Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One (12 page)

Cyril approached it and picked up the already cool piece of metal. “It is a trident, symbol of Jonath,” he said.

“Yes, but why a trident?” Gruedo asked as she rolled his eyes at the obvious answer.

“As the God of Justice and Protection, he uses the three-pronged trident for a dual symbol. It represents the scales, though sometimes the scales are balanced on the center tine. It is drawn from the common man. Both the farmer and fisherman can use the trident, or pitchfork, as a tool just as they may use justice as a tool. It is for everyone, not just the rich and the ruling class.” Cyril turned the small squared of metal trident over in his hands, and inspected the odd lines covering both sides.

“I meant, what is this specific trident intended for?” Gruedo clarified.

Cyril looked at the girl with a piercing gaze, as if searching Gruedo’s soul. “It is a key. There is a city and a castle far to the southwest. This key should open some very important doors there, and that is where I am going.”

“Will there be treasure?” Gruedo asked.

Cyril smiled as he gazed upon the artifact of his faith. “I think there may be, but it won’t be easy to get to. I must travel through Oceaphylius Glensharrow and possibly face the beings who live within it, and perhaps even the man who corrupted the soul of that great forest.”

“Kala, the Black Priest?” Gruedo asked, coming closer to look at the key Cyril held. “I have heard of him, but he is just a myth, and if he did exist that was over a hundred years ago. Why would you think he is still alive?”

“He is no myth. He was a priest of Promethene, Goddess of Song and Light. He died due to his own foolish pride in the Gray Lands to the east. But thanks to a powerful priestess of Promethene, was brought back to this world. He was a changed man, claiming he now had fae blood in his body. He fell in love with the immortal fae, Cryfalshoulsia, whose spell brought him back. He proposed to her. She rejected him, for Promethene’s priestesses aren’t supposed to marry. She taunted him for turning against the tenets of the sun goddess. Actually, from what I have learned in my studies, Promethene only accepts females into her clergy, but Kala, who went by a different name then, was the exception.

“Kala betrayed his friends to the Dark Tribes under the Rolling Mountains and came west. He sought other fae; the Dasism who protected what was then called the Ocean Wood. He found them.” Cyril handed the key to Gruedo and went to the fire to stoke it higher, as if talking about the dark man stole the warmth from the room. “He preached to them of the evils of the humans who shared the fringes of their great forest. He claimed Promethene chose him. She had chosen him at one time, but he had fallen away from her light to walk the opposite path of the dark. He convinced the Dasism to attack the humans, to chase them from their ancient wood, to kill any who dared enter. He began the poisoning that has led to death of the Dasism, the poison that stripped them of their immortality and has changed them to what they are today.” Cyril stood and turned back to Gruedo.

“He also convinced them to take the city built by Jonath, Silver City, and rename it Shulyar City. Jonath built many great things in his time on this world before he rose to Godhood. Silver City was the perfect city. It shone in the sunlight and glowed in the starlight. It was clean, kept that way by man and magic. It was overlooked by Jonath’s castle, Silver Castle, which he had carved from a single mountain when he became a god. He first summoned the earth to rise, thus solidifying his domain over the element of earth, and caused a mountain to grow where there was none before. He used his magics to carve a castle from the mountain. It was a wonder of the world. As glorious as the Highest Spire, it stood as a symbol of justice and protection for any man to look upon or visit. Jonath closed it to the world when Kala the Black took control of Silver City below it.”

Cyril took the key from Gruedo, who handed it back without hesitation. “So, I go to reopen this Castle, free the city, and cleanse the wood if I can. The world is seeing dark times with the Talisman hanging over our heads, Gruedo.” Gruedo nodded as Cyril continued. “Demons have been sighted as close as Aborgas, which rumors say has been a historic home to such activity, and claims of werewolves are everywhere. It’s said that dead rose from the ground and attacked Everyway, abominations walked the streets, the young and elderly who were too weak to resist were overcome by the ancient evil magics and transformed. I looked into it a little, spoke to a city guard I know there. She told me also about two great heroes that have been born into our side of the fight. Grenedal Dragonblood and Hue Blueaxe rose from the ashes to fight the coming darkness.”

