Light. Bright, golden Light, the beams sailing far into the night-blanketed ocean, Qira’s essence riding with them. Vantra almost thought he stood next to her, laughing as she brushed her fingers through the air, hoping to grab what she sensed.
Yut-ta raised his hand as well, then stared at his appendage. “If I hadn’t met Qira, I wouldn’t recognize this Touch, but it’s so obvious.”
“It’s how I thought Light was,” Vantra admitted. “Sun was burning bright, but Light’s the cozy firelight gently illuminating the room while you cuddle with a book and sip tea. He isn’t much like that, though.”
“I think he’s more like that than you think,” Kenosera said. He leaned on the railing and examined the tall shrine that looked more like a lighthouse than a religious building dedicated to Light. It had a yellow stripe winding up the tall white tower, and a platform that housed a large, nebulous ball of illumination, so brilliant she had to drop her gaze before all she perceived was a splotchy wall of white.
It sat on the edge of a promontory, the cliff below sheer except for a jutting outcropping lined by a fence. Vantra had read about it in her Finder materials; a sister temple rested on Wistful, and both honored the syimlin who gave the Windtwists Light to drive the Beast from the isles’ shores. The notes she had read did not delve in depth, though Lorgan’s had more information.
It startled her, he said an oracle called the place home. It took bravado for a being to dare Qira’s dislike of fortune tellers and set up inside one of his temples. Was she a Sun acolyte? If so, why work from a Light shrine? If not, her claims were dubious as best, as only oracles blessed by Sun could accurately perceive the future.
“MERA! TALLY!”
Mica stumbled to a halt next to them, staring at the glints of wisps as they sped towards the cliff.
“Dammit, they said they’d wait until the others got back,” he gritted. “But no, they only waited for the wind to die down.”
“Where are they going?” Vantra asked.
“Home. It’s a straight shot southwest from the shrine to the ranch by rail.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Qira told them no. They played off each other’s irritation and hurt, getting more and more upset, and he thought they needed time to cool a little before confronting their family. He’s going to be pissed.” He blinked, shielded his eyes, and squinted at the base of the cliff. A north-bound boat with a shallow hull hugged the rock, a flag fluttering at the top of the mast. Vantra raised her glass and peered at it; while difficult to tell because the Light cast all in a yellow haze, the background looked burgundy with a white circle in the center.
“That’s the Deri Glora flag the ship that attacked us flew.”
She handed Mica the glass, and he peered at it. “Yeah, the same flag,” he agreed. He looked to the bow and stern, then across the deck to the port side. “I don’t see any IBA ships after it, either. Considering how many have patrolled the lane since we rounded the Top, that’s odd.” A wide grin broke his face and he gripped her arm. “Wanna go on an adventure?”
“Um, sure?”
He laughed at her confused uncertainty. “Let’s go see where it’s headed.” He gave the glass to Kenosera. “With you along, it shouldn’t be dull.”
What did he mean by that?
He clasped her hand and a Light shield engulfed them both. He thinned his essence so only a bare wisp remained; she followed suit, and they floated over the railing, dropped, and skimmed the waves to the speedy boat.
The shield blended with the atmosphere the shrine created, leaving no distinguishing mark for an enemy to notice. That was as well; as they neared the vessel, she sensed the same corruption that filled the gunk she obliterated. The residue blanketed the craft, though no obvious source sat in it. Whoever manned it must have taken it in and out of a contaminated place, so she counted them as a foe, not a friend.
Mica drew her closer as they reached the hull and slipped to the port side. He latched onto the wood with a hook of Darkness and curled into a ball so his feet did not brush the foamy wake. How had he managed a Darkness spell? No time for questions; she mimicked him, then turned her attention to the occupants. Excited voices blared from above, the accents resembling those of the islanders on Bask-ilisk. By the breathiness of their speech, she decided most of them were umbrareign rather than ghosts.
“I still don’t understand why they wanted to take off tonight.” The grumbler sat above them, tapping his foot against the hull.
“The IBA,” someone answered, less loud, almost conspiratorially. “My sister works at the port. They’ve been questioning docked ships and stopping boats looking for some Deri Glora pirates, and they aren’t concerned about offending anyone. They’ve even targeted tourist ships!”
“Deri Glora?” Someone barked a laugh. He sounded older, with a rougher voice and less smooth cadence. “Haven’t heard that name in years. They got cursed. Doubt they’re back.”
