller transport and hauling boats were moving aside in preparation for the arrival of the much larger steamer. “What do you think of the ocean, now that you’re up closer to it?”
Ephema made a face, looking out over the waves. “It smells bad. Tabor says it tastes bad, too, though I have not tried. He says the water from the mountain comes down the river and mixes with the sea where it tastes bad.” She shrugged. “It is warmer here. I like that.”
“It’s not a bad taste, really, just salty. You wouldn’t want to try to survive off of it; it’s not drinkable right from the ocean. You can boil it and capture the steam; it’s a process I can show you one day if you want.” He stopped himself and laughed. “And now I sound like my brother. You probably don’t have any interest in reclaiming salt water.”
She raised both eyebrows and finally laughed, tucking her hair back behind her ears. “Not really, but that is mostly because I don’t understand what you mean.”
“You just need the right cloth.” He motioned at the boats moving around in the bay. “This is probably more interesting though. They’re moving out of the way so the steamer can dock. Steamers are special ships, built in only three locations around the nation. Hawthan is one of those locations, with Port Ithath to the far west, and Mukklan even farther to the south being the other two. All of these locations are also hosts to large Temples to Osephetin. That isn’t a coincidence.”
He pulled his mace off of his belt and held it up. “A steamer is, in essence, nothing more than a regular steam ship. A large one, no doubt, but still a ship. But like you’ve enhanced my mace to be more effective, the same goes with the steamer. It’s a regular ship that’s been enhanced with three Eternal Flames of Osephetin.”
Ephema held up her hands. “Wait. You keep referring to the Eternal Flame, but I’m not sure of the difference between an Eternal Flame and any other flame. Bishop Lam kept talking about it in Tallet, but there was never time to understand.”
“Oh.” Darian blinked. He shook his head, embarrassed at the omission. Ephema fit in so naturally with the Knights he sometimes forgot how much she didn’t know that he’d learned at his mother’s knee. “There are many flames that are used by the Priests and Knights, but the Eternal Flame is different. It’s a sanctified flame. The stories say that the Eternal Flame was a gift to the very first High Priest of Osephetin, a man named Nummera. It was in the early days when there were only a few roving priests and the Knights hadn’t been organized. Nummera went to the mountains to commune with the Dark Lord. When he returned, he brought with him the tenants of our religion and a bowl filled with burning stones, the heart of the Eternal Flame.”
“Burning stones? How can you burn stones?”
Darian laughed and shrugged. “I asked my mother the same thing and she didn’t know either. I suppose when you are a God you can do that kind of thing.”
“Huh. Then what happened?”
“He took the Eternal Flame to the small shrine in Hawthan which would one day become the High Temple. The stones still burn there. When a new Temple is dedicated fire is brought from the stones and set there to light the temple flame. This is meant to shine Osephetin’s light into dark places.”
Ephema poked at one of the ropes wrapped around a post on the dock. She tilted her head to the side, thoughtful. “But… we saw temples with the fire gone out. If it is eternal wouldn’t it keep burning?”
“The stones themselves are Osephetin’s Eternal Flame. The flames lit from the source are often also referred to as Eternal Flames. They have to be fed like a normal fire with wood, but you also keep it alight with prayers and devotions. In temples like Aserian the flame died because there was no one there to tend to it. When there isn’t an Eternal Flame, we do the best we can with normal fire, but it’s different. The Eternal Flame burns more purely and there are some rituals that require it, but that’s usually the realm of a priest, not a Knight.”
“Huh. So, they put those fires in the ships. Isn’t that dangerous?”
Darian peered into the distance where he could see the huge steamer making its approach. “It’s contained within special metal chambers, so not much more than any fire on a ship, really. There are pipes inside of it that pull water from the ocean. The water is heated and compressed and the ship moves. It has sails for when it might be too delicate or dangerous to use the flame. The magic is very forceful so it shaves days off of travel, but it requires a priest continually in attendance to maintain it, and when a steamer breaks down it’s dangerous and hard to fix.”
“How do you know all of that?”
Darian pulled his gaze from the ship back to Ephema and grinned. “Because I was curious and I nagged my mother about it until she told me to go talk to my brother. Fressin studies everything, and I do mean everything. So, he explained what he could and told me to get out of his face, which is typical of Fressin. But the biggest point is that steamer travel is faster and there is plenty of room for the horses. We may even find more of our Brethren and see what they know, and we can protect the steamer in case of attack.”
“What would attack a steamer? You said there were monsters in the deeps, but would they attack such a large ship?”
“Not often, but the undead have on occasion and pirates.”
Ephema shook her head, her eyes widening. She shot a look out over the ocean, then back to the dock. He noticed she kept glancing at the waters, but didn’t watch
them for long. “But undead aren’t in the sea. You keep saying this. That’s why we’re traveling on a boat.”
“They aren’t, but sometimes your passage might take you under something they can leap down from.” Darian pointed to the north. “There used to be a natural rock bridge between two large towns far to the north. It was heavily patrolled, but about a decade ago it was swarmed when there was a steamer underneath. They were trying to help the towns, but hadn’t expected the undead to drop onto the boat. As a last resort the priest on board overheated the system, and the engine exploded. The explosion was so great it took out part of the cliff and the bridge collapsed taking everyone, dead and living, into the waters. It was a good idea, because now something like that could never happen again, but it came at a terrible cost.”
Ephema blinked slowly, her gaze moving from Darian to the speck on the horizon that was the incoming steamer.
A familiar deep voice rumbled from behind them. “Don’t let him scare you.” Tabor stepped up next to Darian, his steps shaking the boards of the dock. “These days the steamers all have a compliment of three priests to see to the flame. Our trip to Hawthan won’t cross under any stone bridges, tresses, nothing of the sort, and pirates are rare in these patrolled waters. We will keep you safe.”
Darian nodded, feeling a little sheepish. He’d been so intent on answering Ephema’s questions and trying to help her feel excited about the upcoming voyage, he hadn’t realized the color had been draining from her face as he talked. Scaring her hadn’t been his intention, but his enthusiasm had gotten the best of him. Lately, whenever he spoke to Ephema, it was like he just couldn’t stop talking. He wanted her to love his world and not return to her cave. The thought struck him, and he stood very still, thinking about it.