Cyril moved to the chest of drawers that held his clothes and other possessions. On top of it sat a fine crystal decanter and glasses. He poured two glasses of amber colored liquor and handed one to Gruedo, who accepted it without hesitation. Cyril crossed the room, sat in an armchair by the fireplace, and stared into the flames.

“Gruedo, I have prayed to Jonath for guidance. I have asked for His blessing in my quest for Justice. This is not just some criminal trial though; this is the state of the world. I am waiting for something. I do not know if I am waiting for something to happen, someone to get here, or both.” Cyril sighed and looked into his glass.

Chapter 9: Tides Turn

“The love of a ship rocking you to sleep often means your final sleep shall be in the deep.”

Sailors’ Proverb

5854 – Thon – Quebal – Bestuf

The Captain did not appear the first evening. Speaking with the crew, Rogen and Cite learned that the Captain spent most hours below deck in the Captain’s Quarters. They spent the early part of the night watching the stars and waves after the sun set. It was an experience Cite had never had before. The stars opened above them in a celestial panorama like they never dreamed. With no land to block the horizons, it was the largest sky they had ever seen. The moon was just beginning to wane, still lighting the night sky and waters. They witnessed a meteor shower that looked like the Talisman itself had decided to knock the stars from the skies.

The Talisman crossed the sky in its new orbit around the world. It was prettier out here in the ocean without the smoke and pollution of a city to stain it. Instead of having the usual yellowish cast, it twinkled in the moonlight, hues of blue, white, and green that scintillated in its long tail. They slept on deck that night along with part of the crew.

The next morning brought more wonders. The sunrise woke them, and they watched dolphins play in the wake of the ship as they ate a meal of boiled oats with cinnamon. The sea air was crisp and clean, and the breeze never stopped caressing their hair. The seabirds circled them, since they were still within sight of land, and searched for tidbits of food on deck as they shouted their raucous cries. The boat rocked as it cut through the waves, the canvas of the sails flapping in the wind, and everything seemed more peaceful and relaxed than it did on land.

The ship was on a southwest course towards an island named Paradise Island. A sailor named Jumper, the sailing master in charge of navigation, leaned on the rail fishing with a bamboo pole and told them that the island was truly a paradise. It held fresh water in the form of beautiful waterfalls, sand made of gold, and mermaids sang you to sleep at night. Neither Cite nor Rogen was sure how much was truth and how much the sailor believed was true.

The next surprise came when the Captain made an appearance. They heard the call that the Captain was on deck as sailors scrambled to their posts for inspection, as if this were a military ship rather than a merchant or pirate ship. The first thing Cite and Rogen saw was the bright red hair over the shoulders of the crew as they tried to stay out of the way. The Captain moved with a rolling walk and poise that was apparent, even from the poor view they had. When the crew finally parted and they got a clear look at the Captain, they were stunned to see that she was a woman.

Captain Redblood of the Lady Luck stood half a head shorter than most of the crew. Her fiery red hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and her green eyes were bright compared to her well-tanned skin. She was wiry and athletic like most that spend their lives at sea. She was not dressed much differently from the crew: loose pants, a white shirt tied at the cuffs and neck, and barefoot. Cite later learned that most sailors went barefoot while at sea. Bare feet gave better traction on the deck, in the rigging, as well as made swimming easier if you did fall overboard. She wore a wide leather belt that held a pouch, spyglass, compass, and various other paraphernalia. The crew did not bother wearing weapons once they left port, but stored them in lockers on the deck that could be accessed when needed.

The woman approached Rogen and Cite and stopped in front of them; hand on her hip as she inspected them. The crew watched, some of them smirking or smiling. It was obvious that they enjoyed the surprise of their guests.

“I am Dawn Redblood, Captain of this vessel. I see you have already met my quartermaster and uncle, Tildan,” she said and they nodded. “He tells me you paid in advance. There is space below decks to sleep if the weather gets rough, but I expect it won’t be an issue.”