“Cursed?” Vantra shuddered; the silky flatness held a darkness that harmonized with whatever coated the boat, and the speaker sounded like a southern-Talin native, rather than an Evenacht islander. “I much doubt that.”
“When you’d die?” the older man asked with a tinge of heat. “Everyone on the sea knew when Consort Verryn cursed them; you couldn’t have them in port ‘cause bad things would happen. The IBA on Tempest and Wistful barred them from docking anywhere on the islands. Was the same everywhere.”
“That seems extreme, to curse a small-time venture.”
“Wasn’t small time. You don’t attack a convoy flying Death’s flag with the consort symbol if you’re small-time. Asinine, and they paid for it. Heard no crew can even near the water without bad luck and worse following their steps.”
“I think tales are tall in Windhaven.”
The older man growled. Vantra glanced at Mica, but she could not clearly see his visage against the side of the boat. She would ask later about the curse. Verryn never went into detail about it, though she recalled he said they would never guess what triggered it.
The vessel curved around a jutting bit of cliff, hiding them from the shrine’s light. Mica dropped the shield, and Vantra tamped down on her panic; she trusted his thousands of years more experience in such matters, but sneaking information without one concerned her, considering the ill affects the terrible contamination caused. He squeezed her hand, though she could not tell if her fright amused or troubled him.
The boat turned fully to the cliff, and alarm raged; they were going to crash? No one on board expressed concern, so she hugged her wisps to her core and waited.
Light flared; a sconce attached to the face of the cliff just above the water illuminated a cave entrance. The boat sailed in, and a stickiness clung to them as they passed through. It was the same stuff she encountered in the cave on Bask-ilisk, and she hated that her essence felt as if thousands of hooks dug into her and yanked. She concentrated on keeping herself intact, and the hooks tore through, empty.
She half-expected an alarm, but nothing clanged or buzzed. They continued down the tunnel, the beings on board taking verbal shots back and forth, oblivious to the ick. Did the contamination protect them from the nasty Touch? That would explain its presence; it behaved as a shield, not as a poisoner, and she pondered if it held a trigger for the enemy’s magics.
The boat slowed, and Mica tugged on her hand. The Darkness hook disengaged but instead of floating away, he remained close to the hull as it passed, then latched onto the flat stern. She hovered above him and peered around the port-side corner; the craft headed for a dock lit by a myriad of flaming torches that reminded her too forcefully of the ones the mercenaries used in Greenglimmer to keep their special brand of darkness at bay.
Beings waited on a wooden platform nearer the wall, the stoic ones wearing black uniform jackets with burgundy hems, black pants and boots, but no hats, while the antsy ones sported rugged work wear with patches.
The boat rocked to a stop, and a ramp deployed with a bang; the passengers shuffled off and stood in front of the uniforms, each carrying a pack bulging with items and towing a suitcase behind them. The uniform with shiny buttons on the left shoulder denoting rank nodded in greeting. It was difficult to tell in the blare of yellow light, but he looked like a nymph, though shorter than she expected. Once they achieved the ability to manipulate their essence at will, most nymphs in authority positions exaggerated their height. Not that they towered over others, but they made certain they stood tallest in a room.
“Gentlemen, I’m Captain Harp of the Wind Revenants. I’m happy to welcome you to the training yilsemma. As Mate Nelden explained, we’ll ride to the main camp tonight. Come mid-morn, you’ll receive your ship assignment and complete a tour with explanations of the jobs available; even though you may be familiar with sailing, you’ve joined us for a historic run, not a modern one, and specific tasks on older vessels may differ from what you might expect. After the initial training, you’ll sail with a seasoned crew and experience the delights of ancient transport.” He stepped back and swept his hand to the left. “Please follow Mate Breen.”
The group moved, their suitcases bumping loudly over the wooden planks, and they disappeared into the wall; Vantra could not see above the dock from her current position, but assumed they walked into another tunnel.
All shuffled out until only the captain remained; silence descended but for the dripping of water and the gentle swash of waves against the hull. He looked at the boat; another figure exited, cloaked in green. Mica squeezed her hand, and she thinned her essence even more; the last thing they needed was to have a Finder notice them.
“Are they all so lively?”
She recognized that voice! Mica stiffened; so must he.
She had heard it once, when she first met the mini-Joyful. Only once, but she would never forget the woman to whom it belonged.
Mimeriqette, the one responsible for the Aristarzian Gauntlet, and member of the Knights of the Finders.