Cite looked at her as a man will look at a woman when they meet. He decided she was not beautiful, though not unattractive by any means. She was confident and carried herself as if she knew each step she took would bring her closer to whatever it was she wanted. He looked past her and at the crew. He felt his mental abilities clicking in his head. Faith, respect, and loyalty were in their hearts; they were very protective of her, especially the two that had met them at the gangplank and the cook who was watching them both with a scowl. He felt the twinge of envy from one or two of the crew, but could not place which ones felt it. He looked back at her and saw she was staring at him.

“What were you looking at just then?” she asked Cite, as she glanced over her shoulder.

“Your men love you. I mean, they care for your safety,” he answered, shuffling his feet under her gaze.

“I know, it sometimes gets in the way, but usually works out well enough.” She stared hard at him, and then looked over to Rogen. “And you are the great Rogen the Plague? You are shorter than I imagined. Still eat men whole and shit out mindless killing machines?”

“I wish it were that easy,” Rogen scoffed. “Though they do give me indigestion often enough. I am sure you know the value of rumors, gossip, and such. It becomes myth and legend. And that helps out now and then.” She nodded with a smile that softened her weathered features. “But have no worries, I am not working now. My blade and hammer are yours if you need them while we are on your ship.”

“You two should be easy passengers. Keep out of the way and follow orders if it comes to a fight or a storm. Other than that, grub when Warton calls it, smoke only when the smoking lamp is lit and enjoy the trip.” She turned away and continued her inspection of her ship.

5854 – Thon – Quebal – Uthr

The trip was mostly uneventful and Rogen occupied most of their days practicing with Cite and his daggers. The crew watched with interest. Rogen was an expert weapons master and Cite was novice. The two men who met them when they first came on the ship, Tildan and Maurence, came over to offer their help.  They learned that the hairless olive skinned man was the Master Gunner, personal guard of the Captain, a mute, and a eunuch.

The sailors offered the use of belaying pins in place of daggers, to cut down on injuries to the pupil. Instead of cuts, Cite gained many bruises from the three of them over the next two weeks. By the time the trip would be finished, Cite would be well versed in the weapons he was given. Over the course of the voyage, he learned about the staff and sword as well, and knew which weapon best-suited different situations.

When not training, Cite passed the time by carving. He asked Tildan for a bit of wood and a whittling knife. Tildan introduced him to Conald, the ship’s carpenter. Cite spent hours making various instruments as he watched the waves. He carved a flute from some bamboo, and a guitar from scraps of wood. He used the catgut wires - used to patch sails - for strings, and the rest of the parts were rigged from other supplies that were available.

In the evenings, the crew would gather to swap tales or sing to pass the time. Cite gave the guitar to Cutter McGee, the ship’s surgeon, and joined the sailors at night, playing along to their singing with the flute he had made. The young man had a knack for the tales and listened intently, penning the ones he liked most into his journal, and practicing later until he had them memorized. He would often seek out one of the sailors the next day to get more details about a tale or song he had heard the night before.

Rogen fit right in. At night, he shared tales of his life and his people, and often added his deep baritone to the music while drumming along on a barrel. During the day, the Rokairn took his turn at any task available, from swabbing the deck, to cooking, to taking watch. Some of the crew watched him with suspicion, but most just appreciated a little less work.

Four days into the journey, Cite found Rogen leaning against the rail. Cite joined him and stared at the horizon. There was a storm far in the distance, dark clouds passing to the south. Lightning danced in the clouds as thunder rolled across the waves. The gulls had settled into the rigging, and the air was cool. They both stayed that way for a while, in silence except for the background chatter amongst the sailors and the waves on the hull. Finally Cite spoke.

“I want to practice the other abilities I have,” he said, still staring across the water at the distant horizon. Rogen looked up at Cite and studied the boy’s face. Cite leaned closer and continued in hushed tones, “I can move things with my mind. I have practiced a little when I had a few moments alone. I have moved my dagger to my hand from a short distance away. I have made a canvas ripple when there was no wind. I have tapped a crewmember on the quarterdeck on his shoulder while I was on the forecastle deck. I know it worked ‘cause he blamed it on a guy twenty feet away in the rigging.” Cite looked down at Rogen with a smile, only to see Rogen frown. “Don’t worry. I know how superstitious sailors can be, so I haven’t done it again. I can also read minds, and perhaps place my thoughts into others’ heads.” Cite hesitated.

“You want to test that one now, eh?” Rogen asked and Cite nodded and looked at his feet between his elbows.

“I can single people out here to practice. In a city, there are always lots of people around. Here they are only a couple dozen, and they are often in an area away from others. It is as close to an ideal training ground as I could find. Also, I have felt subtle things from the crew,” Cite dropped his voice even more, “about the Captain.”

“Look, Cite,” Rogen said, looking back towards the storm front, “I have done many things in my life, some things that most folks would despise, but it was necessary. You have a gift and you need to learn to use it. You are intelligent enough, and seem to be good enough not to hurt someone using it. I say do what you must do. If you learn nothing except how to use your gift and which sailor shot his load into the fish we ate for dinner that night, fine. You at least get to practice your gift. This will also let you know if familiarity makes it easier or harder.” Rogen noticed Cite’s surprised look at the last idea. “Cite, you are a guy with a big heart and a gentle soul. There is a chance the more you trust or care about someone, the more you will block yourself without even knowing you are doing it.”

Rogen turned around and put his back on the railing, crossing his arms in front of him. “Besides, the Captain seems nice also. It is odd for a woman to keep control of a ship full of men. There may be more about her that we need to know. If you find she is a good person, then you bring the truth to her if you find any plots against her. If she is doing something to the men here, well, we decide then if we should get involved.”

During the conversation, Cite had been focusing on Rogen. Feeling his way into Rogen’s thoughts. He did find his way in. It did not show pictures in his head, it was more like ideas that come to you when you are on the edge of sleep. It was hard to focus on what was being said and filter through the extra information. Cite would find out later it is best to collect the ideas, and then using his infallible memory, sort through it all later.

He caught touches of fish and smells; he actually smelled the sea twice, once from his nose and again from Rogen’s vague impressions that he skimmed from the shorter man’s mind. As he spoke to Rogen, he felt warmth that was a representation of a growing trust the man had for Cite. This made Cite stop for a second and look surprised. When Rogen continued Cite gathered wispy urges to protect the worthy and destroy, not hurt or stop, but to utterly destroy the deceitful.

“Of course you can practice on me also.” Rogen was saying, again surprising Cite and making him wonder if his intrusions had been felt. Rogen looked up at him and grinned. “Not that I could tell if you have been, but I would have been doing it. Now your face tells me you are not so different from me.” Rogen outright laughed as Cite’s face ran a gambit of emotions, from guilt and surprise then trying to regain control and hide his feelings. “Go ahead, son, send me one, let us try giving me a thought. Like you did when I brought you the bag and chest.”

“Relax,” Cite said. “When you are expecting it, it is like your mind disappears behind a wall. If you expect it, I may have issues sending thoughts to you.” He stared at Rogen and realized the man would not allow someone in his mind when he knew it was coming. Cite changed tactics and thought about a tickle on the bearded man’s chin, breathed in and pictured Rogen scratching his chin as he released the breath.

Rogen scratched at his chin. “I am relaxing, go ahead anytime you are ready, I am open and willing.” Rogen lowered his hand back to his side. He looked up at Cite and seeing a slight smile on his face asked, “What has got you?” He stopped suddenly as a small belch escaped his mouth, then he heard in his head
‘redfish sing badly’
.

“Redfish sing badly?” Rogen echoed out loud, and Cite looked away with a straight face. “What the hell does that mean?” Rogen said, squaring his shoulders to face the younger man, “If you are going to put shite in my head, at least make it useful or interesting!”

“By definition, if it is shit, wouldn’t it be wasteful?” Cite asked in a weak voice, winced, and raised his hand to his forehead.

“Aw, do not feel bad, son.” Rogen said, laying a hand on Cite’s arm, “I do not mind. That was you though, was it not?”